Then the storm broke.
Sir George listened to her sobs, as with a gentle hand he stroked the golden curls. All the time he wondered who was responsible for her tears, who had broken the heart of his cherished daughter.
He went over the multitude of men she knew. But he never gave one thought to the savage boy who, sixteen years before, had scarred his face—the Sultan Casim Ammeh.
CHAPTER XXI
In a fashionable London hotel a little party of three sat at dinner. The dining-room was a large place, full of well-dressed people. It was bright with electric light, and under a cover of greenery a band played not too loudly.
Among the crowd of diners none seemed better known than the girl with the short, golden curls who sat with the thin, studious-looking man and the fresh-faced, fair-haired boy. Very often lorgnettes were turned in her direction; for, when in town, no girl was more sought after than Pansy Langham.
As Pansy sat with her father and Captain Cameron a man who had been sitting at the far end of the room came to their table, greeting all three with the air of an old acquaintance.
Afterwards he turned to Cameron.
"Well, and how's tennis? Are you still champion in your own little way?" he asked.