He was pressing his advantage, for her precipitate departure would rob
him of the expected effect of Casimir Wieniawski's disclosures. "If
I find you en ami defamille, at Delhi, so that you can confidentially
approach Sir Hugh Johnstone, the ci-devant Hugh Fraser, your task
will be soon set for you, and your reward easily earned; but under no
circumstances are you to make the slightest attempt to a confidential
acquaintance with this wonderful Nadine. That is my affair." The tone
was almost trifling in its lightness, but Alan Hawke recognized the hand
of iron in the velvet glove.

"And now, Sir," coquettishly said Madame Berthe Louison, "you have been
a squire of dames in your day. Tell me of social India, for, while
I shall get a good maid out at Calcutta, I must depend upon Munich,
Venice, and Brindisi for my personal outfit. I know the whole United
Kingdom thoroughly. The Englishman and his cold-pulsed blonde mate at
home are well-learned lessons. The Continent, yes, even Russia, I know,
too," she gayly chattered; "but the Orient is as yet a sealed book to
me, and I would be helpless in Father India, without the womanly gear
appropriate to the social habits of your countrywomen."

"You have lived in England?" briefly demanded Alan Hawke, in some
surprise at her frank admissions.

"Yes, too long!" sternly answered Madame Louison, who was enjoying a
cigarette, as she signed to the maid to leave them alone. "I detest the
foggy climate," she added, a little late to temper the bitterness of the
remark.

"I will lull this watchful feminine tiger," the Major secretly decided,
as he began a brilliant sketch of the social life of the strange land of
Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. "I presume, of course, that you do not care to
appear with a fifty-pound Marshall & Snell grove outfit, as if you were
the wife of an Ensign in a marching regiment. I will give you the real
life our women lead out there. You could have secured a splendid London
outfit by a little time spent in making the detour."

"I wish to appear en Francaise, my true character," smiled Berthe. "I
never could sacrifice my Gaelic taste to the hideous color mixtures
and utilitarian ugliness of the English machine-made toilette. An
Englishwoman can only be trusted with a blue serge, a plain gray
traveling dress, or in the easy safety of black or white. They are not
the 'glass of fashion and the mold of form.' Now, Sir, let me see how
you have profited by your wanderin