"Oh, please, please don't, Miss Bellairs," protested Jim, flushing. "Only too jolly glad things have turned out so well. Can't help being sorry I didn't kick Boldini, though; I promised Tui I would, you know." "I am very glad you didn't. So abject a creature doesn't merit even a kick from you. By the way, is Major Semberry returning to England?" "What, to fall into the clutches of his Anarchistic friends? I think not. He knows better than to do that. India's his goal. That's where he's making for. Even Mrs. Arne can't reach him there. But what's the use of bothering about any of them now? Let 'em all go to Jericho, or any human rubbish-heap they fancy, for that matter. Will you come out with me, Miss Bellairs, and see about the telegram and tickets?" "No; I think I'll stay in and devote myself to Major Semberry's confession." "Oh, you'll enjoy that, I'm sure. It's like the concluding chapters of a sensational novel. I'll leave you to read it, then, while I see about these things." After he had gone, Olive settled herself in a comfortable chair--that is to say, as comfortable a chair as is to be had in that country--by the window, and plunged eagerly into Semberry's confession. Jim having promised that the statement should be kept strictly private, the Major had not been at all half-hearted about it, but had set forth his iniquities _in extenso_. Indeed, his vanity would seem to have led him to make the most of his misdoings. As a human document, the confession of Major Horace Semberry was well worth perusal. It ran somewhat after this fashion:--