As he drove rapidly into town Gaston’s thoughts were anything but pleasant. Not that he was thinking about Kitty, for he regarded the scene he had with her as merely an outburst of hysterical passion, and did not dream she would take any serious step. He forgot all about her when he left the house, and, lying back in the cab smoking one of his everlasting cigarettes, pondered about his position. The fact was he was very hard up for money, and did not know where to turn for more. His luck at cards was so great that even the Bachelors, used as they were to losing large sums, began to murmur among themselves that M. Vandeloup was too clever, and as that young gentleman by no means desired to lose his popularity he stopped playing cards altogether, and so effectually silenced everyone. So this mode of making money was gone, and until Madame Midas arrived in town Vandeloup did not see how he was going to keep on living in his former style. But as he never denied himself anything while he had the money, he ordered the cabman to drive to Paton’s, the florist in Swanston Street, and there purchased a dainty bunch of flowers for his button hole. From thence he drove to his club, and there found a number of young fellows, including Mr Barty Jarper, all going to the Princess Theatre to see ‘The Mikado’. Barty rushed forward when Vandeloup appeared and noisily insisted he should come with them. The men had been dining, and were exhilarated with wine, so Vandeloup, not caring to appear at the theatre with such a noisy lot, excused himself. Barty and his friends, therefore, went off by themselves, and left Vandeloup alone. He picked up the evening paper and glanced over it with a yawn, when a name caught his eye which he had frequently noticed before.

‘I say,’ he said to a tall, fair young fellow who had just entered, ‘who is this Meddlechip the paper is full of?’

‘Don’t you know?’ said the other, in surprise; ‘he’s one of our richest men, and very generous with his money.’

‘Oh, I see! buys popularity,’ replied Vandeloup, coolly; ‘how is it I’ve never met him?’

‘He’s been to China or Chile — or — something commencing with a C,’ returned the young man, vaguely; ‘he only came back to Melbourne last week; you are sure to meet him sooner or later.’

‘Thanks, I’m not very anxious,’ replied Vandeloup, with a yawn; ‘money in my eyes does not compensate for being bored; where are you going to-night?’

‘“Mikado”,’ answered the other, whose name was Bellthorp; ‘Jarper asked me to go up there; he’s got a box.’

‘How does he manage to pay for all these things?’ asked Vandeloup, rising; ‘he’s only in a bank, and does not get much money.’

‘My dear fellow,’ said Bellthorp, putting his arm in that of Vandeloup’s, ‘wherever he gets it, he always has it, so as long as he pays his way it’s none of our business; come and have a drink.’

Vandeloup assented with a laugh, and they went to the bar.

‘I’ve got a cab at the door,’ he said to Bellthorp, after they had finished their drinks, and were going downstairs; ‘come with me, and I’ll go up to the Princess also; Jarper asked me and I refused, but men as well as women are entitled to change their minds.’

They got into the cab and drove up Collins Street to the Princess Theatre. After dismissing the cab, they went up stairs and found the first act was just over, and the bar was filled with a crowd of gentlemen, among whom Barty and his friends were conspicuous. On the one side the doors opened on to the wide stone balcony, where a number of ladies were seated, and on the other balcony a lot of men were smoking. Leaving Bellthorp with Jarper, Vandeloup ordered a brandy and soda and went out on the balcony to smoke.

The bell rang to indicate the curtain was going to rise on the second act, and the bar and balconies gradually emptied themselves into the theatre. M. Vandeloup, however, still sat smoking, and occasionally drinking his brandy and soda, while he thought over his difficulties, and wondered how he could get out of them. It was a wonderfully hot night, and not even the dark blue of the moonless sky, studded with stars, could give any sensation of coolness. Round the balcony were several windows belonging to the dressing-rooms of the theatre, and the lights within shone through the vivid red of the blinds with which they were covered. The door leading into the bar was wide open, and within everything seemed hot, even under the cool, white glare of the electric lights, which shone in large oval-shaped globes hanging from the brass supports in clusters like those grapes known as ladies’ fingers. In front stretched the high balustrade of the balcony, and as Vandeloup leaned back in his chair he could see the white blaze of the electric lights rising above this, and then the luminous darkness of the summer’s night. Beyond a cluster of trees, with a path, lit by gas lamps, going through it, the lights of which shone like dull yellow stars. On the right arose the great block of Parliament-buildings, with the confused mass of the scaffolding, standing up black and dense against the sky. A pleasant murmur arose from the crowded pavement below, and through the incessant rattle of cabs and sharp, clear cries of the street boys, Gaston could hear the shrill tones of a violin playing the dreamy melody of the ‘One Summer’s Night in Munich’ valse, about which all Melbourne was then raving.

He was so occupied with his own thoughts that he did not notice two gentlemen who came in from the bar, and taking seats a little distant from him, ordered drinks from the waiter who came to attend to them. They were both in evening dress, and had apparently left the opera in order to talk business, for they kept conversing eagerly, and their voices striking on Vandeloup’s ear he glanced round at them and then relapsed into his former inattentive position. Now, however, though apparently absorbed in his own thoughts, he was listening to every word they said, for he had caught the name of The Magpie Reef, a quartz mine, which had lately been floated on the market, the shares of which had run up to a pound, and then, as bad reports were circulated about it, dropped suddenly to four shillings. Vandeloup recognised one as Barraclough, a well-known stockbroker, but the other was a dark, wiry-looking man of medium height, whom he had never seen before.

‘I tell you it’s a good thing,’ said Barraclough, vehemently laying his hand on the table; ‘Tollerby is the manager, and knows everything about it.’

‘Gad, he ought to,’ retorted the other with a laugh, ‘if he’s the manager; but I don’t believe in it, dear boy, I never did; it started with a big splash, and was going to be a second Long Tunnel according to the prospectus; now the shares are only four shillings — pshaw!’

‘Yes, but you forget the shares ran up to a pound,’ replied Barraclough, quickly; ‘and now they are so cheap we can snap them up all over the market, and then —’

‘Well?’ asked the other, with interest.

‘They will run up, old fellow — see?’ and the Broker rubbed his hands gleefully.

‘How are you going to get up a “Boom” on them?’ asked the wiry man, sceptically; ‘the public won’t buy blindly, they must see something.’

‘And so they shall,’ said Barraclough, eagerly; ‘Tollerby is sending down some of the stone.’

‘From the Magpie Reef?’ asked the other, suspiciously.

‘Of cou............