This coup has failed. But don't flatter yourself
for a moment it will be the last one."
"Why do you insult me by telling me all this?" Sir Charles cried,
writhing.
The Colonel waved his hand. It was small and white. "Because I _love_
the game," he answered, with a relish; "and also, because the more
prepared you are beforehand, the greater credit and amusement is
there in besting you. Well, now, ta-ta once more! I am wasting
valuable time. I might be cheating somebody. I must be off at
once.... Take care of yourself, Wentworth. But I know you _will_.
You always do. Ten per cent _is_ more usual!"
He rowed away and left us. As the boat began to disappear round the
corner of the island, White Heather--so she looked--stood up in the
stern and shouted aloud through her pretty hands to us. "By-bye,
dear Sir Charles!" she cried. "Do wrap the rug around you! I'll
send the men to fetch you as soon as ever I possibly can. And thank
you so much for those lovely flowers!"
The boat rounded the crags. We were alone on the island. Charles
flung himself on the bare rock in a wild access of despondency.
He is accustomed to luxury, and cannot get on without his padded
cushions. As for myself, I climbed with some difficulty to the top
of the cliff, landward, and tried to make signals of distress with
my handkerchief to some passer-by on the mainland.
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