"No don't go yet, you can't sleep here if you go to bed early." "Oh, that is your experience," said Miss Sheldon, as a bell from a distant campanile, showing white and slender against the sky, sounded the hour of nine o'clock. "Well, I'll stay for a few minutes longer, though I'm afraid Mrs. Trubbles will be dreadfully shocked." They leaned over the iron balustrade of the terrace, and watched in charmed silence the dark waters rising and falling in the chill moonlight. The valse still sounded silvery in the distance, with its sad tone of regret and hopeless despair, and after a time Victoria began to hum the melancholy refrain in a low voice: "My heart is dead, And pleasure hath fled, But the rose you gave me blooms fresh and red." "What nonsense," she said contemptuously, breaking off suddenly. "I daresay the rose was quite withered, only his imagination saw it was blooming." "Like his love for the girl." "A bad shot, Mr. Macjean. How could it be so? His heart was dead, his pleasure fled, so under these discouraging circumstances the rose must certainly have been dead also." "You said Gartney was cynical," said Angus slowly, "what about yourself?" "What about myself," she repeated with a sigh, turning round and leaning lightly against the balustrade. "I'm sure I don't know. I've never thought about the subject. Very likely it's not worth thinking about." "Believe me," began the young man earnestly, "you are----" "Everything that's charming," interrupted Victoria, crossing her hands. "Do spare me any compliments, Mr. Macjean, I'm so tired of them. I wonder if you men think we women believe all the lies you tell us." "But they're not lies." "Not, perhaps, for the moment, but afterwards." "Don't trouble about afterwards, the present is good enough for us." He was getting on dangerous ground, for his voice was soft, and his young eyes flashed brightly on her face, so as Victoria had only known him twenty-four hours, even with her reckless daring of coquetry this was going too far, and with the utmost dexterity she changed the subject. "By the way," she said lightly, "do you know I'm a relation of yours?" "Impossible." "Well, perhaps it is. Still you can judge for yourself. My mother's maiden name was Macjean." "The dev--ahem! I mean good gracious. You must certainly belong to the family somehow or other. I dare say--yes--I am sure you must be my cousin." "Such a strained relationship. In what degree?" "Oh, never mind. Scotch clan relationships are so difficult to unravel. Besides, we're all brothers and sisters by the Adam and Eve theory, according to Gartney. But fancy you being a Macjean. It gives me a kind of claim on you." "As the head of the clan, I suppose. Never! I am a free-born Australian, so hurrah for the Southern Cross and the eight hours system of labour!" "I haven't the least idea of what you're talking about?