Captain Waring had gone down the hill, gallantly escorting Mrs. Atherton and Miss Potter, and followed by an innumerable retinue of servants, ponies, and baggage. He left a blank behind him--also an unpaid mess bill. His square shoulders, broad smile, and loud voice were missed in the club, verandah, and elsewhere. He was coming back to settle up his bills, he declared, “and he left his cousin in pawn,” he added with a hearty laugh. “Sara,” said her husband, coming in from his dressing-room, lathering his face--he was always clean-shaven, and looked twenty-five at a distance--“Waring is off. That young Jervis is all by himself; he has a broken wrist, and can’t play polo or tennis. Why on earth don’t you have him up here?” “’Ark at the man!” appealing to Ben, who squatted beside her, helping her to dispose of her buttered toast. Mrs. Brande was seated at a little table in her own room, clad in a gorgeous dressing-gown, and partaking of chotah hazree. “Haven’t I asked him till I am tired? I’ve written to him, and gone to his house, and it’s all no use.” “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” rejoined her lord and master. “That is to say--I must admit that women are sharper in these ways than we are--if you think it’s all right, and there is no chance of his making a fool of himself with Honor? No fear of his falling in love, eh?” And as he calmly awaited her reply, he resumed operations with the shaving-brush. “In love with Honor! Ha! ha! that is a good idea! If he is in love with any one it’s with _me_--so don’t say I did not put you on your guard! Honor, bless your dear simple old heart! why, they see precious little of one another, thanks to you, who always carry him off to tennis or to talk; and when they are together, as well as I can make out, they are fighting most of the time!” “There’s nothing like beginning with a little aversion, so people say,” remarked Mr. Brande. “Diversion! There won’t be much for him here, poor boy, with his lame arm. Do you remember, long, long ago, a Major Jervis of the Bengal Cavalry--a splendid-looking man, especially in full dress and his turban; a widower--he married again? This boy has a great resemblance to him. I wonder if he is any relation.” “Merely his father--I asked him the first time I saw him! Jervis was A1 at rackets. I knew him rather well. He married a second time, a woman with tons of money in indigo and house property. The grand-daughter of a Begum, she had a pair of eyes like hot coals, and led him a life to correspond.” “And what has become of him?” “The boy is rather reserved, as you know, so I did not like to ask him, but as _I_ have not heard of him for a good many years, I conclude that he is dead; indeed, I am nearly certain of it.” “And the Begum’s lacs have not done much for the son? I hope you will get him to come here; take _no_ refusal--it must be miserable work moping alone. All the same, I shall be huffed with him if he comes for _you_, after saying no to _me_.”