Gregory’s proved to be a vast and imposing concern, occupying a prominent situation on the Strand and evidently doing an immense trade.  All this the new assistant readily gathered as Salter steered him in the direction of the manager’s sanctum.

Here he found the head of the firm, a tall individual, with grizzled hair covering a fine square head, a hard, clean-shaven face, and a pince-nez—­which pince-nez he invariably removed when about to make a disagreeable remark.  He received the new employe with an air of cool detachment, and shook hands in a manner that implied, “You must not expect this sort of thing every day.”  Being taller than Shafto, he appeared to tower over him as he questioned him respecting the firm in London—­which was but a small and insignificant offshoot of the great house in Rangoon; then he made a few perfunctory remarks on the subject of the voyage out, and said: 

“I understand from Salter that you have found quarters in a chummery; I hope your house-mates will prove congenial——­” he paused and added as a sort of afterthought, “Mrs. Gregory is usually at home on Thursdays from three to six.”

“Thank you,” murmured Shafto.

The principal then struck a handbell, which summoned an elderly man to his presence.

“Lowcroft,” he said, “this is Mr. Shafto, who will take over Mr. Shaw’s share of the landing business; you had better show him round and give him instructions.  By the way,” turning to Shafto, “I suppose you don’t know a word of Burmese or Hindustani?”

The new arrival announced his complete ignorance of either language.

“Then you must see about getting a munshi at once.”

And with a nod the new assistant found himself dismissed.

On the very first Thursday after his arrival in Rangoon, Shafto presented himself at the “Barn,” a residence purchased many years previously for the use of the then reigning Gregory.

The house was large but unostentatious; the well-matured beautiful grounds and gardens were notable even in Rangoon.  A recent acquaintance, who escorted Shafto, presented him to Mrs. Gregory, a smart, sandy-haired little lady of five or six and thirty, with an animated, expressive face, intelligent grey eyes, and slightly prominent white teeth.  She was exquisitely dressed in some soft pale blue material, and wore a row of large and lustrous pearls.  Among the crowd of guests the newcomer discovered, to his great relief, several of his fellow-assistants, and not a few passengers from the Blankshire, including Mrs. Milward, who hailed him with a radiant countenance and plump, uplifted hands.

“My dear Douglas!  How I’ve been longing to see you!  I’m off to Mandalay to-morrow morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And I’m very sorry to go—­there’s such lots to do and see in this surprising place, but Ella has nailed me down to a date.  Have you seen anything of Sophy—­I mean,” correcting herself, “Miss Leigh?”