"Here," he repeated, "how fortunate! How I should like to make their acquaintance; I hope you will be good enough to present me to your mother." "Certainly," she replied, with a somewhat fixed smile. Very soon, she assured herself, there would be an end to this fool's paradise. It would be a case of he came--he saw--he fled. In the meantime she enjoyed walking about with Captain Haig. As she glanced at his handsome, animated face, she seemed to see the background of Homburg--the crowds, the bouquets, and to feel the impression of a past sensation. Here, indeed, in a humble way, her presence was creating a stir, "the other Miss Chandos," as she was now called, being so rarely seen; she was handsome, and graceful, and carried herself well--"as did most Eurasians," whispered onlookers. In a distant station, no doubt, she would be considered a beauty; apparently she had picked up some young man she had known at home; he seemed very much _épris_. Well! her conquest would be but short-lived--he had but to see her people! "Of course, your regiment is still out here?" remarked the lady to her escort. "Yes--in a bad station--where there is no sport--we can't even manœuvre guns, the ground is all cotton soil--this is a jolly little place, I wish they'd send us here--capital duck and snipe shooting." "Is that a sufficient reason to move troops?" she inquired. "No--not at all--only it keeps the mess from grumbling--and the men out of the bazaar. But," with a sudden change of tone, "I want to hear more about you, Miss Chandos. How have you spent the last eighteen months?" "I was in England till August. I have been here ever since." "But you will soon be getting under way for the hills. I wonder what station you will select?" "None at all--we remain down in Manora." "What! you are not serious--you have no conception of the heat--it will kill you!" "I think not. I believe one's first hot weather is never very trying." "But, I assure you----" "Captain Haig," she interrupted, "I see that you have not heard--Madame's death has made a great change in my circumstances--I am now quite poor." He stopped for a second, and stared back into her face with a gaze of blank surprise. After an expressive pause he spoke: "I can't imagine you--what is called 'poor.'" "Often I cannot realise it myself--but it is true--Madame left no will--I was not related to her--all I have in the world is three hundred pounds and some diamonds--now"--with a faint smile--"you know the worst!" "What hard luck! I am awfully sorry," he began. "Thank you; but it is not so bad after all--I do not mind--much." If she, who had been brought up surrounded with all that money could provide, "did not mind much," why should he? It was not her money which had attracted him, but her most beautiful, dazzling self; and she was, in his opinion, more lovely than ever, as she stood looking at him with her dark pathetic eyes.