” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored. His hands came up, his face broke apart. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. Tell me about your island.
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