"That is what Aunt Caroline says, and she insisted on my coming," plaintively returned May; but just then Miss Waller appeared, resplendent in mauve satin, with a stout, black-haired, middle-aged, and shrewd-looking man, very carefully dressed, in tow. "I came to look for you, dear," she began very sweetly to her niece, merely giving a cold bow to Harold. "I want to introduce Mr. Lang to you. He knows our friends the Wingates in town." With that, the excellent spinster turned away; and May, finding no resource save to accept the basket-chair in the shade proffered by the stranger--as Harold had prudently effaced himself--prepared for a _tête-à-tête_ with a man she had never seen before in her life. [Illustration: "It was very kind of you to come so promptly, Dr. Inglis."] CHAPTER III. "Manners Maketh Man." "Do you mind my smoking?" began Mr. Lang, after a moment's keen scrutiny of the graceful figure beside him. Hardly waiting for permission, he produced a gold case and lighted a cigarette. "Been playing tennis, haven't you?" he continued in an off-hand way. "Stupid game, not half so good as golf--you should try golf." "I have tried it, and I don't like it." "Beginners seldom do. It's a fine game, for all that. You live with your aunt, don't you?" "Yes, in Victoria Square." "Do you like Beachbourne?" She hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes." "I suppose it's like all these provincial towns--heaps of gossip and scandal, eh? But you should be in London now, Mrs. Burnside. There hasn't been as gay a season for years. I shouldn't be here now, I can tell you, but I got a touch of fever last time I was at Johannesburg, and, as I can't quite shake it off, my doctor ordered me complete rest for a fortnight. So I came down here to stay with the Stevensons. I met them last year at Homburg, and ever since they've been pestering me with invitations to Beachbourne." [Illustration: The set was not a success.--_p. 399._] "Oh, have you been out in Africa?" returned May, thinking it best to ignore his flattering reference to his entertainers. "Spent nearly twenty years there. I can remember when there wasn't a gold mine on the Randt. And, though I've come back to England for good now, I generally run over about twice a year. It's just a nice little trip to the Cape, and they really do you very well on the mail steamers," he condescendingly added, as he lighted another cigarette. "By-the-bye, this case is made of African gold--a nugget I found myself in the claim which was the beginning of the Springkloof Mine. You've heard of the Springkloof, of course?" She shook her head, and he looked at her with evident pity for her ignorance. "I didn't think there was anybody nowadays who hadn't heard of the Springkloof!"