e
is called "The Veiled Rose of Delhi," and no manner of man may lift that
mystic veil. I was treated en prince, but held at arm's length."

Hawke smiled softly, and said in a low voice, "I hardly see how all this
brings you over here. The Rose blooms by the far-away Jumna."

"Then know, my friend," laughed Anstruther, "such a rose as the peerless
Nadine Johnstone must have a duenna." He deftly caught an impassioned
glance from the softly shining brown eyes, and hastily went on. "She was
educated right here in this emporium of watches, musical boxes, correct
principles, and scientific research. Mesdames Justine and Euphrosyne
Delande, No. 122 Rue du Rhone, conduct an institute (justly renowned)
where calisthenics, a view of the lake, a little music, a great deal
of bad French, and the Conversations Lexicon, with some surface womanly
graces, may all be had for some two hundred pounds a year. Miss Justine
Delande, a sedately gray-tinted spinster, has been tempted to remain
on guard for a year out in India, having safely conducted this Pearl
of Jeunes Personnes Bien Elevees out to the old Qui Hai. I have been
charged with some few necessary explanations and negotiations, the
delivery of some presents, and, when I have visited this first-class
institute, enjoying all the attractions of the Jardin Anglais and the
Promenade du Lac, I shall flee these tranquil slopes of the Pennine
Alps. Incidentally, the records of Mademoiselle Euphrosyne will confirm
the very natural story of the would-be Sir Hugh, whose vanished wife no
Anglo-Indian has ever seen. She is supposably dead. A last official note
after I have run on to Paris will close up the whole awkward matter. I
will call there tomorrow and then take the early train, as I am on for
a lot of family visits and sporting events before I can settle down to
have my bit of a fling."

"It's a very strange story," murmured Alan Hawke. "No man ever suspected
Hugh Fraser of family honors."

"And 'the Rose of Delhi!' will probably marry some lucky fellow out
there, as old Johnstone has lacs and lacs of rupees," said Anstruther,
"for he cannot keep her in his great gardens forever, guarded by the
stony-eyed Swiss spinster, or let her run around as the Turks do their
priceless pet sheep with a silver bell around her neck. There was some
old marital unhappiness, I suppose, for the girl is evidently born in
wedlock, and the story is straight enough."

"Have you seen her?" eagerly inqui