"I will make her understand then," said Geoffrey.
"Don't talk like a brute. You will have to be very patient and considerate for her. Go slow!"
"Can I stop here to-night, then?" asked Barrington, plaintively.
"No," said Reggie with firmness; "that is really more than I could stick. I told you—truth or untruth, the mind keeps on seeing pictures. Pack up your things. Call a coolie. The evening walk down to Nikko will do you more good than my jawing. Good-bye."
An unreal handshake—and he was gone.
Then, of a sudden, Geoffrey realized that, how very unwittingly, he had deeply wronged this man who was his best friend and upon whom he was leaning in his hour of trial. Like Job, his adversities were coming upon him from this side and from that, until he must curse God and die. Now his friend had given him his dismissal. He would probably never see Reggie Forsyth again.
As he was starting on his long walk downhill a motor car passed him. Only one motor car that season had climbed the precipitous road from the plains. It must be Yaé Smith's. Just as it was passing the girl leaned out of the carriage and blew a kiss to Geoffrey.
She was not alone. There was a small fat man in the car beside her, a Japanese with a round impertinent face. With a throb of bitter heart-sickness Geoffrey recognized his own servant, Tanaka.
* * * * *
Next morning Reggie Forsyth crossed the lake as usual to his work at the Embassy. He met the Ambassadress on the terrace of her villa.