He did not come that evening of his own initiative, for Irwin's morning
salutation did not promise anything in the way of an invitation. A
letter from Mrs. Irwin had, to his surprise, begged his company at
this hour. He had gathered from the tone of the letter that something
especially urgent required his presence, and he was not slow in
supposing that the reason was the unfortunate party at poker in which
the Captain had taken part.

What, however, could have induced Mrs. Irwin to appeal to him was still
an enigma, for his relations to the beautiful young wife had until then
not been of a confidential nature. He had met her on several occasions
in big society functions, at the officers' polo-parties, and at similar
gatherings, and if, attracted by her grace and intellect, he had perhaps
paid more attention to the Captain's wife than to any of the other
ladies of the party, their relations had been strictly confined within
conventional limits, and it would never have occurred to him to imagine
himself specially favoured by Mrs. Irwin.

The dainty Indian handmaid of the lady received him and conducted him to
the verandah. Mrs. Irwin, who, dressed in red silk, had been seated in
a rocking-chair, advanced a few steps to meet him. Once more Irwin felt
himself enchanted by the charm of her appearance.

She was a genuine English beauty of tall and splendid proportions,
finely chiselled features, and that white transparent skin which lends
to Albion's daughters their distinctive charm. Abundant dark brown hair
clustered in thick, natural folds round the broad forehead, and her blue
eyes had the clear, calm gaze of a personality at once intelligent and
strong-minded.