Truly these were golden moments.

The Major's cool steady eyes were sternly fixed on his cards.
The self-imposed sentence of suicide of the afternoon was indefinitely postponed when Alan Hawke amiably nodded as Anstruther at last apologized for glancing at his watch.

"I've a bit to do to get ready for to-morrow, and we'll try one more hand and then I'll say good-night." "Well, I'll give you your revenge at any time, Anstruther! By the way, what's your London address ?" Hawke was complacently good humored as he glanced at a visiting card whereon sundry comfortable figures were roughly totted up.
"Junior United Service, always," carelessly said Anstruther.

"They keep run of me, for I'm off for the woods as soon as the shooting season opens.

Where will you be this winter ?" Major Hawke assumed a mysterious air, "That depends upon the Russian and Chinese game--the Persian and Afghan intrigues! You see, I am awaiting some ripening affairs in the F.O.I was called back on account of my familiarity with the Pamirs, and there's a good bit of Blue Book work that my knowledge of Penj Deh, and the whole Himalayan line has helped out." The captain was a bit agnostic now.
"You were---" began Anson Anstruther, timidly, the old vague gossip returning to haunt him.