With stately courtesy, the Major then led her back into the jewel merchant's luxurious lounging-room.
"Wait here for a single moment!" he whispered as he quickly poured out a glass of cordial.

And, then, returning in a few moments, he clasped upon the woman's wrist a bracelet of old Indian gold, whose flexible links glittered with the fire of a row of old Indian mine stones.

Justine Delande sat mute, as if dreaming.
"Our little secret is now all our own!" he pleasantly murmured.
"Remember! Should we meet at the marble house, you do not know me! Can you trust yourself?
You must--for my sake! This will help you to remember our first meeting." "You may depend upon me, whenever you may wish to call upon me," she whispered.

"I will come!" and then she fled away, with soft, gliding steps, to regain the safety of her own room before the trying hour of tiffin.
Major Alan Hawke closed the door, and laughed softly as he threw himself into a chair.

"They are all the same!" he mused.