The kindness vanished. 'Something of what you tell me. I disagreed with him, as I disagree with you. However, to show you that I have perfect confidence in your discretion, and also to back my own opinion--for, mind you, if I thought there was the very slightest chance of your having to use it, I would hesitate to give it--you shall have what you ask for, sanction to wire direct to Fareedabad after you have seen what the city is like for yourself, instead of returning to report. It might, as you say, make the difference of catching the midnight mail; though there really is no----' He shrugged his shoulders tolerantly. 'However, you had better have it in order,' he continued, taking out his pocket-book and pencil with a certain elaborate patience, and finally, with a return to his usual kindly manner, holding out a duly signed and dated service-telegram. 'There!' he said, with a smile, 'I carry forms about with me these times. Now, mind, this is a personal favour for to-night only, Kenyon. I wouldn't do as much for any one else in India, and it is only to sot your mind at ease; you can bring it back to me when you come to report! And now, for heaven's sake, let us get over this diploma business. I only wish I could come with you to the city, but I must see this show through.' So, while the hoofs of the Commissioner's horse, as he rode citywards with the chief of the police and the magistrate who had brought the disturbing rumours, echoed down the hard white road, which was laid so evenly between a double row of mud roundels protecting lately planted trees, the show--as Sir George had called it--began. It was rather like a school-prize-giving, with men and women instead of children, for the inevitable table (covered with the twopenny-halfpenny _phul-kâri_ made for the European market, which, with its sham Orientalism, has on such occasions replaced the honest red office baize) was set in front of Sir George and Lady Arbuthnot. On it were three packed posies in green glass tumblers, a pile of diplomas, duly made out in the recipients' names, and another pile of sham Oriental brocade bags in which to keep them. 'You belong, of course?' said the Secretary-to-Government, who was standing apart during the opening speeches, to a sunburnt little lady in a wide pith hat. 'Who, I?' she answered cheerfully. 'Oh dear, no--I am not often in at headquarters, and I get on all right with my schools and that sort of thing without it, so it doesn't seem worth while.'