Chouk."

Anstruther paused, fishing for another fugitive smile. He caught it
behind the back of the wary adventurer.

"I know the old house well," said Hawke with an affected unconcern.
"Men were always entertained royally there, but I never saw a woman of
station in its vast saloons."

"Now there you are!" cried Anstruther, lightly resuming: "I was sent
up to Delhi to delicately find out about this alleged daughter, for the
Chief does not want to throw Johnstone's baronetcy over. The fact is
before they packed the toothless old King of Oude away to Rangoon to
die with his favorite wife and their one wolf cub out there, Hugh Fraser
skillfully extorted a surrender of a huge private treasure of jewels
from these people while they were hidden away in Humayoon's tomb.
There's one trust deposit yet to be divided between the Government
and this sly old Indo-Scotch-man, and I fancy the empty honor of the
baronetcy is a quid pro quo." Alan Hawke laughed heartily. "It is really
diamond cut diamond, then."

"Precisely," said Anstruther, as he most calmly waved his hand to the
steward, who silently refilled even the glass of the Venus Anonyma.
A slight inclination of the head and parthian glance number three,
encouraged Anstruther to hasten and conclude, for the moon was sailing
grandly over the lake now.

Love thrilled in the young man's vacant heart, sounding the chords of
the Harp of Life. He had been in a glittering Indian exile long enough
to be very susceptible. "I spent two weeks up there with the expectant
Sir Hugh Johnstone," lightly rattled on the aid. "I verified the fact
that the young woman is his acknowledged daughter. He has no other
lineal heir to the title, for an old, dry-as-dust, retired Edinburgh
professor, a brother, childless and eccentric, is living near St.
Helier's, in Jersey, in a beautiful Norman chateau farm mansion, where
old Hugh proposed once to end his days. It seems to be all square
enough. I was as delicate as I could be about it, and the matter is
apparently all right. The papers have all gone on, and, in due time,
Hugh Fraser will be Sir Hugh Johnstone!"

Anstruther quaffed a beaker with guileful ideas of detaining his fair
neighbor, now ruffling her plumage for departure, for only a sporadic
knot of diners here and there lingered at the long table. "The girl
herself?" asked Hawke, with a strange desire to know more.

"Report has duly magnified her hidden charms," replied Anstruther. "Sh