“But I was not my own master—­I was in an office.”

“My dear boy, where there’s a will there’s a way.”

“There is no way of taking leave—­unless you wish to get the key of the street,” he retorted with a laugh.

“And what takes you to Rangoon?”

“A post in a big mercantile house.  I’ve to thank Mr. Tremenheere:  I owe it to his interest—­it’s a splendid chance for me.”

“Well, I’m sure you deserve it, my dear boy, if ever anyone did.  You don’t ask why I am on the high seas.  I am en route, to Mandalay—­Ella is there.  After I’ve paid her a visit, I’m going on to India, to stay with your old friend Geoffrey.  He and you are about the same age, are you not?”

“Yes; where is he now?”

“He is in the White Hussars at Lucknow—­he was at Sandhurst with you, wasn’t he?”

Shafto nodded, and the lady continued: 

“I’m bringing out a girl, such a darling!—­She’s down unpacking in our cabin; a dear child.  Her mother is an old friend of mine; her father was rector of our parish.  I drop her in Rangoon.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Her name is Sophy Leigh, and she is going out to stay with an aunt, who is something of an invalid.  Her husband is in business, a German—­said to be rolling in money.”

“That sounds all right.”

“And Sophy can’t speak a word of German, though French like a native, and she plays the piano delightfully.  Her father died some years ago, and Mrs. Leigh and the girls live in town—­Chelsea; not rich, but have enough to go on with and are a very happy trio.  One day a letter came from the German uncle asking for a niece—­and if possible a musical niece—­so Sophy was sent; anyway, her sister is engaged to be married and was not available.  My friend, Mrs. Leigh, was very sorry to lose her girl—­even for a year or so, but it seemed such a chance for Sophy to see the world, and make friends with her rich and childless relatives.”

“I expect she will have a good time in Burma?”

“Bound to, for she is one of those fortunate people who make their own happiness.  Here she comes!”

As she concluded, a tall, slim girl, with a face of morning freshness, wearing a rose silk sports coat and fluttering white skirt, approached, and Shafto instantly realised that such a personality was likely to have a good time anywhere!  Miss Leigh’s dark eyes were lovely, and she had a radiant smile; she smiled on Shafto when he was presented by her chaperon: 

“Sophy, this is a most particular friend of mine; I’ve known him since he was in blouses—­a boy with sticky fingers, who refused to be kissed.  Mr. Shafto—­Miss Leigh.”