de. The understanding may now be
ratified. May I dine with you to-night?

"Yours, M.

"P.S.--You are the first to know, but I have also sent a note to our
young friend, Ian Stafford. Mais, he cannot say, 'Alone I did it.'

"M."

"Thank God--thank God, for England!" said Ian solemnly, the greater
thing in him deeply stirred. "Now let war come, if it must; for we can
do our work without interference."

"Thank God," he repeated, fervently, and the light in his eyes was
clearer and burned brighter than the fire which had filled them during
the past few moments.

Then he clasped her in his arms again.

As Ian drove swiftly in a hansom to the Foreign Office, his brain
putting in array and reviewing the acts which must flow from this
international agreement now made possible, the note Mennaval had
written Jasmine flashed before his eyes: "Dearest lady.... May I dine
with you to-night? ... M."

His face flushed. There was something exceedingly familiar--more in the
tone of the words than the words themselves--which irritated and
humiliated him. What she had done for him apparently warranted this
intimate, self-assured tone on the part of Mennaval, the philanderer.
His pride smarted. His rose of triumph had its thorns.

A letter from Mennaval was at the Foreign Office awaiting him. He
carried it to the Prime Minister, who read it with grave satisfaction.

"It is just in time, Stafford," he remarked. "You ran it close. We will
clinch it instantly. Let us have the code."

As the Prime Minister turned over the pages of the code, he said,
dryly: "I hear from Pretoria, through Mr. Byng, that President Kruger
may send the ultimatum tomorrow. I fear he will have the laugh on us,
for ours is not ready. We have to make sure of this thing first.... I
wonder how Landrassy will take it."

He chuckled deeply. "Landrassy made a good fight, but you made a better
one, Stafford. I shouldn't wonder if you got on in diplomacy," he
added, with quizzical humour.... "Ah, here is the code! Now to clinch
it all before Oom Paul's challenge arrives."

CHAPTER XVI

THE COMING OF THE BAAS

"The Baas--where the Baas?"

Barry Whalen turned with an angry snort to the figure in the doorway.
"Here's the sweet Krool again," he said. "Here's the faithful, loyal
offspring of the Vaal and the karoo, the bulwark of the Baas.... For
God's sake smile for once in your life!" he growled with an oath, and,
snatching up a glass of whiskey a