Day by day the
proud self-reliant woman was yielding to the imperious will of the
young soldier. It was a soft, self-deception that reassured her on
the very evening when he left her.
But there was one now weaving his webs at Lausanne whose fertile
brain was busied with sly schemes of his own. Alan Hawke always
first considered "his duty to himself" and so the acute Major decided
to spy out the land before he precipitately appeared at London, or
dared to risk himself at St. Agnes Road, St. Heliers.
"It is just as well to know all that Justine can tell me before I
see this young dandy Anstruther, and to find out what Euphrosyne
knows before I interrogate her sister," he murmured; "I must make
no mistake with the Viceroy's kinsman!"
With much prevision he had telegraphed the date of his probable
arrival in London to Captain Anstruther from Munich, adding that
convenient fairy tale, "Delayed by illness" and he had also left
this telegram behind, so as to be sent on to allow him four days
leeway near Geneva.
The signature bore also an injunction to answer to Hotel Binda,
Paris. "This is no little card game," muttered Hawke. "It is for
rank, wealth, and the hand of Miss Million, the rose of Delhi."
Alan Hawke was practically received with open arms by the
fluttering-hearted Euphrosyne, who nobly resigned herself to Justine's
victory over Alan Hawke's heart.
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