"They seemed very happy," says Leslie.
"Who?" he asks, almost sharply. "Oh, those people? Yes; Mr. Lisle ought to get a good sketch somewhere hereabouts," and he leads her back to the duke and Mr. Lisle.
The duke looks up. Grey has made a "back" for him with the cushions and the hampers, and he's smoking in most unwonted contentment.
"Back already!" he says. "I thought you had gone to prospect?"
"So we had," responds Yorke, "but we were alarmed by savages from a neighboring island." He lights a cigar as he speaks. "We are going to give them time to get away in their canoes, as Robinson Crusoe did, you know. By the way, Miss Lisle, if you will sit down, I will reconnoiter and report."
Leslie sinks down beside her father, and Yorke strolls leisurely to the steps leading from the tower.
He pauses there a moment or two, listening, then goes down. At the foot of the steps on the grassy slope he stops again, and the cloud comes on his face darker than before.
"It must be a mistake," he mutters. "It couldn't be she, and yet——."
He walks on a few paces, and at the foot of the tower comes upon traces of the "savages"—a champagne bottle, empty, of course, and a newspaper.
He takes the latter up mechanically, then unfolds it and turns to the column of theatrical advertisements, and sees the following: