one could call
liberal."

"That is all?"

"Yes," said Kinnaird. "I'm afraid one couldn't expect anything
further."

Ida smiled rather curiously. She liked the man, but it was clear that
his mental capacity had its limits. Though she would not have had him
expatiate on the fact, she had expected him to realize that his
mission was to uphold the white man's supremacy, and establish
tranquillity, commerce and civilization in a barbarous land. It was,
however, evident that he did not understand this. He was going out, as
he said, to drill thick-headed niggers, and would, in all probability,
content himself with doing that.

Then he turned toward her again.

"What it leads to doesn't matter very much. I've been getting away
from the point," he said. "You see, I don't know whether I'm going at
all, at the moment. It depends a good deal on what you have to say to
me."

Ida started a little, though she had expected something of this kind.
Still, she recovered her serenity quickly, and in a moment she looked
at him inquiringly with calm eyes.

"I didn't mean to say anything for some while yet, but this thing has
forced my hand," he said. "You see, I must let them know during the
next day or two whether I'm going."

He broke off for a moment, and his manner became diffident.

"Miss Stirling," he added, "I think I fell in love with you the second
or third time I saw you, if not the first, and as I have seen you
rather often since then, you can, perhaps, imagine what I feel now.
I'm afraid there is no very strong reason why you should look kindly
on such a man as I am, but I came here to-night to ask if you would
marry me."

Ida quietly met his gaze. The man was well-favored physically, honest,
courteous and considerate, and in many ways she liked him. Indeed, she
wondered with a certain uneasiness how far she had allowed the latter
fact to become apparent, for it was quite another matter to marry him,
as she now realized.

"Is this offer quite spontaneous?" she asked.

Kinnaird flushed a little, but she thought the more of him for the
candor with which he answered her.

"In the first place, I believe my mother put the thing into my head,"
he admitted. "After that, it got hold of me--and I was rather glad
that my people were apparently satisfied that it did. It promised to
save trouble, for I should naturally have gone on with it if they had
done their utmost to thwart me."

He broke off abruptly, and Ida met h