I ought to have gone long ago. There's a hundred pounds too much. . . ” “It astonishes me that I don’t,” said Manning, in a tone of intense selfenjoyment. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. She explained she was expecting an important interview, and asked that her visitor should be duly shown in. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others.
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