It was relief when the dressing-bell for dinner allowed him to escape to his cabin.

There was quite a large gathering for dinner. Places like Genoa contain a number of highly interesting personages if the visitor discovers them.

The British race produces a richer variety of human flotsam and jetsam than any other. These derelicts come to anchor in out-of-the-way parts of the earth. They seem to have been everywhere and have done everything, while the whole world is an open book to them.

Thus there was no lack of variety in the conversation, and, as usual in such a.s.semblies, it dealt more with persons than with incidents.

Phyllis had arranged the guests, so it may be taken for granted that her lover was near her--in fact, he sat exactly opposite. The lady he took in to dinner was the wife of an English doctor, and the British consul at the port was Miss Browne's table companion.

The consul was a chatty man, who kept himself well informed concerning society events.

"By the way," he said to Phyllis, "did you ever meet Lady d.y.k.e?"

"No, her name is not familiar to me."

"Do you mean the wife of Sir Charles d.y.k.e?" said Mensmore; and the sudden interest he evinced caused Phyllis to glance at him wonderingly.

"Yes, that is she."

"I know Sir Charles well. What is there new about his wife?"

"She is dead."

"Good Heavens! Dead! When, and how?"

Mensmore was so obviously agitated that others present noticed it, and Phyllis marvelled much that in all their confidence the name of d.y.k.e had never escaped his lips.

The consul, too, was a little nonplussed by the sensation caused by his words.

"I fear," he said, "that I have blurted out the fact rather unguardedly.

The d.y.k.es are friends of yours?"

"No, no, not in that sense. Sir Charles I have known for many years. But are you sure his wife is dead?"

"My authority is an announcement in the _Times_ to hand by to-day's post. I should not have mentioned it were not her ladyship so well known in society, and the affair is peculiar, to say the least."

"Peculiar--how?"

In his all-absorbing interest in the consul's statement, Mensmore paid no heed to the curious looks directed at him; he had become very pale, and was more excited in manner than the circ.u.mstances appeared to warrant.

"In this sense: The paper is the issue of January 28, yet the notice says that Lady d.y.k.e died on November 6. This is odd, is it not? A woman of her position could hardly have quitted life so quietly that no one would trouble to publish the fact until nearly three months after the event."

"It is extraordinary--inexplicable!"

"Did you know Lady d.y.k.e personally, Bertie?" put in Phyllis timorously.

The question restored Mensmore to some sense of his surroundings.

"I have never even seen her," he said, trying desperately to be commonplace; "but her husband is an old schoolfellow of mine, and I have heard much of both of them since their marriage. I am quite shocked by the news."

"I can only repeat my regret for having spoken of it so carelessly,"

said the polite consul.

"Oh, I am glad to know of it since it has happened. Poor Lady d.y.k.e! How strange that she should die!"

Phyllis had the tact to change the conversation, and Mensmore gradually recovered his self-possession. A woman's eyes are keener than a man often gives her credit for; and Phyllis saw quite plainly that after the first effect of the news had pa.s.sed it, in some indefinable way, seemed to have a good effect on her lover. But if a woman's intuition is seldom at fault her reasoning faculties are narrow.

Trying to arrive at a solution of the mystery attending Mensmore's behavior, Phyllis suddenly became hot all over.

She felt furiously and inordinately jealous of a woman she did not know, and who was admittedly dead before Mensmore and she herself had met.

Hence her nose went high in the air when Bertie claimed her for the first dance.

"Who is this Lady d.y.k.e in whom you are so deeply interested?" she said, drawing him beneath a sheltering awning.

"As I said," replied Mensmore, "she is the wife of an old acquaintance of mine."

"But you must have been very fond of her to feel so keenly when you heard of her death?"

"Fond of her! I have never, to my knowledge, laid eyes on her."

"Oh!" And the tone was somewhat mollified. "Then why did you look so worried during dinner?"

"Simply because I know Sir Charles."

"What a dear, sympathetic little boy you are! When I die, Bertie, I suppose you will drop down stiff from grief at once."

"Don't talk nonsense. We are missing all this delightful music."

And they whirled away down the snowy deck, forgetful of all things save one, that they were in love.

Now, what a pity it was that Bruce was not on board the _White Heather_ that night. Many complications, and not a little misery, would have been avoided thereby.

CHAPTER XIX

WHERE MRS. HILLMER WENT

Sir Charles d.y.k.e, in sending off the hurried announcement of his wife's death, forgot the "society" papers.

Such a promising topic did not come in their way every week, and they made the most of it. Where did Lady d.y.k.e die? Under what circ.u.mstances did she die? They rolled the morsel under their tongue in every conceivable manner.

Details were not forthcoming.

"Our representative called at Wensley House, Portman Square, but was informed that Sir Charles was in Yorkshire." Inquiry by a local reporter from Sir Charles in person elicited no information. "Lady d.y.k.e is dead,"

wrote this enterprising journalist; "of that there can be no manner of doubt, but her husband states that for family reasons he is unable to supply the public with the precise facts concerning his wife's demise."