"What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. It is absolutely a frightful neighbourhood, this. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears.
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