"Spencer's Hotel, Madras.
"Dearest Robert," it began,
"Won't this be a nice surprise for you? I am actually in Madras; do come and fetch me as soon as you receive this, for I'm nearly grilled alive, and poor Parsons is in a state of collapse. We only arrived to-day, via Colombo and Tuticorin,—such a scorching land journey! My old friends the Herrapaths who are going round the world, persuaded me to accompany them from Port Said, so instead of returning home, I faced the other way. Was I not courageous? I made up my mind instantly, and just came off—I thought it such a splendid chance, to visit your wonderful coffee estate. Longing to see you.
"Your loving Sophy."
"She will have to know, now," remarked Mallender, as he returned the epistle. "No question of that."
"Certainly not," rejoined Rochfort, who had partly recovered from the first shock, "I shall face it out! Take her up to Ooty, tell her there is small-pox on the estate, and hustle her off home. You don't agree, I see."
"No, since you ask me, I don't."
"After all, it wouldn't work. No, on second thoughts, the Ooty club is full of planters, and they would give me away, as a rank impostor. Fraser, my friend, is in Australia; this is not the busy season. I see no escape," and he turned on his companion the eyes of a desperate man. "By God, I've a mind to put an end to myself!"
"What good would that do? you have to think of the Smiths. I see nothing for it, but to make a clean breast of it," answered Mallender firmly.
"Ah, it's easy to talk! I never could face her. I'm awfully sensitive, I—I—I've no moral courage," and he completely broke down, and presented a particularly distressing example of sheer cowardice!