d so had
kept herself free from blame or deserved opprobrium, if not entirely
from criticism? In the day when girls were not in the present sense
emancipated, she had the savoir faire and the poise of a married woman
of thirty. Yet she was delicate, fresh, and flower-like, and very
amusing, in a way which delighted men; and she did not antagonize women.

Stafford had ruled Byng out of consideration where she was concerned.
He had not heard her father's remark of the night before, "Jasmine will
marry that nabob--you'll see."

He was, however, recalled to the strange possibilities of life by a
note which was handed to Byng as they stood before the club-room fire.
He could not help but see--he knew the envelope, and no other
handwriting was like Jasmine's, that long, graceful, sliding hand. Byng
turned it over before opening it.

"Hello," he said, "I'm caught. It's a woman's hand. I wonder how she
knew I was here."

Mentally Stafford shrugged his shoulders as he said to himself: "If
Jasmine wanted to know where he was, she'd find out. I wonder--I
wonder."

He watched Byng, over whose face passed a pleased smile.

"Why," Byng said, almost eagerly, "it's from Miss Grenfel--wants me to
go and tell her about Jameson and the Raid."

He paused for an instant, and his face clouded again. "The first thing
I must do is to send cables to Johannesburg. Perhaps there are some
waiting for me at my rooms. I'll go and see. I don't know why I didn't
get news sooner. I generally get word before the Government. There's
something wrong somewhere. Somebody has had me."

"If I were you I'd go to our friend first. When I'm told to go at once,
I go. She wouldn't like cablegrams and other things coming between you
and her command--even when Dr. Jim's riding out of Matabeleland on the
Rand for to free the slaves."

Stafford's words were playful, but there was, almost unknown to
himself, a strange little note of discontent and irony behind.

Byng laughed. "But I'll be able to tell her more, perhaps, if I go to
my rooms first."

"You are going to see her, then?"

"Certainly. There's nothing to do till we get news of Jameson at bay in
a conga or balled up at a kopje." Thrusting the delicately perfumed
letter in his pocket, he nodded, and was gone.

"I was going to see her myself," thought Stafford, "but that settles
it. It will be easier to go where duty calls instead, since Byng takes
my place. Why, she told me to come to-day at thi