There are few prettier places in the world than Batavia, and I have met with few handsomer girls than the distinguished-looking American by my side; but for all that I was not contented with my lot. I wanted to be back in the verandah at the hotel watching for Alie.
Leaving a handsome street behind us we passed on to the plain, where a large crowd of people were promenading to the strains of a military band. At any other time the music would have been inspiriting, but, in the humour I was in, the gayest marches sounded like funeral dirges. For over an hour we continued to promenade, until I began really to think that I should have to ask my friends to accompany me home or remain where they were without me. But at last the concert came to an end, and we once more turned our faces in the direction of our hotel.
"You have been very quiet this evening," said Miss Sanderson to me as we left the turf and stepped on to the road again.
"I hope my being so has not spoilt your enjoyment," I said, trying to beg the question.
"Oh, dear no!" Then, as if something had suddenly struck her, "Do you expect to see anyone in Batavia? I have noticed that you scan every lady we pass as if you were on the look-out for an acquaintance."
"I did expect to see someone, I must confess," I answered. "You have sharp eyes. Miss Sanderson."
"They have been trained in a sharp school," was her brief reply.
By this time we. were within five minutes walk of home, and in the act of crossing one of the numerous bridges that, in Dutch fashion, grace Batavia's streets. We paused for a few moments and leaned over the parapet to
