"I’ve told them to get a nice little dinner for us," he said, looking across at the girl. "Well, now, Miss Marigold," he went on. "First, I’m delighted that you could come and have dinner with me to-night. Now that my house is no longer inhabitable, I live in rooms at Notting Hill Gate. But rooms are not like one’s own home, and especially with your aunt as housekeeper. A more economical woman never lived. She’d save the egg-shells and turn them into money, if she could!" And they both laughed. "Yes; auntie is very saving," replied the girl, whose sole purpose in accepting the unusual invitation was to try and draw her host, and so further the plans set by her lover. "Saving! What I always say is that she’s the most perfect housekeeper anyone ever had. That’s why I want to do something for her." "It’s really very good of you, Mr. Boyne," said the girl, "I know now keenly she has always looked after your interests." "And I appreciate that, Miss Marigold. Now, my idea is to allow her two pounds a week till I get settled again." "Very generous of you, I’m sure," replied Marigold. "With her infirmity, it’s most difficult. Her deafness has increased the last six months, and she could never get another situation now. I’m sure of that." "Then you’ll look after her if she has two pounds a week regularly.—eh?" "Yes. She can come and live with me at Wimbledon," the girl said. "I’m sure auntie will be very grateful," she added. "Only a couple of days ago she told me she was wondering what she would do now that the house is burnt, and she couldn’t live with a neighbour for ever." Boyne was silent for a few seconds. The waiter had placed the little plates of sardines, olives, and sliced beet upon the table, the usual hors d’oeuvres of the foreign restaurant. The girl’s host looked her in the face suddenly, and asked: "Tell me, Miss Marigold, what friends have you?" "Relatives, you mean? Well, practically none who count, except auntie and my sister," she replied, little dreaming that the man had put that question with an ulterior motive—and a very sinister one, too. "And also Mr. Durrant," he laughed. Marigold blushed. "Don’t fear. He’ll soon be back with you, and no doubt explain matters." The girl made no reply. It was her own secret that his absence was due to the inquiries he was making concerning the past career of the plausible and hard-working man who was at that moment her host. The soup was served, a clear _pot-au-feu_, hot, and as the waiter turned away, Boyne drew handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and next moment a number of coins fell upon the floor.