He was the direct descendant of the founder of Nineveh where horses
were concerned, and his stables in the Oasis of Khargegh would have
been one of the sights of Egypt, had he permitted sightseers.

Educated at Harrow, where he had excelled in sport and captained the
Eleven at Lord's for two succeeding years; respected by the upper Forms
and worshipped by the lower, he had developed the English side of his
dual nationality until masters and schoolfellows had come to look upon
him as one of themselves.

From Harrow he had gone to Brazenose; then had quite suddenly thrown up
the 'Varsity and returned to Egypt.

Love?

Not at all, for was not his indifference to woman supreme and sincere?

Just the inevitable ending of a very commonplace, sordid little story
which had taught the youth one of life's bitterest lessons.

One of a multitude of guests at Hurdley Castle, he had met a woman,
beautiful but predatory, whose looks were taking on an autumnal tint,
and whose banking account had shrivelled under the frost of
extravagance.

His utter indifference to her wiles and her beauty had culminated in a
degrading scene of anger on her part, when, forgetting her breeding,
her birth and her nationality, she had first of all twitted him and
then openly laughed at his mixed parentage.