A last official note after I have run on to Paris will close up the whole awkward matter.

I will call there tomorrow and then take the early train, as I am on for a lot of family visits and sporting events before I can settle down to have my bit of a fling." "It's a very strange story," murmured Alan Hawke.

"No man ever suspected Hugh Fraser of family honors." "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.