In the letter of his father, certain sentences had caught his eye, and on his way up to London they recurred to his thoughts, as, indeed, they had more than once during the evening before.
"May he meet," Harry Linforth had written to Sybil of his son Dick--"may he meet a woman like you, my dear, when his time comes, and love her as I love you." Dick Linforth fell to thinking of Violet Oliver.

She was in India at this moment.

She might still be there when he landed.

Would he meet her, he wondered, somewhere on the way to Chiltistan?
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