Sir Gloster Sandilands was about thirty years of age, rustic in his ideas, simple in his tastes, narrow in his views. He was the only son of his mother, a widow, who kept him in strict order. He was fond of ladies’ society, and of music; and, being rather dull and heavy, greatly appreciated a pretty, lively, and amusing companion. Companions of this description were not unknown to him at home, but as they were generally as penniless as they were charming, the dowager Lady Sandilands kept them and their fascinations at an impracticable distance. She trusted to his sister, Mrs. Kane, to look strictly after her treasure whilst under her roof; but Mrs. Kane was a great deal too much occupied with her own affairs to have any time to bestow on her big brother, who surely was old enough to take care of himself! He was enchanted with India; and the change from a small county club and confined local surroundings, the worries of a landlord and magistrate, to this exquisite climate and scenery, and free, novel, roving life was delightful. He had spent the cold weather in the plains, and had come up to Shirani to visit his sister, as well as to taste the pleasures of an Indian hill station. Meanwhile Mrs. Brande had introduced her niece to a number of people; and, seeing her carried off by young Jervis, to look on at the tennis, had sunk into a low chair and abandoned herself to a discussion with another matron. From this she was ruthlessly disturbed by Mrs. Langrishe. “Excuse me, dear, but you are sitting on the _World_.” “Oh no, indeed, I’m sure I am not,” protested the lady promptly, being reluctant to heave herself out of her comfortable seat. “Well, please to look,” rather sharply. “There!” impatiently, “you see it is not here. I don’t know why you should think that _I_ was sitting on it.” “I suppose,” with a disagreeable smile, “I naturally suspected _you_, because you sit on every one!” And then she moved off, leaving her opponent gasping. “I never knew such an odious woman,” she cried, almost in tears. “She hustles me about and snaps at me, and yet she will have the face to write down and borrow all my plated side-dishes and ice machine the first time she has a dinner, but that is not _often_, thank goodness.” In the meanwhile Honor had been leaning over a rustic railing watching a tennis match in which her uncle was playing. He was an enthusiast, played well, and looked amazingly young and active. “So you have been making friends, I see,” observed Jervis. “I don’t know about friends,” she repeated doubtfully, thinking of Lalla. “But I’ve been introduced to several people.” “That verandah is an awful place. Waring has extraordinary nerve to sit there among all those strangers. I am much too shy to venture within a mile of it.” “I believe he is quite at home, and has met no end of acquaintances. Have you paid any visits yet?” “No; only one or two that he dragged me out to. I’m not a society man.” “And how will you put in your time?”