As Miss Slarge slipped out of the room on her errand, Mallow detected a sigh from Carson--a sigh that sounded like one of relief. At the same time he appeared--so Mallow thought--to be uneasy, and while continuing his conversation he frequently glanced at the Major. Semberry instinctively became aware of this, and once or twice turned his head. Finally he left Miss Ostergaard, and came slowly across the room, as though drawn in spite of himself to the side of his friend. Again Mallow heard from Carson a sigh of relief, after which his uneasiness gave place to a more confident manner, and he presented Major Semberry to Laurence with perfect ease. "We need no introduction," said Mallow, smiling. "Major Semberry and I met at Simla some few months back. "Ah, yes," replied Semberry, in his crisp, abrupt way; "Mallow the sportsman. I remember." "Say, rather, Mallow the scribe--in India, Major. It was my mission to scribble out there." "By George, yes. Read some of your letters in paper. You dropped on us hot, Mallow--deuced hot. What are you doing in these parts?" "Idling, Major, at the expense of Lord Aldean." "Met him in London," said Semberry, staccato; "nice boy, make good Army man. No brains, plenty muscle." "Oh, Aldean has a good deal more mental power than people give him credit for." "Dark horse, eh?" "Well, he may yet prove to be so. As to your no brains for the Army,' Major, I fancy you depreciate your profession. They don't make the fool of the family a soldier now--they certainly did not in your case." The Major acknowledged the compliment with a bow, but did not reply. "Do you know, Semberry, that I am about to hear my character?" said Carson, blandly. "Eh, what? From our friend here?" "No," explained Mallow; "it seems that Mrs. Purcell has written an account of Mr. Carson to Miss Slarge, and your friend is to hear it verbatim." From long exposure to the sun, the natural hue of Semberry's complexion was brick-dust, yet at this it became still more red, and he put up a hand and tugged uneasily at his moustache. His manner reflected the recent anxiety of Carson, and Mallow was at once on the alert to discover the cause of their joint discomfort. There was a hint of mystery about the swift glances they exchanged which piqued his curiosity, and from that moment he was silently observant of their every look and word. What he expected to learn he hardly knew, but that there was something to be learned he felt convinced. But then Mallow was distinctly prejudiced against Carson as his rival. When the Major's hand came down from his moustache, he observed that "Mrs. Purcell was a charming woman, and that she wrote an amusing letter." He then turned to face Olive, who was approaching with Dr. Drabble. "It is not kind of you three gentlemen to exclude us from your conversation," she said brightly. "What are you talking about?"