"Then I am proud to shake hands with her," said the lady graciously. "There are very few men, Miss Maclean, whom I admire as I did your father."
A few friendly words followed, and then the Sahib and Mona continued their way.
"Oh, Mr Dickinson," said Mona, when they had reached the large refreshment-room, and were seated in a deserted corner, "what have you done?"
"Well, what have I done!" said the Sahib, in good-humoured mystification. "I ought to have asked your permission before introducing you in a place like this; but Lady Kirkhope is not at all particular in that sort of way, and we met her so à propos. I am sure you would not mind if you knew how she spoke of your father."
"It is not that." Mona drew a long breath. "It is not your fault in the least, but I don't think any human being was ever placed in such a false position as I am." She hesitated. When she had first seen the glad friendly smile on the Sahib's face, she had fancied it would be so easy to tell him the whole story; but now the situation seemed so absurd, so grotesque, so impossible, that she could not find words.
"Mr Dickinson," she said at last, "Lady Munro really is my aunt."
"She appears to be under a strong impression to that effect."
"And Gordon Maclean was my father."
"So I have heard."
"And my mother, Miss Lennox, was a lady whom any one would have been glad to know."