After nine years in India one is glad to get back to England, particularly as Darrell, in spite of the large stock of health and spirits which he took from England with him, had found as most men do in India that he had a liver. Elizabeth had remained perfectly well during all the nine years of her life under the hard blue Indian skies. She was now in her thirtieth year, and Darrell was nearly forty. Their attachment had assumed the fixed and settled form which nine years of constant association and respect must inevitably produce in every marriage. There were no jars or disagreements between them, and except for the absence of children Darrell reckoned his domestic life absolutely perfect.

Pelham, who like Darrell was now a major with a lieutenant-colonelcy in sight, knew that the time had come, if he was ever to see anything of the world beyond India, England, and his flying trip to the United States, for him to start upon his travels. In one way he was no longer necessary to Elizabeth, as she was now a trained and experienced woman,—the least likely, he thought, of any woman in the world, to make a false step of any kind. Elizabeth herself, although she had never ceased to depend on Pelham, had developed under his tutelage, so that she was in many ways able to stand without him; and, not being a woman to keep a man at her side without cause, she encouraged Pelham in his desire to travel.

The three returned to England together. After being established in the fine London house which was a part of their inheritance, Elizabeth’s first thought was for her father. It was in the spring-time that the Darrells arrived in Europe, and a delightful plan was arranged by which Elizabeth was to send for General Brandon, and he with the Darrells and Pelham were to begin in August a three months’ journey on the Continent. Elizabeth, whose mind was now well formed and furnished, looked forward with eagerness to seeing the brilliant capitals of Continental Europe,—those spots of romantic beauty and poetic sights, of which she had first read and dreamed in the old country house in Virginia and afterwards under the solemn deodars and in the shady bungalows of the Punjaub.

Darrell’s health improved wonderfully from the day he arrived in England, and it was thought that this Continental tour would restore him to the physical perfection which he originally possessed. They found London delightful, as London is apt to be with youth, good looks, beauty, and forty thousand pounds. Pelham had his own lodgings near them, but Darrell’s house was home to him. He saw almost as much of Elizabeth as in the years when they lived in cantonments together, but both Elizabeth and Darrell were fonder of society than Pelham. After they had breakfasted, Darrell and Elizabeth went together shopping, a novel and delightful experience to both of them; and they generally carried Pelham along with them, much to his disgust. They always referred things to him and never took his advice.

Darrell loved to adorn Elizabeth’s beauty, and one of the things which gave him the most pleasure was the making of a fine diamond and pearl necklace for his wife’s white throat. He had inherited a diamond necklace along with the Pelham properties. To these he added other stones and some fine pearls. Elizabeth insisted that the pretty pearl brooch which had been her wedding gift from Darrell should be included in the necklace, and they spent hours together at the jeweller’s planning the making of the necklace. Pelham stood by listening good-naturedly, and never suggesting any reduction in expense where Elizabeth’s wishes were concerned.

When August came, however, Darrell was not so well, but he was eager for the Continental tour, upon which Elizabeth had set her heart. Elizabeth, however, would not hear of his going, and as Pelham’s leave was limited he would be forced to go without the Darrells. The doctors had not absolutely said that Darrell should not go, but considered it best that he remain in England; it was Elizabeth’s over-solicitude for Darrell which really induced her to give up a plan so dear not only to her, but, as she well knew, to Pelham also. It cost her far more to deny Pelham than to deny herself, and this he well understood; for by that time they read each other like an open book, although no word of love had been spoken between them after that sudden out-break of their hearts on that night now eight years past when, standing in the solemn gloom of the cypress trees in the sultry Indian night, they had uttered unforgetable words. Pelham never felt prouder of Elizabeth and her forgetfulness of self than on the day she told him of her decision about the Continental tour, in her pretty London drawing-room, in which she fitted beautifully. It was so, as Pelham thought, that she fitted every place in which he had seen her.

“You know how delightful it would be for us to go,”—she always spoke of “us,” Darrell and herself being in fact never separated,—“but the doctor says it wouldn’t be the best thing for Jack; he would be sure to overdo it, and that is what I don’t intend to let him do.”

“Elizabeth,” said Pelham, after a pause, “I think you are all in all the best wife I ever knew.”

“Why shouldn’t I be a good wife—haven’t I the best husband in the world? Jack often reminds me of my father, who has just such an open, frank, simple nature as Jack’s,—one of those natures which nobody fears and yet of which everybody is a little afraid.”

“That is true,” replied Pelham. “Jack as a little fellow was the straightest lad I ever knew. If your boy had lived, I think he would have been as straight a little fellow as Jack.”

Elizabeth’s eyes filled. She had not yet learned to bear unmoved any mention of the child, who was quite forgotten by all except Darrell, Pelham, and herself. Just then Darrell entered from riding. He was neither as handsome nor as young-looking as he had been ten years before; and Pelham, who never had been handsome or particularly good-looking, was now quite gray and looked as if he had been baked in an oven, but he had the clearest, kindest eye and the firmest thin-lipped, sensible mouth, which redeemed his face from positive ugliness. Elizabeth was no longer a girl, but with the same striking and touching beauty of her girlhood.

“So,” said Darrell, after kissing Elizabeth’s hand, “you are leaving us next week. By gad, I wish I were going with you, but Elizabeth won’t hear of it. Now if I had married an English wife instead of an American, she would have let me do as I please.”

“And make yourself ill,” replied Elizabeth. “But if you will take care of yourself and do all I tell you, perhaps in the autumn I may take you to the Continent.”

“But Pelham won’t be with us.”

“You’re very complimentary,” replied Elizabeth, with a cheering air of coquetry. “Ten years ago you could get along with only me. Now you must have Pelham and I don’t know how many other men to keep you from being bored to death.” Such speeches are common when husband and wife are sure of each other.

It was the next evening at dinner time that around the table Darrell began to tell of an expedition into West Africa which he had heard talked of at the club. It would be partly private and partly governmental, and would require more than a year’s absence from England. Pelham’s grave eyes lighted up as the story went on. He had an indestructible love of bold adventure, and he had no more been able to indulge his fondness and taste than he had been able to indulge his fondness for intelligent travel. Elizabeth, with prophetic intuition, saw that the idea had taken hold of Pelham’s imagination. She felt assured that if she were to make the same appeal that she had done unconsciously in the garden that night at Embira, Pelham would not resist it, and would remain in England with her; but she was of too generous a nature to wish to hold him back from what would be an advantage as well as a strong man’s delight to him. She was not surprised, therefore, when Pelham turned up next day, to hear that he had been to the War Office and had been looking into the West African expedition.

Pelham spent a fortnight making inquiries, and then one night, as he and Darrell, with Elizabeth sitting by them, sat over their cigars on the balcony of the morning-room, he told the story of what he had heard of the expedition. The command of the expedition had practically been offered him, and it was a tremendous opportunity and one not likely to occur again to a man of his age, for his fortieth birthday was upon him. It would mean much to him in the way of his profession, upon which he was entirely dependent,—that is, unless Darrell should die without an heir. Its opportunities in every way were such, and the offer made him so flattering, that it was out of the question that he should decline them unless there were some specific reason. Darrell told him so.

There were steps from the balcony leading down into a little lawn with a bench at the farther end. Elizabeth quietly rose and, walking down the steps, passed to the farther end of the gravelled path and back again. It was a June night, warm for London, but cool compared with that other sultry night when the question had first been raised of Pelham’s departure from her for a long time. After a while Pelham rose and said to Darrell, “I will go and ask Elizabeth what she thinks of it.”

“Do,” said Darrell. “I bet you five to one she will tell you, just as I have done, that it is the greatest chance you ever had in your life.”

Pelham followed Elizabeth down the gravelled path to the little iron bench under an odorous hedge of rose trees, where she sat. There was no moon, but the starlight made a softened radiance around them. He sat down by her and said in his usual quiet voice and laconic manner, “Elizabeth, what do you think of my accepting the West African offer?”

“I think you ought to accept it,” replied Elizabeth, in a soft voice.

Not another word was spoken for five minutes, and then they rose and walked back to the balcony, where Darrell’s cigar still glowed. Each understood the other perfectly. That day fortnight Pelham started for West Africa, giving up his Continental tour. The London season was in full swing, and Darrell, who was naturally fond of society, liked to go out; nor was this prohibited, in moderation, by the medical men. Elizabeth, too, liked society; and besides, now that Pelham was gone, she felt the need of contact with other minds and natures.