recollection, perfect in every detail, of the five times he had met Rhoda Daye before her engagement, and a little topaz necklace she had worn three times out of the five, and the several things that he wished he had said, and especially the agreeable exaltation of spirit in which he had called himself, after every one of these interviews, an elderly fool. His first thought when he saw her, a moment after, walking towards him with her father, was of escape—the second quickened his steps in her direction, for she had bowed, and after that there could be no idea of going. He concluded later, with definiteness, that it would have been distinctly rude when there were not more than twenty Europeans in the place. Colonel Daye’s solid white-whiskered countenance broke into a square smile as Doyle approached—a smile which expressed that it was rather a joke to meet a friend at a maharajah’s garden party. “You’re a singular being,” he said, as they shook hands; “one never comes across you in the haunts of civilisation. Here’s _my_ excuse.” Colonel Daye indicated his daughter. “Would come. Offered to take her to the races instead—wouldn’t look at it!” “If I had no reason for coming before, I’ve found one,” said Doyle, with an inclination towards Rhoda that laid the compliment at her feet. There were some points about Philip Doyle that no emotional experience could altogether subdue. He would have said precisely the same thing, with precisely the same twinkle, to any woman he liked. Rhoda looked at him gravely, having no response ready. If the in-drawing of her under-lip betrayed anything it was that she felt the least bit hurt—which, in Rhoda Daye, was ridiculous. If she had been asked she might have explained it by the fact that there were people whom she preferred to take her seriously, and in the ten seconds during which her eyes questioned this politeness she grew gradually delicately pink under his. “Rum business, isn’t it?” Colonel Daye went on, tapping the backs of his legs with his stick. “Hallo! there’s Grigg. I must see Grigg—do you mind? Don’t wait, you know—just walk on. I’ll catch you up in ten minutes.” Without further delay Colonel Daye joined Grigg. “That’s like my father,” said the girl, with a trace of embarrassment: “he never can resist the temptation of disposing of me, if it’s only for ten minutes. We ought to feel better acquainted than we do. I’ve been out seven months now, but it is still only before people that we dare to chaff each other. I think,” she added, turning her grey eyes seriously upon Doyle, “that he finds it awkward to have so much of the society of a young lady who requires to be entertained.” “What a pity that is!” Doyle said involuntarily.