This was hard swearing, certainly, but it was in for a penny, in for a pound, and the Scotia sailed at nine o'clock.
Still Mr. Lisle was not convinced, and he saw it and added,—
"You think very little of my bare word, I see. No doubt you would like to see some tangible proof of what I say. There is no time now ('thank goodness,' to himself) to bring us face to face, but if I promise to show you some token before we sail, will that content you?"
Mr. Lisle made no reply.
"And," he continued, "I'm going to turn in now, for it's four o'clock, and I'm dead beat. Don't let us fall out, old fellow—no woman is worth it. They are all the same, they can't help their nature," and with this parting declaration, Mr. Quentin, finished actor and finished flirt, sorrowfully nodded his head and took his departure.
Once in his own apartment he tore off his coat, called his body-servant to pull off his boots, threw himself into an arm-chair, and composed himself with a cheroot, yea, at four o'clock in the morning! He had shown a bold front, and had impressed Lisle—that he could see plainly. But how about this little token? He did not possess a glove, a ribbon, a flower, much less a photograph or a lock of hair. What was he to do? For fully a quarter of an hour the query found no answer in his brain, till his sleepy servant, asking some trivial question, gave him a clue; he saw it all, as it were, in a lightning flash.
Abdul was married to Miss Denis's ayah (a handsome, good-for-nothing virago, who, it was rumoured, occasionally inflicted corporal punishment upon her lord and master, and was avaricious to the last degree).
Abdul was a dark, oily-looking, sly person, who was generally to be trusted—when his own interests did not clash with his employer's.
"Abdul, look here," said Mr. Quentin suddenly, "I want you to do something for me at once."
"Yes, saar," said Abdul in a drowsy voice.