One Maid's Mischief. George Manville Fenn

it ought, that danger might arise from her flirtations.”

      “Danger! Why I shall lose thousands!” cried Perowne. “The fellow will never forgive me, and throw endless obstacles in my way with his people.”

      “Helen refused him, of course?” said the Resident.

      “Of course—of course,” said the merchant, pettishly.

      “I blame myself deeply for not being more observant,” said the Resident. “Others have seen what I failed to see, and it was always so. Lookers-on see most of the game; but I am awake to the danger now.”

      “Danger? danger?” said Perowne, looking up now in a startled way. “Do you think there is danger? I hope not; but we ought to be prepared. What do you think it will be best to do?”

      “See Hilton, and tell him to double all guards; fill your revolver with cartridges; and be always on the alert. We must make no show of begin in danger, but go on as usual, while reinforcements are quietly sent for from Singapore.”

      “Do—do you think it will be as bad as that?”

      “Worse, for aught I know,” said the Resident, bitterly. “That fellow, with all his smoothness and French polish, may turn out, now he is thwarted, a perfect demon. Perowne, we have contrived to make him our bitterest foe.”

      “But—but it couldn’t be helped, Harley,” said Perowne, in an apologetic tone. “Helen could not—”

      “Suppose you leave Miss Perowne’s name out of the question, Mr. Perowne,” said the Resident, sternly. “I’ll go on and see Hilton now, and we must do the best we can.”