Sir Dugald allowed himself the luxury of a smile. “Possibly. But surely the right thing would have been to help the poor wretch to pull himself together, and reform him generally, and let her marry him and keep him straight? That would have been a triumph.” “Let him reform first, and then get her to marry him if he can,” snapped Lady Haigh. “Would you have let a sister of yours marry him?” “Not if I could help it. But you will allow me to remark that a sister of mine would have had a home open to her here, instead of being thrown upon a brother as young as herself who knows nothing of the place and its ways, and who is coming up-country with us next month.” “Oh, of course I offered her a home with us,” said Lady Haigh, with outward calmness, but inward trepidation. Sir Dugald’s eyebrows were slowly raised again. “You offered her a home with us? Then of course there is no more to be said.” He drew his chair nearer the table, and from the mass of papers selected a book-packet from the ends of which a familiar green wrapper protruded. Opening the parcel carefully with the paper-knife, he threw away the cover, and settled down with an anticipatory smile to enjoy his monthly instalment of Dickens. But he had gone too far. Anger Lady Haigh had expected, to his deliberate movements she was slowly growing accustomed, but that smile was intolerable. She leaned across the table, and snatched the serial from his hand. “Dugald, I will not have you so rude! Of course I want to talk things over with you.” “My dear Elma, what is there to talk over? In some miraculous way you have overcome the Chief’s objections to ladies on the frontier, and got leave to bring Miss Ross up with you. Anything that I could say would only spoil your excellent arrangements.” “But I haven’t seen Major Keeling. How could I, when he only came back with you? And I haven’t got his leave. I want you to do that.” “No,” said Sir Dugald resolutely. “I had enough to do with getting leave for you to come to Alibad, and I am not going to presume upon it. The Chief will think I want to cry off.” “Then I’ll ask him myself,” recklessly. “I’m not in abject terror of your great Major Keeling. He’s only a good man spoilt for want of a wife.” Lady Haigh meant to be irritating, and she succeeded, for her husband had told her over and over again that such a view was purely and hopelessly feminine. Sir Dugald threw down the paper-knife with a clatter, and drew back his chair as if to leave the room. “If I can’t get him to do it,” she pursued meditatively, “I’ll--let me see----” “Appeal to Cæsar--otherwise the General, I suppose? That seems to be your favourite plan.” “Oh dear, no; certainly not. I shall make Penelope ask Major Keeling herself.” “Now, Elma!” Sir Dugald detected something dangerous in the tone of his wife’s remark. “That’s no good. Just let the Chief alone. He isn’t the man to give in to anything of the kind.”