ma saw was a tall, well-knit young fellow, with a dark, plain
face, a hawk nose, and grey eyes. He was clean-shaven; no moustache or
beard concealed the masterful squareness of his jaw or the rather
satirical curve of his thin lips.

Directly dinner was over he left her, though she begged him to stay till
her mother came home.

"Mother would like to thank you for what you did for me," she said.

"I will come and be thanked to-morrow morning, then," he said, laughing.
"I shall want to know how you are after your accident, you know--that
is, if I can get away from the shop."

Mrs. Macdonald came home rather early, and not in the best of tempers.
She had been a good deal alarmed and upset when Elma failed to arrive at
Government House; and even after the jampanni had brought the message
that her daughter was safe at the hotel she was extremely annoyed at
Elma's absence from the party. There were several bachelor guests whom
she would have been glad to introduce to her; and when she thought of
the radiant figure in the shimmering white robe that she had last seen
on the hotel verandah, she was ready to cry with vexation and
disappointment.

She listened with ill-concealed impatience to Elma's account of her
accident. "And pray who is this Mr. McIvor who roams about rescuing
distressed damsels?" she asked. "I never heard his name before."

"He said he came out of a shop," said Elma simply.

"A shop!" cried Mrs. Macdonald. "Really, Elma, you are no better than an
idiot! The idea of asking a man who comes out of a shop to dine with you
here! What will people say? You must be mad."

"But he was very kind to me, mother," said Elma, "and he missed his own
dinner by helping me. And, you know, I might have lain in that horrible
place all night if he had not helped me out. I don't see that any one
here can complain about his shop; they were not asked to meet him: we
dined quite by ourselves, he and I."

Mrs. Macdonald stamped her foot. "You are hopeless, Elma--quite
hopeless!" she cried. "What was your aunt dreaming of to bring you up to
have no more sense than a child of three years old?"

"He is very gentlemanly," said Elma, still gently expostulating. "You
will see for yourself: he is coming to call on you to-morrow, and to ask
how I am."

"Elma, I forbid you to see him again!" said the mother, now tragically
impressive. "If he calls to-morrow, I shall see him alone. You are not
to come into the room."

"I am afrai