“You’ve a beautiful garden,” he said; and for a minute or two they talked of flowers, of which he knew more than a little; then of music, of which he understood a very great deal.

“Have you a proper lease on this house?” he asked at last.

“I believe so.  Why?”

“I’ve been told there’s some question about the title.  Some one’s bringing suit against your landlord for possession on some ground or another.”

“What of it?  Suppose the other should win—­could he put us out?”

“I don’t know.  That might depend on your present landlord’s power to make the lease at the time when he made it.”

“But we signed the agreement in good faith.  Surely, as long as we pay the rent—?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  Well—­if there’s any trouble, come to me about it and we’ll see what can be done.”

“But who is this who is bringing suit against the landlord?”

“I haven’t heard his name—­don’t even know the details.  I hope you’ll come out of it all right.  Certainly I’ll help in any way I can.  Sometimes a little influence, you know, exerted in the right way—­well—­Please give my regards to your husband—­Good morning, Mrs. Blaine.”

It was a pet theory of his that few men pay enough attention to their backs,—­not that he preached it; preaching is tantamount to spilling beans, supposing that the other fellow listens; and if he doesn’t listen it is waste of breath.  But he bore in mind that people behind him had eyes as well as those in front.  Accordingly he made a very dignified exit down the long path, tipped Mrs. Blaine’s sais all the man had any right to expect, and rode away feeling that he had made the right impression.  He looked particularly well on horseback.

Theresa Blaine smiled after him, wondering what impression she herself had made; but she did not have much time to think about it.  From the open window behind her she was seized suddenly, drawn backward and embraced.

“You are perfect!” Yasmini purred in her ear between kisses.  “You are surely one of the fairies sent to live among mortals for a sin!  I shall love you forever!  Now that burra-wallah Samson sahib will ride into the town, and perhaps also to the law-court, and to other places, to ask about your landlord, of whom he knows nothing, having only heard a servant’s tale.  But Tom Tripe will have told already that I am at the burra commissioner’s house, and Gungadhura will send there to ask questions.  And whoever goes will have to wait long.  And when the commissioner returns at last he will deny that I have been there, and the messenger will return to Gungadhura, who will not believe a word of it, especially as he will know that the commissioner has been riding about the town on an unknown errand.  So, after he has learned that I am back in my own palace, Gungadhura will try to poison me again.  All of which is as it should be.  Come closer and let me—­”