This time his escort was not refused, and he left her at the entrance of the shop to which she was bound, and in which, as he noticed with a shudder, the wares displayed were chiefly surgical instruments. As he lifted his hat and turned away, he found his state of mind not at all in accordance with the serene calm of his destination. Everything Miss Keeling had said seemed to be rankling in his breast, and he anathematised her mentally as he walked. What business had the girl to say such things? Nay, rather, what did it signify if she did say them? Why in the world should it affect him? And yet, here he was wasting his time and spoiling his short leave at home by thinking about her. It was bad enough that they were doomed to be fellow-travellers all the way to Kubbet-ul-Haj, but at least he would dismiss her from his mind while he was in England; and by way of making a beginning he would burn that photograph which he had cherished so long. The consciousness of this heroic resolution upheld him during the day, and when he returned home to dress for dinner his first action was to take the photograph out of the drawer of his desk in which it had been wont to repose ever since he had stolen it out of Mabel’s album. He held it in his hand with mingled feelings, remembering the time when he had lifted it out and looked at it reverentially every night, although of late years it had remained altogether undisturbed. Georgia appeared in it with short hair, which made her look like a very nice boy. Dick remembered that Mabel had come home from school one day in tears because, in the ardour of preparing for the London Matriculation, Georgia had had all her hair cut off. He remembered also how he had begged, as urgently as he dared, for one of the severed locks, and how Georgia had refused it with disdain. In those days he was under the impression that it was rather pleasant than otherwise to be called “silly boy!” by Miss Keeling’s lips. What a young idiot he must have been! And what a senseless fool he was now, to be recalling the absurdities of those past years in this way! After all, he would not burn the photograph, lest he should forget what an ass he had once succeeded in making of himself. It should occupy its old place still, not for Miss Keeling’s sake, but for auld lang syne, and as a memento and a warning. “Are you nearly ready, Dick?” said Mabel’s voice at his door. “The carriage has come round.” Hastily thrusting the photograph back into the desk, Dick made his toilet at lightning speed and hurried down-stairs. Mabel was waiting in the drawing-room with an aggressive expression of resignation, and General North, whose gout kept him at home, was fretting and fuming over the tardiness of his nephew’s appearance.