MISS GREX AT HOME Richard Lane, as he made his way up the avenue towards the Villa Mimosa, wondered whether he was not indeed finding his way into fairyland.

On either side of him were drooping mimosa trees, heavy with the snaky, orange-coloured blossom whose perfumes hung heavy upon the windless air.
In the background, bordering the gardens which were themselves a maze of colour, were great clumps of glorious purple rhododendrons, drooping clusters of red and white roses.

A sudden turn revealed a long pergola, smothered in pink blossoms and leading to the edge of the terrace which overhung the sea.

The villa itself, which seemed, indeed, more like a palace, was covered with vivid purple clematis, and from the open door of the winter-garden, which was built out from the front of the place in a great curve, there came, as he drew near, a bewildering breath of exotic odours.

The front-door was wide open, and before he could reach the bell a butler had appeared.
"Is Mr.Grex at home ?" Richard enquired.
"Mr.Grex is not at home, sir," was the immediate reply.
"I should like to see Miss Grex, then," Richard proceeded.
The man's face was curiously expressionless, but a momentary silence perhaps betrayed as much surprise as he was capable of showing.
"Miss Grex is not at home, sir," he announced.
Richard hesitated and just then she came out from the winter-garden.