Lord Ventnor played his cards with a deeper design.  He bowed to the inevitable.  Iris said she loved his rival.  Very well.  To attempt to dissuade her was to throw her more closely into that rival’s arms.  The right course was to appear resigned, saddened, compelled against his will to reveal the distressing truth.  Further, he counted on Anstruther’s quick temper as an active agent.  Such a man would be the first to rebel against an assumption of pitying tolerance.  He would bring bitter charges of conspiracy, of unbelievable compact to secure his ruin.  All this must recoil on his own head when the facts were laid bare.  Not even the hero of the island could prevail against the terrible indictment of the court-martial.  Finally, at Singapore, three days distant, Colonel Costobell and his wife were staying.  Lord Ventnor, alone of those on board, knew this.  Indeed, he accompanied Sir Arthur Deane largely in order to break off a somewhat trying entanglement.  He smiled complacently as he thought of the effect on Iris of Mrs. Costobell’s indignant remonstrances when the baronet asked that injured lady to tell the girl all that had happened at Hong Kong.

In a word, Lord Ventnor was most profoundly annoyed, and he cursed Anstruther from the depths of his heart.  But he could see a way out.  The more desperate the emergency the more need to display finesse.  Above all, he must avoid an immediate rupture.

He came ashore with Iris and her father; the captain of the Orient also joined the party.  The three men watched Robert and the girl walking towards them from the group of officers.

“Anstruther is a smart-looking fellow,” commented Captain Fitzroy.  “Who is he?”

Truth to tell, the gallant commander of the Orient was secretly amazed by the metamorphosis effected in Robert’s appearance since he scrutinized him through his glasses.  Iris, too, unaccustomed to the constraint of high-heeled shoes, clung to the nondescript’s arm in a manner that shook the sailor’s faith in Lord Ventnor’s pretensions as her favored suitor.

Poor Sir Arthur said not a word, but his lordship was quite at ease—­

“From his name, and from what Deane tells me, I believe he is an ex-officer of the Indian Army.”

“Ah.  He has left the service?”

“Yes.  I met him last in Hong Kong.”

“Then you know him?”

“Quite well, if he is the man I imagine.”

“That is really very nice of Ventnor,” thought the shipowner.  “The last thing I should credit him with would be a forgiving disposition.”

Meanwhile Anstruther was reading Iris a little lecture.  “Sweet one,” he explained to her, “do not allude to me by my former rank.  I am not entitled to it.  Some day, please God, it will be restored to me.  At present I am a plain civilian.”

“I think you very handsome.”

“Don’t tease, there’s a good girl.  It is not fair with all these people looking.”