“Brute!” ejaculated Shafto.

“Agreed!  I have enlisted one friend for the poor child.  Polly Gregory—­she is so clever, clear-headed and decided, and will be a rock of strength—­she is sure to like Sophy, eh?”

“Oh yes, that will be all right!”

“I put in a good word for you too, Master Douglas.”

“That was kind,” and he swept off his straw hat.

“I wonder if that’s meant sarcastic?  Perhaps you think good wine needs no bush?  Yes, and I’ve told Polly I knew you as a boy—­and how, instead of quill-driving, you hoped to wear a sword.”

“Hope told a flattering tale,” he answered with a laugh.  “Don’t forget that the pen is the mightier of the two.”

“No,” she dissented; “I back the sword, though it’s rarely drawn now, thank goodness.  Well, I’ve said my say and given you my impressions and instructions; we must go back and join the Burra Mems.  I shall write to you from Mandalay and see you later, when I pass through to Calcutta.  Now you had better go and try to get a set of tennis,” and, with a wave of adieu, Mrs. Milward strolled away across the grass, an attractive personality with her fresh complexion, soft round face, dark pencilled brows, and bewitching mauve toilet—­which toilet was subsequently tabooed by her daughter as “too young”!

“George,” said Mrs. Gregory to her husband, “that new importation is a nice boy; Milly Milward has known him since he was in blouses; he has had rather hard luck; his father was swindled out of a comfortable fortune, and he has to turn to and earn his bread.”

“What we all do!” growled George.

“Yes, but some ways are so much more agreeable than others.  His profession was to have been along the path of glory.”

“What is that?”

“Why, the Army, of course.”

“And now his profession is checking inventories and cargoes.  As he is new to the business, he will have his hands fairly full for the next few months; so, my dear Polly, don’t turn his head just yet.”

“As if I ever turned anybody’s head.”

“I cannot answer for others, but you certainly turned mine.”

“Ah, but that was twelve years ago; I’m afraid my fascinations have faded since then.  Joking apart, George, Milly has left me two legacies—­two proteges to befriend.  Shafto is one—­I am to invite him to tea, and talk to him with wisdom, and win his complete and entire confidence.”

“Oh! and the other?”

“The other is Miss Leigh, whom she chaperoned from home.  She is living with an aunt, who is married to a German named Krauss.”

“Yes, I know; a poisonous chap!”

“So she seems to think, and that this girl, who by all accounts is very pretty and charming, and a marvellous pianist, has been lured out to act as maid and housekeeper, and save the pocket of Herr Krauss.  Now, as I have two legacies, I want to know if you will take one of them off my hands?”