"Then bring him with you to-morrow. You can plan together whatever it is you have to plan at Monte. Besides, I want to see him."
"John is a busy man," protested Matheson. "I don't think he can leave his laboratory."
"Give him my invitation, and make it a pressing one," pursued Olive, careless of anything but her own whim. "Tell him—tell him I particularly want him to explain his experiments to me himself."
At this moment the little horn of departure sounded its quaint note from the end of the platform, and a porter hurried to lock the door of the wagon-lit.
"Have you everything you want for the journey?" asked Matheson.
"I have everything I want," replied his wife coldly. "My father has seen to that.... Good-bye."
She did not offer to kiss him, and he for his part drew back into a shell of reserve. Many thoughts were buzzing through his mind as they exchanged the commonplaces of a railway station good-bye from either side of a compartment window.
Olive's last words were: "Remember, I'm expecting you to bring your brother with you to-morrow."
A very tired look was in Matheson's eyes, and a weary droop on his shoulders, as the train pulled out and he was left alone on the platform.
Two Frenchmen whispered to one another about him. "The milord Matheson, see you! The very rich milord Matheson."