  Peter Phipps and his nephew dined together on the last night of the year at a well-chosen table at Giro's restaurant in Monte Carlo. There were long-necked and gold-foiled bottles upon the table and a menu which had commanded the respect of the maÎtre d'hÔtel whose province it was to supply their wants. Nevertheless, neither of the two men had the appearance of being entirely satisfied with life. "Those figures from the Official Receiver," Phipps remarked, as he filled his glass with wine and passed the bottle across the table, "are scarcely what we had a right to expect, eh, Stanley?" "They are simply scandalous," Rees declared gloomily. "One does not speculate with one's own money. I should have thought that any one with the least knowledge of finance would understand that. This man seems to think he has a lien upon our private fortunes." "Not only that," Peter Phipps groaned, "but he's attaching as much as he can get hold of. And to think of that old devil, Skinflint Martin, scenting the trouble and getting off to Buenos Ayres! The best part of half a million he got off with. Pig!—Stanley, this may be our last season at Monte Carlo. We shall have to draw in. Every year it gets more difficult to make money." "One month more of the British and Imperial," Stanley Rees sighed, "and we should both have been millionaires." "And as it is," his uncle groaned, "I am beginning to get a little nervous about our hotel bill." * * * * * With a benedictory wave of his hand, an all-welcoming smile, and a backward progress which suggested distinction bordering upon royalty, the chief maÎtre d'hÔtel ushered his distinguished patrons to the table which had been reserved for them. Josephine looked across the little sea of her favourite blue gentians and smiled at her husband. "You remember always," she murmured. Wingate, who was standing up until his guests were seated, flashed an answering smile. At his right hand was a French princess, who was Josephine's godmother; at his left Sarah, lately glorified to married estate. An English Cabinet Minister and an American diplomatist, with their wives, and Jimmy, completed the party. No one noticed the two men at the little table near the wall. "You are a magician," the Princess whispered to Wingate. "Never could I have believed that my dear Josephine would become young again. They speak of her already as the most beautiful woman on the Riviera, and with reason. I am proud of my godchild. And they tell me that you," she went on, "have done great things in the world of finance, as well as in the underworld of politics. Those are worlds, alas!" she added with a little sigh, "of which I know nothing." "They are worlds," Wingate replied, "which exist more on paper than anywhere else." "Is it true, Wingate," the Cabinet Minister asked him curiously, "that it was you who broke the British and Imperial Granaries?" "If there is such a thing," Wingate answered with a smile, "as a world of underground politics—the Princess herself coined the phrase—then I think I may claim that what passed between me and the directors of that company is secret history. As a matter of fact, though, I think I was to some extent responsible for smashing that horrible syndicate." "It ought never to have been allowed to flourish," the Minister pronounced. "Its charter was cunningly devised to cheat our laws, and it succeeded. After all, though, it is good to think that the days when such an institution could live for a moment have passed. Labour and the reconstructionists have joined hands in sane legislation. It is my belief that for the next few decades, at any rate, the British Empire and America—for the two move now hand in hand—are entering upon a period of world supremacy." The American diplomatist had something to say. "For that," he declared, "we may be thankful to those responsible for the destruction of militarism. Industrial triumphs were never possible under its shadow. An era of prosperity will also be an era of peace." "For how long, I wonder?" the Princess whispered "Human nature has shown remarkably little change through all the ages. Don't you think that some day soon one person will have what another covets, and the world will rock again to the clash of arms?" "We are all selfish," Josephine murmured. "Life closes in around us, and we are mostly concerned with what may happen in our own time. I think that for as long as we live, peace is assured." "I am sure I hope so," Sarah declared. "I should hate Jimmy to have to go and fight again." "What sort of a husband does he make?" Wingate enquired. "Wonderful!" Sarah acknowledged with emphasis. "He has developed gifts of which I had not the slightest apprehension. Of course, Josephine would scratch me if I ventured upon such a thing as comparison,-so I'll be content with saying that I think we are both very happy women." Josephine laughed gaily. The almost peachlike bloom of girlhood had come back to her cheeks. She wore a rope of pearls, her husband's wedding gift, which had belonged to an Empress, and her white gown was the chef d'oeuvre of a great French artiste's most wonderful season. She looked across the table. How was it, she wondered, with a little glad thrill, that the eyes for which she sought seemed always waiting for hers. "We are very lucky women," she said simply. Phipps bit the end off his cigar a little savagely. He had been casting longing glances towards the table in the centre of the room, with its brilliant company. "So that is the end of my duel with Wingate," he muttered. "I wonder whether it would be worth while." "Whether what would be worth while?" his nephew asked. Phipps made no direct reply. He rose instead to his feet. "I am going back to my room at the hotel for a moment, Stanley, to fetch something," he confided. "Order some more of the Napoleon brandy. I shall perhaps need it when I come back." The young man nodded, and Peter Phipps started on his way to the door. He had to pass the table at which Wingate was presiding, and it chanced that Josephine, looking up, met his eyes. There was a moment's hesitation in her mind. Women are always merciful when happy. Josephine was very happy, and Peter Phipps showed signs in his bearing and in the lines upon his face that he was not the man of six months ago. She smiled very slightly and bowed, a greeting which Phipps returned with a smile which was almost of gratitude. The Cabinet Minister, who had met Phipps and remembered little of his history, followed Josephine's lead; also the American, who had known him in New York. Phipps was holding his head a little higher as he went out. In ten minutes he returned. He carried a small packet in his hand, which he laid down before his nephew. "Try one," he invited. Stanley Rees withdrew one of the long cigars from its paper covering. "Did you go all the way back to the hotel to fetch these?" he asked incredulously. Phipps shook his head. "I went to fetch my revolver," he said. "I meant to shoot Wingate. But did you see her, Stanley? She nodded to me—actually smiled!" "What of it?" the young man asked. "You're a fool," his uncle replied. "Pass the brandy." ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: /1/0/5/7/10575 Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. - You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work. 1.F.3. 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