scene with the satisfaction of an epicure. His major-domo, Dhinn, was putting the finishing touches upon the small table with its glistening white linen and shining silver. Fresh flowers gave off their fragrance from the center of the table and a candle in an odd Oriental holder and shade gave a soft, mellow light at each end. The rest of the room was dark. Rao-Singh had brought several trunkfuls of his native household decorations with him to America, and he had sought to reproduce as nearly as possible in his Long Island home the atmosphere of India. He succeeded very well. Soft Oriental rugs covered the floors. From the shadowy walls gleamed dully a bronze Buddha, the ivory tusks of an elephant, rare tapestries. It was a room to delight the eye of a collector but hardly a room to reassure the heart of a married woman who has come to dine secretly with its owner.
Rao-Singh was attired in evening clothes and save for the white turban which he wore around his head and his beady black eyes, he might have been taken for an unusually large American society man of thirty-five whose's kin has been burned swarthy by the summer sun. He had made a trip to New York a few days previous for the express purpose of purchasing a gorgeous diamond pendant for an outrageous price from one of the exclusive
