"I see that she is a woman of the world. I can understand her attraction for some, but I don't care for a slow, coiling manner, or that crooked smile and drawl." "Oh, Elinor, I've never known you so prejudiced," protested her companion; "she sacrificed herself——" "To marry a millionaire," interrupted Mrs. Gordon. "And she has been so nice to me." Mrs. Gordon glanced quickly at Angel. Where were her keen susceptibilities? what had become of her usually sharp sight? How had this good-looking, ingratiating, self-seeking widow managed to throw dust in those clear eyes? "So you don't like her," said Angel; "now I wonder why? You generally classify people so indulgently—where would you place Mrs. Waldershare?" "In the reptile house at the Zoo!" was the startling rejoinder. "I do not often take a dislike to people, but when I do it is invincible." In answer to her friend's face of blank astonishment, she continued: "I sincerely hope you won't see much of her, Angel?" "I cannot see much of her, even if I would, if that is any relief to your mind, for I am going into Garhwal with Philip." "Ah, that would not be in her trail; she would not care for roughing it in a hut on buffaloes' milk and goats' flesh. Dear me, how vindictive I am," she exclaimed with a laugh. "I wonder if I am growing bitter in my old age?" Then, in a different tone, she continued: "How I shall miss you, dear; you have been my life preserver. I was swept away into very dark waters, which nearly closed over me. Now I have struggled back to land, and I believe I shall see the sun once more." "You will enjoy a great deal of sunshine yet, I hope," said Angel, fervently. "Reflected only," she answered, "but quite as much as I deserve. To descend from these metaphors, this morning's sun is getting too strong, I must go in. I'll come round and see you this evening," and, with a wave of her whip, Mrs. Gordon turned homewards; and Angel, giving Carrots his head at last, galloped across the parade-ground at full speed. When she had gone more than half-way, she descried a man, followed by two small white objects. It was Philip, returning from the brigade office on foot. He signalled with his hand, which was full of officials, and she charged up to him at once. "Have your orders come?" she asked anxiously. "No, but I expect them hourly. It is too late for you to be out this hot morning, and high time you were up in the hills." "Yes, in Garhwal—remember your promise, Phil." "You may follow later, but I could not possibly take you _now_." "Why not?" "I shall have to make arrangements, and put up some kind of a house. Angel, I warn you most solemnly that the life will be monotonous; you won't like it—you have evolved an elysium out of your imagination. The reality is—Tartar faces, Tartar fare, forbidding, barren mountains, and a distinct flavour of central Asian squalor."