"Oh, no, he's got work in a good service, though I don't suppose it's so good as being a barrister like you," said Hester slowly, the gladness of her news tempered by her husband's more than chilly attitude. "I'm really awfully ignorant about Indian things, you see; I must coach myself up or I shall remain a 'griffin,' I fear. Charlie writes----" Again Hester turned to her letter, but this time with a little sigh. "... 'Cheveril passed the Indian Civil a year ago, as you will remember; he has since been at Oxford, and is now posted to Madras.'" "The Indian Civil! Has the fellow really got into that?" exclaimed Mr. Rayner with undisguised astonishment. "I must have missed his name in the lists. Well, surely he will have learnt by this time to keep the fact of his mixed blood dark. We must give him a hint to that effect. It is silly and sentimental, to say the least of it. But seeing he's among the 'Covenanted Ones' he'll be worth curing of this mad freak." A smile played about Mr. Rayner's thin lips; then he added briskly, "Does your brother say what steamer he's coming by?" "The _Bokhara_," replied Hester, her air of joyous expectation already exchanged for a soberer one. "Then he's due this very day," said her husband, starting up. "Mark Cheveril may be here at any moment, Hester. I'll see if the steamer is in yet on my way to the High Court." He had evidently reconsidered his decision "not to know" the new arrival. "Wonder if I shall recognise him. He was only a little chap in Etons when I knew him at Hacket's. What's he like now?" "He's tall and has dark hair. He always looked such a contrast to Charlie, who is so fair," said Hester, with a reminiscent smile, recalling how often the two friends used to walk hatless on the emerald lawn at home, the fair wavy hair and the dark head in close proximity. "Yes, Charlie is too fair for a man. I love that blondeness in you, dear, but a slightly darker hue suits the masculine gender better," returned Mr. Rayner, glancing at himself, with a self-conscious smile, in a mirror hanging on the white wall near his writing table. In his own estimation, and it must be acknowledged, in the estimation of others also, he fulfilled all the requirements of good looks. His dark hair framed a beautiful aquiline face, though too cameo-like perhaps in its perfection. There was something unpleasant in his expression, an air of hauteur, a lack of frankness, which detracted from his undeniably handsome face.