"Look there uncle; look there."
Gilbert looked in the desired direction and said, "I see a gentleman."
"Do you not know who it is, uncle? Do you not recognise him?"
"As I live," said Gilbert, "I believe him to be our Australian friend, Basil. But no--I may be deceived."
"It is he, uncle; it is he. Oh, why will he not look this way?"
At that precise moment, Chaytor, who was speaking to a waiter, turned towards Annette, and their eyes met. He rose and walked towards her, with a certain air of irresolution, but with an expression of eager delight in his face.
"Basil!" she cried, advancing to him.
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Chaytor, hugging himself with satisfaction at this unhesitating recognition. It was not only that there were no obstacles to remove, no awkward explanations to make, but it was a tribute to his powers of duplicity, almost the crowning stone in the monument of deception he had erected with so much skill. "Annette!"
"Oh, Basil, Basil!" cried Annette, holding out her hands, which he clasped in his. "How happy I am to see you--how happy, how happy!"
Gilbert Bidaud, who had watched in silence the progress of this comedy, now stepped forward.