“I wanted to see something of the world. I was deadly sick of the routine of English life--hunting, balls, regattas, theatres; and I got my uncle’s consent, with great difficulty, to spend a year in India. I was despatched with a valet, a cargo of kit, and the reputation of millions, with Waring as my guide, companion, and adviser. He is not related to me.” Honor looked at him with a half ironic smile, as much as to say, “Of course not! I should be surprised if he _were_.” “He is Mrs. Pollitt’s brother; and she got him the berth, such as it was,” pursued the young man doggedly. “Little dreaming how luxurious it would become,” added the young lady sarcastically. “No, that was quite unpremeditated. When I first landed, I found that I had achieved a celebrity far beyond my wishes. I was supposed to be a Rothschild. I was bothered to death with touts and hawkers and all that sort of thing”--with a constrained laugh. “I saw that I’d have no peace till I got rid of all my extra luggage and the man. The combination branded me as ‘valuable.’ Waring had been in the country before, he knew the language and customs, so I made over my account at the bank into his name. He became paymaster, and we held our tongues--that was all. Waring looks rich, and has a genius for spending and making a splash. Now I have not. My tastes are inexpensive, and I have always told my uncle that nature intended me for a poor man.” Miss Gordon picked off another piece of bark with elaborate care, and then threw it away with an air of profound disgust. “Our arrangement worked splendidly, as long as we were merely shooting and moving about; but when we came up here and began to know people, I saw that things were getting rather mixed--that it would not _do_, that we were carrying the idea too far. I spoke to Waring, and suggested taking the public into our confidence. He treated the matter as a joke, and asked if he should announce it in the _Pioneer_? I said, I thought that if he told it to one or two people as a dead secret, that it would be amply sufficient. But he would not hear of this, either in jest or earnest. He had, he acknowledged, played first fiddle too long to wish to change parts. He was most urgent that I should leave what he considered ‘well’ alone, and worked himself up into such a frightful state of mind--he put the whole thing so--so--so strongly--that I was obliged to leave matters _in statu quo_.” “Obliged!” echoed his fair listener, in a cool, incredulous tone.