Artful Jenks!  Iris settled herself comfortably to listen.

“I have jumped that fence with a lot in hand,” he thought.

“We became engaged,” he said aloud.

“She threw herself at him,” communed Iris.

“Her name was Elizabeth—­Elizabeth Morris.”  The young lieutenant of those days called her “Bessie,” but no matter.

“Well, you didn’t marry her, anyhow,” commented Iris, a trifle sharply.

And now the sailor was on level ground again.

“Thank Heaven, no,” he said, earnestly.  “We had barely become engaged when she went with her uncle to Simla for the hot weather.  There she met Lord Ventnor, who was on the Viceroy’s staff, and—­if you don’t mind, we will skip a portion of the narrative—­I discovered then why men in India usually go to England for their wives.  Whilst in Simla on ten days’ leave I had a foolish row with Lord Ventnor in the United Service Club—­hammered him, in fact, in defence of a worthless woman, and was only saved from a severe reprimand because I had been badly treated.  Nevertheless, my hopes of a political appointment vanished, and I returned to my regiment to learn, after due reflection, what a very lucky person I was.”

“Concerning Miss Morris, you mean?”

“Exactly.  And now exit Elizabeth.  Not being cut out for matrimonial enterprise I tried to become a good officer.  A year ago, when Government asked for volunteers to form Chinese regiments, I sent in my name and was accepted.  I had the good fortune to serve under an old friend, Colonel Costobell; but some malign star sent Lord Ventnor to the Far East, this time in an important civil capacity.  I met him occasionally, and we found we did not like each other any better.  My horse beat his for the Pagoda Hurdle Handicap—­poor old Sultan!  I wonder where he is now.”

“Was your horse called ’Sultan’?”

“Yes.  I bought him in Meerut, trained him myself, and ferried him all the way to China.  I loved him next to the British Army.”

This was quite satisfactory.  There was genuine feeling in his voice now.  Iris became even more interested.

“Colonel Costobell fell ill, and the command of the regiment devolved upon me, our only major being absent in the interior.  The Colonel’s wife unhappily chose that moment to flirt, as people say, with Lord Ventnor.  Not having learnt the advisability of minding my own business, I remonstrated with her, thus making her my deadly enemy.  Lord Ventnor contrived an official mission to a neighboring town and detailed me for the military charge.  I sent a junior officer.  Then Mrs. Costobell and he deliberately concocted a plot to ruin me—­he, for the sake of his old animosity—­you remember that I had also crossed his path in Egypt—­she, because she feared I would speak to her husband.  On pretence of seeking my advice, she inveigled me at night into a deserted corner of the Club grounds at Hong Kong.  Lord Ventnor appeared, and as the upshot of their vile statements, which created an immediate uproar, I—­well, Miss Deane, I nearly killed him.”