However, after she had purchased a dozen or more articles she did not want, Madge remembered that Brian was waiting for her, and hurried to the door.

“I haven’t been many minutes, have I, dear?” she said, touching him lightly on the arm.

“Oh, dear no,” answered Brian, looking at his watch, “only thirty—­a mere nothing, considering a new dress was being discussed.”

“I thought I had been longer,” said Madge, her brow clearing; “but still I am sure you feel a martyr.”

“Not at all,” replied Fitzgerald, handing her into the carriage; “I enjoyed myself very much.”

“Nonsense,” she laughed, opening her sunshade, while Brian took his seat beside her; “that’s one of those social stories—­which every one considers themselves bound to tell from a sense of duty.  I’m afraid I did keep you waiting—­though, after all,” she went on, with a true feminine idea as to the flight of time, “I was only a few minutes.”

“And the rest,” said Brian, quizzically looking at her pretty face, so charmingly flushed under her great white hat.

Madge disdained to notice this interruption.

“James,” she cried to the coachman, “drive to the Melbourne Club.  Papa will be there, you know,” she said to Brian, “and we’ll take him off to have tea with us.”

“But it’s only one o’clock,” said Brian, as the Town Hall clock came in sight.  “Mrs. Sampson won’t be ready.”

“Oh, anything will do,” replied Madge, “a cup of tea and some thin bread and butter isn’t hard to prepare.  I don’t feel like lunch, and papa eats so little in the middle of the day, and you—­”

“Eat a great deal at all times,” finished Brian with a laugh.

Madge went on chattering in her usual lively manner, and Brian listened to her with delight.  Her pleasant talk drove away the evil spirit which had been with him for the last three weeks.  Suddenly Madge made an observation as they were passing the Burke and Wills’ monument, which startled him.

“Isn’t that the place where Mr Whyte got into the cab?” she asked, looking at the corner near the Scotch Church, where a vagrant of musical tendencies was playing “Just before the Battle, Mother,” on a battered old concertina.

“So the papers say,” answered Brian, listlessly, without turning his head.

“I wonder who the gentleman in the light coat could have been,” said Madge, as she settled herself again.

“No one seems to know,” he replied evasively.

“Ah, but they have a clue,” she said.  “Do you know, Brian,” she went on, “that he was dressed just like you in a light overcoat and soft hat?”

“How remarkable,” said Fitzgerald, speaking in a slightly sarcastic tone, and as calmly as he was able.  “He was dressed in the same manner as nine out of every ten young fellows in Melbourne.”

Madge looked at him in surprise at the tone in which he spoke, so different from his usual nonchalant way of speaking.  She was about to answer when the carriage stopped at the door of the Melbourne Club.  Brian, anxious to escape any more remarks about the murder, sprang quickly out, and ran up the steps into the building.  He found Mr. Frettlby smoking complacently, and reading the age.  As Fitzgerald entered he looked up, and putting down the paper, held out his hand, which the other took.