When Mrs. Waldershare returned to the hotel, she found a telegram awaiting her; it announced that her husband was ill with a sharp attack of gout. She was requested to leave for Paris at once, and accompany him home. After a few days, during which time Lola made herself indispensable to the invalid, hourly hoping to seize a favourable moment, and make her little confession; unfortunately the cheque presented itself too promptly, and Reuben Waldershare, to whom such an act as forgery appeared as great a crime as murder, was deaf to all excuses and appeals. He raged with the deadly slow anger of a phlegmatic nature; in this condition, he added a codicil to his will, and having done so, died rather suddenly of gout in the stomach. And now, Lola found herself a widow, with a small jointure and immense debts. She endeavoured to patch up the wreck of her affairs, she tried to beguile creditors, propitiate people she had snubbed, to make friends with her cast-off relations, but she was alike in the black books of her acquaintances and her tradespeople. She therefore resolved to shift her sky, and come out to India, ostensibly to visit her dearest brother Edgar (who had no desire for her company), and to see something of the East. She brought with her a maid, a quantity of smart gowns, a large stock of courage and enterprise, and a very small amount of ready money. In short, she had come out to seek her fortune, precisely like the young adventurer one reads of in books of fairy and other tales. Marwar was a capital centre, she had gathered this information _en route_; Indian people were approachable, hospitable, and not too inquisitive; appearances go far, when one sails away from a—reputation. Then by a wonderful stroke of luck she encountered Philip Gascoigne; as good-looking as ever; no longer the impetuous boy, the impassioned subaltern, but a cool, self-reliant, distinguished Philip, with a fine position, a heavy purse, and a dear, simple, appreciative wife. They would be extremely useful, introduce her to the best society, save her expense, and officiate as her sponsors. These were a few of Mrs. Waldershare's reflections, as she drove into the Gascoignes' compound the afternoon succeeding the dinner-party. CHAPTER XXXI FISHING FOR AN INVITATION MRS. WALDERSHARE presented a most charming picture, as she rustled into Mrs. Gascoigne's great drawing-room, with her exquisitely gloved hands eagerly extended. Her _entrée_ was accompanied by the rustling of silk, a faint jingling of beads, and atmosphere of heliotrope. She wore an elaborate white dress, a black plumed hat, both unmistakably French and expensive. "Oh, I am so ashamed!" she exclaimed; "I had to pay one or two other calls, and like a greedy child with sweets, I kept the best for the last. I had not the faintest idea it was so late." "Better late than never," said her hostess, politely, and the gong at that moment sounded for tiffin.