For his own curiosity he even asked to be presented to the redoubtable Mrs. Van Dieman, and he returned at intervals to that austere conservatory of current gossip and colonial tradition partly because it was policy, socially, partly because, curiously enough, the somewhat transparent charms of Virginia Suydam, whom he usually met there, interested him—­enough to make him remember a provocative glance from her slow eyes—­very slow, deeply lidded eyes, washed with the tint of the sea when it is less blue than green.  And the curious side of it was that Malcourt and Virginia had met before, and he had completely forgotten.  It was difficult to tell whether she had.

He usually remembered women who looked at him like that, tucking them away in his mental list to be investigated later.  He had quite a little list in his mental archives of women, wedded and otherwise, who interested him agreeably or otherwise.  Neither Mrs. Carrick nor Cecile was on that list.  Shiela Cardross was—­and had been for two years.

* * * * *

Hamil, sitting on the terrace beside Mrs. Cardross, became very busy with his note-book as soon as that languid lady resumed her book.

“If you’re going to import wild boar from Germany,” he said to Cardross, “you’ll have to fence in some ten miles square—­a hundred square miles!—­or they’ll take to the Everglades.”

“I’m going to,” returned that gentleman calmly.  “I wish you’d ask McKenna to figure it out.  I’ll supply the cypress of course.”

Hamil leaned forward, a little thrilled with the colossal scheme.  He never could become quite accustomed to the vast scale on which Cardross undertook things.

“That will make a corking preserve,” he said.  “What do you suppose is in there now?”

“Some bears and deer, a few lynx, perhaps one or two panthers.  The boar will hold their own—­if they can stand the summer—­and I’m sure they can.  The alligators, no doubt, will get some of their young when they breed.  I shall start with a hundred couple when you’re ready for them.  What are you going to do this afternoon?”

“Office work,” replied Hamil, rising and looking at his marl-stained puttees and spurs.  Then he straightened up and smiled at Mrs. Cardross, who was gently shaking her head, saying: 

“The young people are at the bathing-beach; I wish you’d take a chair and go down there—­to please me, Mr. Hamil.”

“Come, Hamil,” added Cardross airily, “take a few days off—­on yourself.  You’ve one thing yet to learn:  it’s only the unsuccessful who are too busy to play.”

“But what I’m doing is play,” remonstrated the young man good-humouredly.  “Well—­I’ll go to the beach, then.”  He looked at the steam-jets above the forest, fumbled with his note-book, caught the eye of Mrs. Cardross, put away the book, and took his leave laughingly.

“We go duck-shooting to-morrow,” called out Cardross after him.