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When he turned he went out over, the sea, but it seems this was not because he was afraid of falling, but because he wanted to get a nearer view of a steam yacht riding off Granville. He came down on the shingle and smashed the thing badly, but he was busy studying the wreck when they came up to him. It never occurred to Carville to cross himself.

Carville omits is the emergence of the new England, an England he doesn't like, an England we shall probably find hard to assimilate and which may quite conceivably drive us to do what Mr. Carville has sagely done already come back here and stop for good!" So we talked!

"Where was she, all the time, Mr. Carville?" asked Bill. He laughed and stepped down from the porch. "I will tell you this afternoon," he said, and reached the sidewalk as Miss Fraenkel crossed the street. He lifted his hat absently and passed on, and she, pausing for a moment, gave him one of those swift and searching glances with which her countrywomen are wont to appraise us.

Anyhow, negotiations hung fire, for Carville has D'Aubigné quite under his influence, and nothing could be done with the aeroplane or the patents until these two came in somehow. The rival newspapers go it blind, and sling all sorts of journalistic mud about. I won't bore you with it in a Xmas letter. What I was going to say was about Carville himself.

Carville without extracting from him his age, his income, his position, the names of his employers, his ship, his tailor or his God. Nothing of all this I knew, so ineptly had I managed my chances to obtain it. And yet I felt that, even if I did not possess any concrete morsel of exciting news, I had discovered not only that he had a story, but that he was willing to tell it.

As Bill often says, we can make anything in the world except money. Curiously enough, it seems to me now, we forgot Mr. Carville. Perhaps that too helps to describe him, for he gave me the impression of being so utterly complete in himself, so very independent of the trivial human weaknesses and needs on which Christmas essentially depends, that a present to him was out of the question.

It was about twenty minutes to twelve then, and in the buzz of conversation and a couple of games of cards Carville forgot his bet for a moment. Suddenly he saw that the fellow was gone. He rushed to the door and found it locked. Of course we all saw the game, and believed that Carville would laugh and admit himself out-manoeuvred. Not a bit of it.

"I thought a lot of it once; called it Dreams on a Sea-Weed Bed, and got a funny faced little girl in Nagasaki to type it for me. But one voyage, when I'd been reading a book called New Grub Street, I got sick of the whole thing and dumped it in the Java Sea, half way between Sourabaja and Singapore." "I can't approve of that, Mr. Carville," I said, standing up and confronting him.

D'Aubigné was perplexed. 'This won't carry two, he argued. 'No, said Carville, 'I'm going to try it by myself. Set it away. I have told you how domineering he is. D'Aubigné started the engine, and, so he says, crossed himself. Carville was off, and in another minute he was heading for St. Malo. D'Aubigné says some of his volplanes were agonizing to watch.

Mac made allusion, tapping his forehead the while, to the strain of Christmas work. And they shook their heads. "Well, go on," humoured Bill, rising to bring in the coffee. "What's this wonderful something you've discovered?" "I have reason to believe," I said, without looking up from my plate, "that Mrs. Carville had a visitor last night." "No!" they ejaculated in unison. I nodded.