“I know best what I am giving up,” interrupted his companion impatiently. “I know that I am going back to Hawal Ghât to-morrow. There is nothing to be gained by remaining on here, and Cardozo is staying with my father till I relieve him. I am winding up my affairs, and paying off my servants, except Jan Mahomed, and his son, who are coming with me, and to-morrow I turn my back upon Shirani.” “Short--sharp--and decisive is the word,” sneered Waring, with bitter emphasis. “Have you got over your good-byes yet?” he added, with pitiless significance. “No,” becoming rather white, “not yet.” “I was told at the club that you were engaged to her. Is _she_ to form part of the new scheme? Will marrying her also come under the head of the ‘right thing to do?’ Eh?” “You may spare your gibes,” said Jervis, sternly. “Miss Gordon is absolutely free. As for myself--I shall never marry.” “Oh, ho!” with a derisive laugh, “never is a long word. Well, to descend to more prosaic matters, what about these Shirani bills and that five hundred?” “You shall have it, of course.” “Yes, you are a man of your word, even if it is a question of a thrashing. I’ll never forget the day that the cad who was ill-using a horse on the towing-path riled you and taunted you; he got hold of the wrong man that time, and no mistake, poor beggar. He never guessed how you could use your fists. You looked so slim and genteel, but you left him with two lovely black eyes.” Mark made a gesture of protest. Time was precious. What was the use of raking up irrelevant old stories? “Can’t you draw upon the uncle for a couple of thousand, at least?” urged Waring, after a considerable silence; “it will be no more to him than a couple of pence--and will save me from--from----” “What?” asked his companion quietly. “From,” avoiding his penetrating eye, “a lot of bother and worry.” “I cannot draw on him now for a penny, beyond the five hundred; but I am sure he will help you when you see him. How soon are you going home?” “In a week. Hullo!” starting up, “there is the mess bugle. Are you coming over to dinner?” “No; tell the mess sergeant to send me something.” “Any champagne? I’d recommend a bottle of the pink wine of France. You are bound to see things more _couleur de rose_.” Jervis shook his head with an air of impatient negation. “Well, I must go and change; but I’ll look you up again, of course, before you turn in.” Clarence proved as good as his word; besides, he had as yet to receive a certain sum of money. He duly appeared about eleven o’clock, unusually flushed, and in a state of boisterous good humour. He found his former comrade still sitting at their joint writing-table, scribbling notes and servants’ chits.