We rode away under the trees.  My impression of the whole visit was unsatisfactory.  I had thought Mr. Currie Ghyrkins would be there, and that I would be able to engage him in a political discussion.  We could have talked income-tax, and cotton duties, and Kabul by the hour, and Miss Westonhaugh and Isaacs would have had a pleasant tete-a-tete. Instead of this I had been decidedly the unlucky third who destroys the balance of so much pleasure in life, for I felt that Isaacs was not a man to be embarrassed if left alone with a woman, or to embarrass her.  He was too full of tact, and his sensibilities were so fine that, with his easy command of language, he must be agreeable quand meme; and such an opportunity would have given him an easy lead away from the athletic Kildare, whom I suspected strongly of being a rival for Miss Westonhaugh’s favour.  There is an easy air of familiar proprietorship about an Englishman in love that is not to be mistaken.  It is a subtle thing, and expresses itself neither in word nor deed in its earlier stages of development; but it is there all the same, and the combination of this possessive mood, with a certain shyness which often goes with it, is amusing.

“Griggs,” said Isaacs, “have you ever seen the Rajah of Baithopoor?”

“No; you had some business with him this morning, had you not?”

“Yes—­some—­business—­if you call it so.  If you would like to see him I can take you there, and I think you would be interested in the—­the business.  It is not often such gems are bought and sold in such a way, and besides, he is very amusing.  He is at least two thousand years old, and will go to Saturn when he dies.  His fingers are long and crooked, and that which he putteth into his pockets, verily he shall not take it out.”

“A pleasing picture; a good contrast to the one we have left behind us.  I like contrasts, and I should like to see him.”

“You shall.”  And we lit our cheroots.

* * * * *

CHAPTER V.

“We will go there at four,” said Isaacs, coming into my rooms after tiffin, a meal of which I found he rarely partook.  “I said three, this morning, but it is not a bad plan to keep natives waiting.  It makes them impatient, and then they commit themselves.”

“You are Machiavellian.  It is pretty clear which of you is asking the favour.”

“Yes, it is pretty clear.”  He sat down and took up the last number of the Howler which lay on the table.  Presently he looked up.  “Griggs, why do you not come to Delhi?  We might start a newspaper there, you know, in the Conservative interest.”

“In the interest of Mr. Algernon Currie Ghyrkins?” I inquired.

“Precisely.  You anticipate my thoughts with a true sympathy.  I suppose you have no conscience?”

“Political conscience?  No, certainly not, out of my own country, which is the only one where that sort of thing commands a high salary.  No, I have no conscience.”