Under the peristyle, and near a fountain whence water sprang from the conch of a Triton to fall into a shallow marble basin with prismatic hues, were several copper-topped tables. Near them, basket chairs draped with brightly-hued rugs, were scattered in picturesque disorder. One of them was occupied by a long, slim man of thirty. With a cigarette between his lips and a cup of coffee at his elbow, he stared straight in front of him, but looked up swiftly when he heard Maunders' springy steps. "Here you are at last!" he remarked somewhat coolly, and glanced at his watch. "Why didn't you turn up to dinner as arranged? It's close on nine o'clock." "Couldn't get away from my aunt," replied Maunders, slipping leisurely into an adjacent chair. "She seemed to have the blues about something, and wouldn't let me go. Never was there so affectionate an aunt as Mrs. Bedge, and never one so tryingly attentive." "Considering that she has brought you up in the past, supplies you with money at present, and intends to make you her heir in the future, you might talk more kindly of her." Maunders shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, the Eton-Oxford education was all right; she did well by me there. But I don't get much money from her now, and judging from that, I may be heir to very little." "You ought to be glad that you are an heir to anything," said Vernon frowning, for his friend's light tones jarred. "Why?" asked the other. "My parents are dead long since. Aunt Emily is my only relative, and has neither chick nor child. If she didn't intend to leave me her money she should not have brought me up to luxury and idleness." "It would certainly be better if she had made you work," assented the host contemptuously; "but you were always lazy and extravagant." "I was born sitting down; I am a lily of the field and a rose of Sharon." "Likewise an ass." "You think so?" said Maunders drily. "Well, I hope to change your opinion on that point before we part." "It will take a deal of changing. But all this talk is beside the purpose of our meeting. You made this appointment with me, and----" "Didn't keep it to the minute. I'm nearly two hours late. Well, what does it matter?" "Everything to me. I am a busy man," snapped the other sharply. "So you say." Maunders looked very directly at his host. "Some fellows don't think so. Your business----" Vernon interrupted. "I have no business; I am an independent man." "And yet a busy one," rejoined Maunders softly; "strange." There was that significance in his tone which made Vernon colour, although he remained motionless. He certainly was about to make a hasty observation, but his guest looked at him so straightly and smilingly, that he bit his lip and refrained from immediate speech. Maunders, still smiling, took a cigarette from a golden case and lighted up. "You might offer me a cup of coffee." Vernon signalled to a passing attendant. "A cup of coffee for Mr. Maunders."