Linforth turned and saw standing just within the doorway his friend
Shere Ali.
"You could hardly tell that he was not English," she went on; and indeed, with his straight features, his supple figure, and a colour no darker than many a sunburnt Englishman wears every August, Shere Ali might have passed unnoticed by a stranger. It seemed that he had been watching for the couple to stop dancing. For no sooner had they stopped than he advanced quickly towards them.
Linforth, however, had not as yet noticed him.
"It can't be Shere Ali," he said. "He is in the country. I heard from him only to-day."
"Yet it is he," said Mrs. Oliver, and then Linforth saw him.
"Hallo!" he said softly to himself, and as Shere Ali joined them he added aloud, "something has happened."
"Yes, I have news," said Shere Ali. But he was looking at Mrs. Oliver, and spoke as though the news had been pushed for a moment into the back of his mind.
"What is it?" asked Linforth.
Shere Ali turned to Linforth.
"I go back to Chiltistan."