hope in both hands, he resolutely shouldered his way into the
nearest recruiting office. He went into the office as Harvard
Weldon, amateur athlete and society darling of his own home city. He
came out as Trooper Weldon of the First Regiment of Scottish Horse.

He spent the next morning in sorting over his miscellaneous luggage.
In the light of Cape Town and the practical advice which had been
his for the asking, his outfit appeared comically complete. Two
thirds of it must be stored in Cape Town; of the other third, one
full half must be left with the negro servants at the hotel. His
toilet fixtures would have been adequate for a Paris season; his
superfluous rugs would have warmed him during a winter on the apex
of the North Pole. It was with something between a smile and a sigh
that he stowed away the greater part of his waistcoats and neckties,
in company with the silver-mounted medicine chest by which his
mother had set such store. It was as Carew had said: quinine and
tobacco were the main essentials.

Then, for the last time in many months, he arrayed himself in black
cloth and fine linen, chose his stick and gloves with care, and,
leaving Adderley Street behind him, turned eastward towards the home
of the Dents.

He found Ethel on the broad veranda, bordered with flower-boxes and
overlooking the garden and the blue waters of Table Bay. Dressed in
a thin white gown which, to Weldon's mind, was curiously out of
keeping with all his preconceived notions of January weather, she
rose and came forward to greet him at the top of the steps.

"At last," she said cordially, while she gave him her hand. "I began