CAPTAIN SHAFTO was taking tea with Mrs. Gordon in the great important looking drawing-room, which befitted the wife of a Commissioner, and future Lieutenant-Governor. She was, although five-and-thirty, a strikingly attractive woman, with sweet dark eyes, a sympathetic voice, a graceful carriage, and supreme tact. On the other hand, Billy Shafto's beauty had been somewhat tarnished by several bad "go's" of fever, a series of hot seasons in the plains, and roughing it on an Afghan campaign, but he was still good-looking, popular, and unmarried. As his hostess was about to add sugar to his tea, a telegram was brought to her by a scarlet chuprassi, and presented with a deep salaam. She picked it carelessly off the salver, and, glancing at it, said, "It is probably from Donald to say he cannot be home till to-morrow—the new assessment is so tedious." But as she read the telegram she gave a little gasp, and said, "From Major Gascoigne. You"—and she looked at it again—"will never guess what it's about." "Of course I can," replied Shafto with the utmost confidence; "he is going to be married, though I'm blessed if I can guess to whom—everyone tells you first, you are the Queen of Matchmakers, and the universal confidante—yes, poor Phil, gone at last." "No, you are quite cold—try again," she said. "Again——" he repeated, and his eyes travelled thoughtfully round the pillared room, with its immense palms, imposing mirrors, and ottomans, an awe-inspiring official room, offering dim suggestions of future receptions. "I give it up—stop, no I don't," and he slapped his knee, "it's about _Angel_." "Yes, you are wonderfully quick, I must say, but why did you think of her?" "I always knew she'd give him trouble yet." "I don't know about the trouble, but she has joined him in the hills without a moment's notice." Shafto gave a loud laugh. "That's Angel all the world over! I was always dead against Phil taking over charge of that girl. I knew he'd be let in. Here she comes out, I'll venture to say, as wild and unmanageable as ever. What the dickens is he going to do with her?" "Well, for the present," said Mrs. Gordon with a faint smile, "he is sending her down to _me_. I daresay, ultimately, he will arrange for her return to England." "From what I remember of Angel I fancy there will be two words to that. He might place her with some family; there are no end of girls out here now, as paying guests—but it's a day after the fair. As long as she is unmarried, he will be in hot water. You never know where you are with Angel, or where she will have you." "You seem to have a bad opinion of her, poor girl," remarked the lady. "Well, yes—and with good reason. What does Phil say?" "'Angela arrived yesterday unexpectedly. Am sending her to you by four o'clock train. Please meet, and receive her, and pardon P. G.'"