"And 'the Rose of Delhi!' will probably marry some lucky fellow
out there, as old Johnstone has lacs and lacs of rupees," said
Anstruther, "for he cannot keep her in his great gardens forever,
guarded by the stony-eyed Swiss spinster, or let her run around as
the Turks do their priceless pet sheep with a silver bell around
her neck. There was some old marital unhappiness, I suppose, for
the girl is evidently born in wedlock, and the story is straight
enough."

"Have you seen her?" eagerly inquired Hawke.

"Just a few stolen glimpses," hastily replied Anstruther, politely
rising and bowing as the fair unknown suddenly left her seat, in
evident confusion.

The two men strolled out of the salle & manger together, Major Alan
Hawke critically observing the heightened color and evident elan
of his aristocratic friend.

"Oh! I say, Hawke," cried Anstruther, "they'll show you up to my
rooms in a few moments. I'll go and see the maitre d'hotel here!
The service is beastly--beastly!" and the youth fled quickly away.

Major Alan Hawke nodded affably, and slowly mounted the staircase
to his room, wondering if the aid-de-camp was destined by the gods
to furnish forth his purse for the return to India. "He's pretty
well set up now, and he evidently has his eye upon this brown-eyed
nixie. Dare I rush my luck? The boy's a bit stupid at cards." With
downcast eyes the anxious adventurer wandered along the corridor