them—a strange figure in the sunlight. He gave the impression of heaviness and at the same time of agility. His movements were quick and forceful. He wore a shapeless black overcoat—a hideous enough garment at any time—but there, in the gold light of the southern sun, it seemed to cast a Philistine gloom all about it. He would have passed unnoticed in Wall Street or the City, but on the Riviera in his bowler hat and his dark clothes, Judy thought he insulted the day.
He went straight to Stephen, and the moment he spoke, Judy knew he was an American.
"May I recall myself to your memory, sir?" he inquired, aware that he was not immediately recognized. "I am Whitman Colebridge, whom you last knew out in the Argentine."
"Whitman Colebridge! Of course, of course!" exclaimed Stephen with some geniality. "Well, well! That's more years ago than I like to remember."
"It's a good spell," agreed the other. "But I never forget a face or a name, once I've known them both pretty well. I'm glad of an opportunity of renewing our acquaintance. You were very good to the young man I was then, sir."
"Was I? Was I indeed? That seems to have slipped my memory. But I am delighted to hear
