"Certainly, sir," he returned, without hesitation; and stepping
down upon the pavement he walked into the club.
Less than two minutes afterward a highly infuriated military
gentleman--who, as it chanced, had never even heard of the
distinguished American traveller--came running out hatless into
Piccadilly, holding a crumpled visiting card in his hand. The
card, which his chauffeur had given him in the midst of a
thrilling game, read as follows:
MR. NICOL BRINN
RALEIGH HOUSE,
PICCADILLY, W. I.
And written in pencil beneath the name appeared the following:
Borrowed your Rolls. Urgent. Will explain tomorrow. Apologize.
N.B.
CHAPTER XXIII. PHIL ABINGDON'S VISITOR
On the following morning the card of His Excellency Ormuz Khan
was brought to Phil Abingdon in the charming little room which
Mrs. McMurdoch had allotted to her for a private sanctum during
the period of her stay under this hospitable roof.
"Oh," she exclaimed, and looked at the maid in a startled way. "I
suppose I must see him. Will you ask him to come in, please?"
A few moments later Ormuz Khan entered. He wore faultless morning
dress, too faultless; so devoid of any flaw or crease as to have
lost its masculine character. In his buttonhole was a hyacinth,
and in one slender ivory hand he carried a huge bunch of pink
roses, which, bowing deeply, he presented to the embarrassed
girl.
"Dare I venture," he said in his musical voice, bending deeply
over her extended hand, "to ask you to accept these flowers? It
would honour me.
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