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an Edwardian world where twenty-five francs went to the pound and the map of Europe was what it had been in Queen Victoria’s days. Doubtless Edward had wasted much valuable time in drawing obsolete frontiers in the sand—a highly appropriate medium.
    He opened his mouth and gaped, taking in the implications slowly. Nineteen hundred and eight—nineteen hundred and eight—the Wrights made their first flight in 1908. She wouldn’t know what an aeroplane was. She wouldn’t know about wireless. The war—wireless—aeroplanes—a hundred and twenty-five francs to the pound—the blessings of Bolshevism—cross-word puzzles—and jazz. He gaped, and recalled her phrase—no, not hers—Edward’s phrase, parroted: “There wouldn’t be any place for me in a modern civilization.”
    He shut his mouth with a jerk, then opened it and said with abrupt irrelevance:
    â€œI’ll go down to the yacht and tell Barclay.”

CHAPTER III
    â€œWell—well— well !” said Barclay. He gave his funny deep chuckle and rolled forward in his chair.
    They were sitting round the table in the saloon, he and Austin and the girl. On the table stood a dispatch-box in a leather cover. The initials M.R. were stamped on the battered lid, which was open. There were letters in the box—letters and papers. In front of Barclay lay a book in a very old binding.
    When Barclay chuckled, Valentine looked at him, and having looked, kept her eyes fixed upon him with the serious, interested gaze of a child. This was the third man that she had seen; and they were so different. Hens were not as different as this. She could tell Semiramis from Jessica, and Jessica from Evangeline; but they were the same size and shape and colour. It had not occurred to her that people would be so different from one another. She knew of course that there were black, brown, yellow, and white races. She had not thought that one white man would be so unlike another; she had thought of men as so many variants of Edward, differing from Edward in the same slight degree that Evangeline and Jessica differed from Semiramis.
    Edward was thin, not much taller than herself, spare of frame, grey-haired, and colourless. Austin Muir was much larger, much redder, with brown hair and rather bright, cold eyes like steel. Barclay—Barclay interested her tremendously; there was such a lot of him, and he was so ugly. There was a picture of a walrus in one of the books that had come from the ship. Barclay was just like the walrus, only fatter, and he had black hair and his chin and half his cheeks looked blue, and the top half of his cheeks were red, and when he laughed, the red and the blue seemed to get mixed up and a purple colour ran right up on to his forehead as far as the roots of his sleek black hair.
    He laughed now, with that chuckle in his laughter.
    â€œWell,” he said. “Well. Here we are, my dear! And what do you think of us? Good-looking couple, aren’t we, Austin and I? Handsome young fellows—eh, Miss Robinson Crusoe? Don’t you think you’re in luck? Come now, my dear, what do you think of us—eh?”
    She continued to gaze at him seriously. She was aware of Austin chafing on her right.
    He said, “Hang it all, Barclay!” and Barclay laughed again.
    â€œBy gum, it’s romantic! Tell you what, Austin, I don’t mind doubling your salary on the strength of it! There, my dear—you’ve done him a good turn already! What’s the betting you’ll bring him luck? Now look here! Perhaps you don’t know what a romantic occasion this is—in fact you don’t—you can’t! I’m the only one that knows. So you sit right up and take notice of me!”
    He opened the worn leather book in front of him and began to flick over the pages. They were covered with fine brown writing, close, cramped, and illegible.
    â€œNow, my dear—this