"Well, the fact is Calton--" Here Brian stopped suddenly, and bit his lip with vexation, for he had not intended to mention the lawyer's name. "Yes?" said Mr. Frettlby, interrogatively, sitting up quickly, and looking keenly at Brian. "Wants to see me on business," he finished, awkwardly. "Connected with the sale of your station, I suppose," said Frettlby, still keeping his eyes on the young man's face. "Can't have a better man. Calton's an excellent man of business." "A little too excellent," replied Fitzgerald, ruefully, "he's a man who can't leave well alone." "A PROPOS of what?" "Oh, nothing," answered Fitzgerald, hastily, and just then his eyes met those of Frettlby. The two men looked at one another steadily for a moment, but in that short space of time a single name flashed through their brains--the name of Rosanna Moore. Mr. Frettlby was the first to lower his eyes, and break the spell. "Ah, well," he said, lightly, as he rose from his chair and held out his hand, "if you are two weeks in town, call at St. Kilda, and it's more than likely you will find us there." Brian shook hands in silence, and watched him pick up his hat, and move on to the verandah, and then out into the hot sunshine. "He knows," he muttered involuntarily. "Knows what, sir?" said Madge, who came silently behind him, and slipped her arm through his. "That you are hungry, and want something to eat before you leave us?" "I don't feel hungry," said Brian, as they walked towards the door. "Nonsense," answered Madge, merrily, who, like Eve, was on hospitable thoughts intent. "I'm not going to have you appear in Melbourne a pale, fond lover, as though I were treating you badly. Come, sir--no," she continued, putting up her hand as he tried to kiss her, "business first, pleasure afterwards," and they went into the dining-room laughing. Mark Frettlby wandered down to the lawn-tennis ground, thinking of the look he had seen in Brian's eyes. He shivered for a moment in the hot sunshine, as though it had grown suddenly chill. "Someone stepping across my grave," he murmured to himself, with a cynical smile. "Bah! how superstitious I am, and yet--he knows, he knows!" "Come on, sir," cried Felix, who had just caught sight of him, "a racket awaits you." Frettlby awoke with a start, and found himself near the lawn-tennis ground, and Felix at his elbow, smoking a cigarette. He roused himself with a great effort, and tapped the young man lightly on the shoulder. "What?" he said with a forced laugh, "do you really expect me to play lawn tennis on such a day? You are mad." "I am hot, you mean," retorted the imperturbable Rolleston, blowing a wreath of smoke. "That's a foregone conclusion," said Dr. Chinston, who came up at that moment. "Such a charming novel," cried Julia, who had just caught the last remark. "What is?" asked Peterson, rather puzzled. "Howell's book, 'A Foregone Conclusion,'" said Julia, also looking puzzled. "Weren't you talking about it?"