told to him in the
garden at Peshawur--"Are you going to marry Linforth?" That had been
Shere Ali's last question when he had parted from her upon the steps of
the courtyard of the Fort. Linforth remembered it now as he looked into
Shere Ali's face. "Here is a man who hates me," he said to himself. And
thus, for the first time since they had dined together in the mess-room
at Chatham, the two friends met.

"Surely you have not forgotten me, Shere Ali?" said Linforth, trying to
force his voice in to a note of cheery friendliness. But the attempt was
not very successful. The look of hatred upon Shere Ali's face had died
away, it is true. But mere impassivity had replaced it. He had aged
greatly during those months. Linforth recognised that clearly now. His
face was haggard, his eyes sunken. He was a man, moreover. He had been
little more than a boy when he had dined with Linforth in the mess-room
at Chatham.

"After all," Linforth continued, and his voice now really had something
of genuine friendliness, for he understood that Shere Ali had
suffered--had suffered deeply; and he was inclined to forgive his
temerity in proposing marriage to Violet Oliver--"after all, it is not so
much more than a year ago when we last talked together of our plans."

Shere Ali turned to the younger of the two who stood beside him and spoke
a few words in a tongue which Linforth did not yet understand. The
youth--he was a youth with a soft pleasant voice, a graceful manner and
something of the exquisite in his person--stepped smoothly forward and
repeated the words to Linforth's Pathan.

"What does he say?" asked Linforth impatiently. The Pathan translated:

"His Highness the Prince would be glad to know what your Excellency means
by interrupting him."

Linforth flushed with anger. But he had his mission to fulfil, if it
could be fulfilled.

"What's the use of making this pretence?" he said to Shere Ali. "You and
I know one another well enough."

And as he ended, Shere Ali suddenly leaned over the balustrade of the
balcony. His two companions followed the direction of his eyes; and both
their faces became alert with some expectancy. For a moment Linforth
imagined that Shere Ali was merely pretending to be absorbed in what he
saw. But he, too, looked, and it grew upon him that here was some matter
of importance--all three were watching in so eager a suspense.

Yet what they saw was a common enough sight in Ajmere, or in any other
t