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 only person who, to my certain knowledge, possesses it is the most eminently satisfied individual I have ever seen.”

I thought of her father, and then of Arbuthnot, without seeming to find a clue, and I suppose I looked at her perplexedly, for suddenly she laughed outright.

“I think I am at a loss to know to whom you refer,” I remarked a trifle stiffly.

“If there are no mirrors in your bungalow,” said she, “I will give you one for Christmas, Mr. Sands.”

I was downright angry — so angry, indeed, that I felt that if I did not immediately take my leave of her, I should say something rude. I did so, therefore, with a self-restraint which did me credit, and a courtesy which was far from her deserts. I had been absolutely squandering my time. The advice which I had proffered in all kindliness had been practically flung back in my face, and, at the end, I had been made the victim of unjust and capricious