ruikshank would have
taken him to his heart; he was both jocose and irritable; he feigned a
glutton interest in his plate; he loaded the soft Malay tongue with
curious oaths, which he exploded at the servant; he alternately praised
and reviled the food, and from beneath his bushy eyebrows he glanced in
the kindliest fashion now at his daughter and now at his guest. And so
well did he succeed in heightening the enervation of the latter that it
was not until the acrid caramels were passed that Tancred even pretended
to eat. Then, remembering that it was Liance that made them, he ventured
to compliment the girl, and, as she answered nothing, acknowledging the
tribute only by an inclination of the head, he saw in the expression of
her face that she was even more emotionalized than he. Presently a
burning coal and some cigars were brought. Liance rose from the table,
and Tancred, rising too, accompanied her to the door. There, it may be,
she had some message to impart; her lips moved, yet before Tancred could
grasp its import the general called him, and he was obliged to turn. The
girl wandered out on the veranda, and Tancred resumed his seat.

"Will you smoke?" the general asked. His tone was so friendly that
Tancred felt more miserable than before. "Take one," he continued.
"Sumatran tobacco ranks nearly with the Havanese."

For a fraction of time which seemed immeasurable the two men smoked in
silence. But in a moment the general gave a poke at the coal, and looked
up at his guest.

"Mrs. Lyeth tells me that you have done us the honor to ask for my
daughter's hand."

Tancred glanced at the point of his cigar, and discovered that it was
out.

"May I trouble you?" he murmured.

The general shoved the brasier toward him, and watched the relighting
with evident solicitude.

"It's the dampness," he announced. "H'm. Am I correctly informed?"

Tancred gave a puff or two, and then, withdrawing the weed, he held it
contemplatively between forefinger and thumb; but he answered not a
word.

The general knocked the ashes from his own cigar and eyed the burning
coal.

"H'm, let me ask you, did you write to my daughter this morning?"

And Tancred, with that long-drawn breath we take when we prepare for the
worst, answered shortly:

"I did."

To this avowal the general nodded encouragingly. Tancred, however,
seemed averse to further confidences; he kept looking at his cigar as
though it were some strange and uncanny th