I saw the beautiful boyish look in his deep dark eyes, the gentle curve of the mouth, the grand smooth architrave of the brows.

No--I was a fool! I had never met a man like him, nor should again.

How could Miss Westonhaugh save herself from loving such a perfect creature?
I thought, too, of his generosity.

He would surely keep his promise and deliver poor Shere Ali, hunted to death by English and Afghan foes, from all his troubles.

Had he not the Maharajah of Baithopoor in his power?
He might have exacted the full payment of the debt, principal and interest, and saved the Afghan chief into the bargain.