This letter was of such moment that it went on to London, to be posted back duly stamped with good Queen Victoria's likeness.

A very careful Major! The lofty semi-official tone, in which the writer spoke of a possible return to India "under the auspices of the Foreign Office," was well calculated to fill the spinster's bosom with the flattering unction that a mighty protector had been raised up for the adventurous Justine, now supposed to be environed with all the glittering snares of society, as well as enveloped in the mystic jungle.
A week later, when Euphrosyne Delande laid down the pen and abandoned her unfinished "Lecture Upon the Influence of the Allobroges, Romans, Provencal Franks, Burgundians, and Germans Upon the Intellectual Development of Geneva," she read Alan Hawke's letter with a thrill of secret pride.
The smooth adventurer had written: "If I have the future pleasure of meeting Mademoiselle Justine Delande I only hope to find a resemblance to her charming and distinguished sister.

As my movements are necessarily secret, pray write only in the utmost confidence to Mademoiselle Justine.

I hope to soon return and enjoy once more the hospitalities of your intellectual circle." The address given for India was "Bombay Club." Miss Euphrosyne gazed up at the stony lineaments of Professor Delande, her marble-browed and flinty-hearted sire, locked in the cold chill of a steel engraving.

He was as neutral as the busts of Buffon, Cuvier, Laplace, Humboldt, and Pestalozzi, which coldly furnished forth her sanctum.