“Have you any more surprises in store?” “Plenty,” replied Crispin, rising with a yawn; “but this one is quite enough to keep you awake for a night. Oh dear, I am so sleepy!” “Wait a minute. Does Caliphronas know you are a yacht-owner?” “No; I expect he will be surprised and confoundedly jealous.” “Jealous! Why?” “Because he thinks all the good things of this life should go his way. But you have not yet given me your answer.” “Oh, I will come by all means.” “And so will our mutual friend, the Greek. What a happy family we will be! Well, good-night. I wish Eunice was coming in her namesake.” “And Mrs. Dengelton,” said Maurice mischievously, lighting his candle. “No; in my wildest dreams I never wished that. She would want to be captain of the ship. However, I am going to astonish my future mother-in-law to-morrow; so I must take a good night’s rest, and husband my strength for the encounter. Good-night, once more.” “Good-night, Crispin.” They both retired to their respective rooms, and Maurice fell asleep wondering who Crispin was, from what source he derived wealth enough to keep a yacht, and what connection he had with Caliphronas. All these things mixed together in his drowsy brain until the real world faded away, and he dreamed he was at Melnos, trying, like another Paris, to carry off Helena, while Caliphronas, in the guise of Menelaus, prevented such elopement. Next day the brilliant sun had disappeared, and there was a gray veil of clouds drawn across the sky, which neutralized the brilliant tints of the summer’s luxuriance of foliage and flowers. Caliphronas, ever impressionable to atmospheric changes, shivered at the dreary look which now spread over the earth, and it needed all his animal spirits to sustain his normal condition of careless joy. Even then he lacked his ordinary exuberance of life, and it appeared as if a great portion of his vitality disappeared with the sun. “St. Theodore!” he said to Mrs. Dengelton, as they looked out of the window at the gray landscape; “do you often have this weather here?” “No, not often,” she replied, in a tone of regret; “I wish we did.” “What! this dulness, this melancholy, this want of color!” “Why, my dear Count, it is a most beautiful day!” cried the lady, with great vivacity; “what have you to complain of?” “Complain of?” The Greek’s face was a study as he repeated her words, and he stared at her in surprise. “Why, I complain of this want of sunlight; it is not like yesterday, which was passable.” “Passable!” echoed Mrs. Dengelton, surprised in her turn. “Why, Count, since you have come to Roylands, the weather has been simply perfection. How long have you been in England?” “Two months.” “Then you must have had this lovely weather all along. You are an exceptionally lucky man, Count Constantine, for you have seen England at her best.” “Why, have you worse days than this?” asked Caliphronas, with a shudder.