"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. She put down her cup. "You make me very unhappy. You force me to recall my horror--in the cave temple. The wretched uncanny sense of the supernatural that oppressed me there. You make me remember that I was tortured into a fancy that the mummy was a ghost--that we were haunted--that--oh! oh! And father has been so kind to me lately, kinder than ever before." "He is in London?" "Yes." "And the mummy?" "Yes." "And Dr. Belleville?" "He is staying with us." "Captain Weldon?" She turned aside her head. "He is in London, too." "You are shortly to be married, I am informed." She stood up. "I must really be going," she observed constrainedly; then she held out her hand. I watched her pick her way through the crowd to our hostess. It was a well-bred crowd, but it stared at her. She was worth looking at. She walked just as a woman should and she bore herself with the proper touch of pride that is at the same time a personal protection and a provocative of curiosity. Some people call it dignity. Hubbard materialised from the shadow of a neighbouring curtain. "My wife has invited me to dinner," he announced. "You, too. I have made her your excuses because I have a money matter to discuss that should not be postponed." "You have my deepest sympathy," I answered, and left him as puzzled to know what I meant as I was. Something was whispering over and over in my ear--"Work! work! work!" and whispering in the imperative mood. I determined to call upon Captain Weldon and procure from him my manuscript, at once. I remembered he lived in Jermyn Street. I walked thither as fast as I was able. Chapter XIII Hubbard Is Jealous