Pshaw! as if any advice could influence a man like
that! Absurd.
I sipped my coffee in disgust with myself. All the time, while trying to
persuade myself that Isaacs was only a very successful schemer, neither
better nor worse than other men, I was conscious of the face that would
not be banished from my sight. I saw the beautiful boyish look in his
deep dark eyes, the gentle curve of the mouth, the grand smooth
architrave of the brows. No--I was a fool! I had never met a man like
him, nor should again. How could Miss Westonhaugh save herself from
loving such a perfect creature? I thought, too, of his generosity. He
would surely keep his promise and deliver poor Shere Ali, hunted to
death by English and Afghan foes, from all his troubles. Had he not the
Maharajah of Baithopoor in his power? He might have exacted the full
payment of the debt, principal and interest, and saved the Afghan chief
into the bargain. But he feared lest the poor Mohammedans should suffer
from the prince's extortion, and he forgave freely the interest,
amounting now to a huge sum, and put off the payment of the bond itself
to the maharajah's convenience. Did ever an Oriental forgive a debt
before even to his own brother? Not in my experience.
I rose and went down to Isaacs. I found him as on the previous evening,
among his cushions with a manuscript book.
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