"What a fickle person you are, Mr. Rudall," remarked a pretty blonde when the song came to an end. "I always am--in poetry, Mrs. Manson," replied Rudall, idly touching the strings of his banjo, with an amused smile on his boyish face. "And what about real life?" "Depends very much on the lady." Everyone laughed at this rejoinder except Olive Maunders, who sat staring at the river with a frown on her handsome face. "It's a case of 'Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may' with Rudall," said Sir John in a jovial manner. "Herrick," observed Mr. Rudall meditatively, "was a philosopher, and if by rosebuds he meant ladies, I'm not at all averse to following his example." Olive Maunders evidently found the conversation too frivolous, for she suddenly arose, and without saying a word went up to the house, and retired into the drawing-room. Sir John looked after her with a rather pained expression on his face, and, seizing the opportunity afforded by Teddy Rudall beginning another song, he slipped away to look for her. She was seated in a lounging chair, leaning forward with bent head and clasped hands, the frown still on her face. A striking looking girl, tall and slender, with a handsome resolute countenance of a pronounced brunette type, and her small head, with its coils of smooth black hair, was well set on her sloping shoulders. "Why did you run away so suddenly, Olive?" asked her father, sitting beside her, and taking one of her slim hands in his own. "I grew tired of the conversation," said Olive in a clear sharp voice; "it is so frivolous, and there is such a lot to be thought of." "My dear, you must not brood too much over Trevanna's accident." "I'm not thinking about Mr. Trevanna, but I am about Adrian. Where can he be? It is now a fortnight since he disappeared, and nothing has been heard of him." "Oh! he'll come back again as soon as he hears Trevanna is getting better. I expect he thought he had killed Trevanna, and is keeping quiet." "But now that Mr. Trevanna is getting well, he has exonerated Adrian entirely. They were both foolish, no doubt, but nothing was so bad as to make Adrian hide himself like this." "Perhaps the advertisement you put in the paper will bring him," suggested Sir John, thoughtfully. "I hope so," replied Olive quickly. "If he's anywhere in England he must have seen it by this time, but he seems to have vanished altogether. Why cannot your occult science discover him, father?" "I'm not well enough up in theosophy to try any experiments of that nature," said Sir John, ruefully, "but I'll tell you who might find out where Adrian is." "Some detective, I suppose," retorted Olive. "Nonsense, they never make any discoveries worth talking about, out of the pages of shilling shockers." "No, not a detective," answered her father, quietly, "but a dealer in mysteries--Doctor Roversmire." "Charlatan!" "I don't think he's a charlatan; he knows more about the unseen world than you think."