Bridge.

"Jack! Jack, darling!" (There was no mistake about the words this time:
they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear.) "It's
some hideous mistake, I'm sure. _Please_ forgive me, Jack, and let's be
friends again."

The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and pray daily
for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief
in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.

How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by
my syce taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. From the
horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and
dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry-brandy. There
two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing
the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me
just then than the consolations of religion could have been. I plunged
into the midst of the conversation at once; chatted, laughed, and jested
with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white and
drawn as that of a corpse. Three or four men noticed my condition; and,
evidently setting it down to the results of over-many pegs, charitably
endeavoured to draw me apart from the rest of the loungers. But I
refused to be led away. I wanted the company of my kind--as a child
rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after a fright in the dark.
I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an
eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's clear voice outside inquiring for
me. In another minute she had entered the shop, prepared to roundly
upbraid me for failing so signally in my duties. Something in my face
stopped her.

"Why, Jack," she cried, "what _have_ you been doing? What has happened?
Are you ill?" Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that the sun had
been a little too much for me. It was close upon five o'clock of a
cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw my
mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth: attempted to recover
it; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty in a regal rage, out of
doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I have
forgotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and cantered away to
my hotel, leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself.

In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. Here
was I, Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian