"What's that?" asked the buccaneer sharply.
"He's not in his room," rejoined Miss Pewsey in a low voice, "he pretends illness, to carry out his plan to get the fan."
"How do you know that?"
"Because Tung-yu is in the hotel. The Major will try and get the fan to sell it to him."
"In that case he would have come to the ball and have seen Miss Wharf to get it from her."
"No. He has some other plan. What it is I don't know. But I wish you would look round for him, Clarence, and watch him."
"Bah! It's all stuff." Burgh turned to look at the sea and the pier and the luminous night. "I'm getting sick of this business," he went on discontentedly, "and but for the chance of gaining Olivia, I would bunk out on the long trail. There's a barky out there," he continued pointing to the right of the pier, "yonder--the one with the green light. I saw her anchor early in the afternoon--a kind of gentleman's yacht I fancy. She'd just do for me. I'd like to take a boat and pull out to her, and then get up steam for the South Seas. There's a clear path leads there, down channel," and he stared at the flickering green light which winked amongst many red ones.
"You'll never get Olivia," said Miss Pewsey, in a sharp tense voice, "and you can go away as soon as you like. Meantime, look for Major Tidman and tell him I want him."
Clarence lazily stretched himself, and moved off along the balcony. At the end there was a flight of shallow steps leading down to an iron gate which was open. Thence one could pass to the Esplanade and the beach, if so inclined. But the guests kept to the populous end of the balcony where the lights clustered. Near the stairs, there were hardly any lamps, and a screen of flowers curtained it off from the rest of the hotel. Clarence passed through this floral arch, and Miss Pewsey lost sight of him. Her eyes turned to the couple she hated, and she carelessly moved near them. No one noted her as the balcony was not so full, and she sat down behind a fern where she could hear without being seen by the two, she was spying on. Their voices were low, but hate sharpened Miss Pewsey's ears, and she listened intently.
"My aunt is much more amiable to-night," Olivia was saying, "I suppose the chance of making five thousand pounds has appealed to her."