The cooking was good; there was real silver on the table, then a strange sight in that part of Africa, and amongst engravings and other pictures upon the walls, hung an oil portrait of a very beautiful young woman with dark hair and eyes.
"Is that your daughter, Mr.Marnham ?" I asked.
"No," he replied rather shortly, "it is her mother." Immediately afterwards he was called from the room to speak to some one, whereon the doctor said-- "A foreigner as you see, a Hungarian; the Hungarian women are very good looking and very charming." "So I have understood," I answered, "but does this lady live here ?" "Oh, no.

She is dead, or I believe that she is dead.

I am not sure, because I make it a rule never to pry into people's private affairs.

All I know about her is that she was a beauty whom Marnham married late in life upon the Continent when she was but eighteen.

As is common in such cases he was very jealous of her, but it didn't last long, as she died, or I understand that she died, within a year of her daughter's birth.