They found a seat under some palms, and Jack ordered coffee. He got on
very well with Mademoiselle as with the rest of the world, and there
seemed small prospect of an early retirement. But at this juncture poor
Chris began to get desperate. She had refused the coffee almost with
vehemence, and was on the point of an almost tearful entreaty to be
allowed to go to bed, when suddenly a quiet voice spoke close to her.

"Excuse me, Forest! I have been trying to catch your eye for the past ten
minutes. May I have the pleasure of an introduction?"

Chris glanced quickly round at the first deliberate syllable, and saw a
tall, grave-faced man of possibly thirty, standing at Jack's elbow.

Jack looked round too, and sprang impulsively to his feet. "You, Trevor!
I thought you were on the other side of the world. My dear chap, why on
earth didn't you speak before? You might have dined with us. Mademoiselle
Gautier, may I present my friend, Mr. Mordaunt?"

Mademoiselle acknowledged the introduction stiffly. She had no liking for
strange men.

But Chris looked at the new-comer with frank interest, forgetful for the
moment of her trouble. His smooth, clean-cut face attracted her. His grey
eyes were the most piercingly direct that she had ever encountered.

"My little cousin, Miss Wyndham," said Jack. "Chris, this is the greatest
newspaper man of the age. Join us, Mordaunt, won't you? I wish you had
come up sooner. Where were you hiding?"

Mordaunt smiled a little as he took a vacant chair by Chris's side. "I