"I mean I have not noticed whether his face is handsome, Hugh."

"Better take a look then. He's particularly good-looking with that piece
of beefsteak in his check."

Grace glanced slyly at the man across the table, noting his pale cheeks
and the dark rings beneath his eyes. Hugh had misrepresented the facts;
he was not eating at all. Instead, he was merely toying with his fork,
making uncertain circles in the layer of brown, gravy which covered the
plate, his cheek resting on the other hand, a faraway look of distress
in his eyes. They were directed at the plate, but saw it not.

"Poor fellow," she murmured compassionately; "he's been awfully sick,
hasn't he?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Hugh heartlessly. "They don't go to eating in a
day's time if they have been very sick."

A bright look flashed into her eyes and they danced with merriment as
she whispered something in his ear.

"By George, maybe you're right. He's a detective and chasing us to
earth."

The stranger looked at them in a half interested manner when they
laughed aloud over the harrowing supposition. They noticed that his eyes
were blue and bloodshot, wan and fatigued. He gave Grace a second
glance, sharper than the first, and politely resumed his manufacture of
circles in the brown gravy and brown study. Miss Vernon