BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
Honour, become kill your Honour's girl, very sorry. I write this to obliged for you nextime.
Yours triily, and complete servant,
Christian Friend.
"My Christian friend," chuckled Owen grimly. "They teach them well at the missions—So unless I give you a private interview with the cat, you will regretfully kill me and—" he laughed—"'Your Honour's girl.' By George, I wish she were! Whatever he wants, this chap is making a rather silly bluff."
He dressed hurriedly, and after a short drive, reached Mr. Sanders's house. Not before coffee in the verandah when the ladies were talking of Home, and the men betting whether the French would give up Chantabun—did he get free speech of Laura. Lamps on a long table divided them from most of the company.
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