Mrs. Kilpatrick smiled indulgently at her earnestness.

"That's the proper spirit, my child," she said. "I'm sure something will turn up."

Martha gazed out through the trees, for at that moment the lumbering old stage-coach came driving up from the little railroad station at the foot of the hill, with a part of several carloads of visitors who had come on the afternoon train from the North. She was still thinking rather dismally of this sudden change in her future when a bell-boy brought a card to Mrs. Kilpatrick.

"I forgot to tell you, Martha," broke in the latter, glancing at the card. "I was expecting a Mr. Clayton from New York. He is a well-known collector of curios and is coming 'way out here very largely to look at my collection of scarabs. I feel a little tired now. Won't you see him for me, Martha, and show him the collection?"

"Of course, Mrs. Kilpatrick."

"Show Mr. Clayton here, please," she said to the boy, "and ask him to wait." Then, as the boy departed, the invalid turned wearily to Martha: "Take me to my room now, dear, then you can come back with the scarabs."

George Clayton's thirty-three years sat lightly upon his shoulders, though a close observer would have noticed that his clean-shaven face was tanned a trifle more than one would expect, and one might likewise have expressed surprise to find a slight suggestion of gray around the edges of his slightly curly hair. The athletic build of his shoulders and the erect bearing indicated that, while he might not be "the hope of the white race" from a pugilistic standpoint, he was amply able to take care of himself in any emergency.

Clayton's visit to the Springs was two-fold. He needed a rest, for in the course of a law practice which had developed amazingly in the past seven years, he had overworked. The only recreations he had enjoyed had been temporary, the persistent pursuit of a number of fads. Though not wealthy, his unusual success at law had produced an income more than sufficient for his needs, and the surplus had been used from time to time in developing the latter. Just now one of these happened to be Egyptian scarabs, and the well-known collection of Mrs. Kilpatrick having been called to his attention, he had decided to take a vacation and look at them.

"Are you Mr. Clayton?"

A slender, girlish figure, clasping a large leather case, stood before him, and, as he smiled an a.s.sent and bowed, extended her hand in cordial greeting.

"Pardon me--I expected to see Mrs. Kilpatrick," said Clayton.

"I am sorry to say she is not well," said Martha. "I am her companion, Miss Farnum."

Clayton bowed again and murmured something unintelligible.

"Mrs. Kilpatrick asked me to show you the scarabs. Afterwards you can tell her what you think of them."

"I shall be glad to do so. I shall probably envy them."

"Mrs. Kilpatrick tells me you are quite a collector."

"Yes," answered Clayton, slowly. "I have collected almost everything in my time, except money."

"It must be interesting," said Martha navely, sitting in one of the easy rockers and opening the case, while Clayton drew his chair alongside.

"First it was postage stamps," explained Clayton, picking up one of the queer little beetles and examining it intently. "But postage stamps soon proved tiresome. Then came Indian relics, but they lost favor when I took up antique weapons of war. Then I went in for emeralds and jewels, but they proved too expensive. I think I have had twenty fads in the last ten years."

"But your business--hasn't that suffered?" Martha smiled.

"Not a particle. I've had a glorious time, and my clients who knew of my fads thought all the more of me because they fancied I must be a brainy chap to have them." He laughed.

"It must be wonderful to do as one pleases," mused Martha, gazing out among the trees.

Clayton laughed again.

"Even that gets tiresome," he said. "The girl in the candy shop never wants a caramel after the third day. Everything grows tiresome after a while. Now that I've exhausted my list of fads, a horrible future confronts me--thirty-three years of age, enough money to supply my needs, and no new fad on which to waste the surplus. What am I to do?"

"There's always the Salvation Army," laughed Martha.

"Yes, or the Anti-Cigarette Society," he responded lightly.

A porter carrying two large suit-cases, each covered with many foreign labels, crossed the veranda toward the waiting 'bus at the foot of the steps. Another man, evidently a valet, followed with more luggage, and then a tall, distinguished-looking man of uncertain age emerged from the hotel. He gazed curiously at Martha, but his eyes lighted up with recognition when they fell upon Clayton.

"h.e.l.lo, Clayton, what are you doing here?" he inquired loudly.

Clayton looked up with just a shadow of annoyance, but, with the well-bred air of a gentleman, rose and extended his hand.

"How are you, Gordon?" he said easily. "I haven't seen you since the Compton breach of promise case."

Gordon winced at the reminder, but gave utterance to a forced laugh.

"You toasted me to a turn that time," he admitted. "Do you know, Clayton, ever since you had me on the witness stand, I've been wanting to engage you to handle my own business."

"Thank you," replied Clayton, coldly. "But I don't care for your kind of business."

"What do you mean?"

"I prefer the kind where there is never a woman in the case."

Gordon laughed again uneasily.

"I can't help it every time a girl takes me seriously. I offered to settle handsomely then, but like all these women, they think because I'm rich I am an easy mark. Now, if you'll see me in New York--maybe we can come to terms."

"I fancy not," replied Clayton, briefly.

Gordon's eyes, even during this brief conversation, had never left Martha, whose attention was given to her scarabs.

"Deuced pretty girl!" remarked Gordon, quietly, to Clayton. "You might introduce me."

"Are you leaving the hotel?"

"Yes--in a few minutes."

"Then I've no objection. Miss Farnum, may I present Mr. Sanford Gordon, of New York?"

"Charmed to meet you, Miss Farnum," cried Gordon, extending his hand as Martha merely bowed. "Sorry I'm leaving the hotel just when I meet the only interesting person here." Then, aside to Clayton as he bowed to Martha and pa.s.sed out of earshot: "Who is she?"

Clayton coughed ominously.

"She is the companion of a Mrs. Kilpatrick."

Gordon's face showed his disappointment.

"Oh, I say," he murmured. "A paid companion? Anyhow, she's deuced good-looking." He glanced back at Martha, then turned. "See you in New York, Clayton, and don't forget my offer."

"I didn't care to introduce him to you, Miss Farnum," explained Clayton, after Gordon had driven away in the 'bus. "He's not the sort of man I should care to have any girl know well."

"Oh, it's of no consequence," laughed Martha. "I have heard of him. The Sunday papers have printed lots of stories about his little attentions to actresses. He's been with that English actress here most of the time."