But what would have been the sensation of these worthy people if they had received a portrait of Mee Lay in full festival costume—­flowers in hair and white cheroot in hand!

On the subject of Mrs. Abel Salter there was but scanty information; her old maid sisters-in-law were given to understand that she sent them her best good-wishes—­she also forwarded silks and jars of Burmese condiments, but her husband declared that she was very lazy about letter-writing and constitutionally shy.  Her maiden name, they were told, had been Mary Lee, and this information had sufficed.

Besides having the entree to the Salters’ domestic circle, Shafto had been elected a member of the Gymkhana Club, where he made various new acquaintances—­and these increased in number as his prowess in tennis and cricket became evident; then, with the advice—­and, indeed, almost under the compulsion—­of FitzGerald, he purchased a smart stud-bred mare, certainly no longer in her first youth, but sound, clever and full of “go.”  She was not called upon to shine on a race-course, but carried her master admirably in Station paper-chases on Thursday afternoons.

By the MacNab this investment was looked upon with a dubious and unfavourable eye, although he was aware that the price of “Moonshine” had come out of a small nest-egg which her owner had brought from home.  He pointed out the enormous price of gram, or English oats, and he earnestly entreated Shafto “not to be led into follies by other people” (meaning FitzGerald), “but to keep his head and go slow.”

During this month of November Shafto had frequently come across his fellow-passengers in the Blankshire; even Lady Puffle had acknowledged his existence with a bow; not once had he beheld the desire of his eyes—­Miss Leigh.  She appeared to have vanished as completely as a summer mist and, it was whispered, had been swallowed up and submerged by the German colony.

Mrs. Krauss had vouchsafed no notice of his visit and card; her niece was never to be seen either at the Gymkhana, or on the lakes—­the principal meeting-places for young and old.  More than once he imagined that he had caught sight of her in the cathedral at evening service, but she looked so different in smart Sunday clothes—­a feathered hat and gauzy gown—­that he might have been mistaken, and he heard from MacNab (the gossip of the chummery) that Krauss had brought forward a remarkably pretty niece, who had recently played in a concert at the German Club, and made a sensational success.

When Shafto rode in the mornings, he eyed expectantly every passing or approaching habit, but Sophy Leigh was never among the early cavalcade—­for the excellent reason that she had no horse.