The Swan Song of the Surima season took the form of a picnic—a truly ambitious entertainment given by a moneyed merchant from Calcutta, whose ideas of hospitality had apparently no boundaries. A banquet was prepared in the vicinity of a famous waterfall some two miles below the station; champagne vied with the waterfall itself in its volume and flow; there was a band; Badminton nets had been erected on a convenient plateau, and covetable prizes had been provided for the winners of an improvised tournament of two a side; in addition every lady present was to receive a gift—chocolates, scent, pretty, expensive trifles. High spirits prevailed, and amid the gay, well-dressed assemblage of women Mrs. Crayfield was pre-eminent.

Stella had won the first prize in the tournament, a jewelled bangle; animated, flushed, she stood the centre of attention receiving congratulations, protesting that her success was due only to her handicap, and to the exertions of her partner in the game. "You all know I can't play a bit!" she said laughing, radiant; the bangle was lovely, everyone was so nice, nobody seemed to grudge her the little triumph; it was all delightful.

"Never mind—you have won, no matter how!" chaffed the General. "Now aren't you tired?" he added, lowering his voice. "Come for a stroll, to get an appetite for tea!"

Adroitly he detached her from the crowd that had already begun to disperse in groups and pairs. As Stella and Sir George moved off together Maud and her husband went by; Dick Matthews had arrived at Surima the previous evening, and Bobbie Nash, as some wag had remarked, was nursing his nose in the background for the time being; the only individual, perhaps, who was not altogether enjoying the picnic.

"Don't attempt to follow us!" called Maud as she passed Stella and the General, and she looked back at them over her shoulder, pulled down her mouth, cast up her eyes, then tucked her arm into Dick's and stepped out beside him with an air of exaggerated virtue.

"Little cat!" exclaimed the General, highly entertained with her antics, "as if we should want to follow them!" He glanced about, scanning various directions in which they might hope to find privacy; and presently they were climbing the slope of the mountain above the waterfall to seat themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree screened by a tangle of ferns, saplings, feathery bamboos, beneath the shade of the oaks that rose densely behind them.

Sir George took out his cigarette case. "Well," he said with a resigned sigh, "it's sad to think we shall all be scattered during the next ten days. I wonder when and where you and I will meet again!"

"Goodness knows!" Privately Stella did not particularly care. "Don't let us look forward."

Yet his words gave her a sense of depression after all the gaiety and the glamour of the picnic luncheon and the surface excitement of the tournament. She was tired, conscious of reaction; her spirits fell. She would have preferred to sit silent, listening to the music of the waterfall, the cheerful chirrup of the crickets, to be soothed by the scenery and the soft evening sunshine, the peace and the remoteness of the surroundings.

"Not look forward to our meeting again?" Reproachful astonishment was in the General's tone as he leaned forward to look into her eyes. "Do you mean to forget me, little girl?"

She was aware of a certain magic in his bold, strong face, in his maturity, and experience of women and of the world. Stella felt helpless, ensnared, yet the ensnarement was enticing, held a baleful fascination. So often during these months at Surima she had felt it, felt at the same time that it meant nothing serious; it was just a game, but a game that Sir George knew so much better than she did how to play without fear of disastrous result. More than once had he led her, as it were, to the edge of the volcano; just a peep over and a timely withdrawal into safety.

"Why don't you answer?" he laid his hand on hers; she moved her hand quickly, yet, as before, not altogether unwilling to dally with the moment that held a little thrill of excitement.

"Of course," she said demurely, "I don't want to forget you. Why should I?"

"Well then, give me something to remember—that we can both remember to the end of our days!"

His arm went round her; his face, his hard, handsome face, was close to hers! he meant to kiss her, meant business this time—because it was the last opportunity? And of a sudden Stella thought of Philip, of how Philip had held her in his arms, had pressed his lips to hers....

"Don't!" she cried desperately, "don't! You can't understand—it's impossible——"

"Why?" he inquired, intrigued. "Is there someone else?"

She let herself go, turned to him in her distress, with an instinct that he would comprehend if he had but an inkling of her plight. "Yes," she said tremulously, "there is, there was, someone else, and it's all so hopeless, and miserable!"

He held out his hand, this time with friendly, almost fatherly intention. "There! Poor child, how was I to know? Forgive me; I dare say I've been a beast, but I meant no real harm. Tell me all about it, eh?"

Sir George felt as much curiosity as interest to hear the little story. Surely she was too young, too inexperienced, to have had any serious love affair; he was prepared to be secretly amused, as well as to show adequate sympathy. Probably it was just some boy and girl romance, and her parents had married her suitably to put an end to it.

"I can't talk about it," said Stella.

"Did it happen before, or after you were married?" he persisted.

She did not answer.

"Then it was after!"

She nodded reluctantly.

"And shall you see him again?" Clearly it was no one at Surima, since he himself had been the favoured one of all her adorers.

"No, never!" said Stella vehemently.

"Well then, listen to my words of wisdom. Don't imagine at your age that you won't fall in love again, but when you do remember to keep your head if you can't keep your heart. The world is never well lost for any man's sake, whatever the poets may say. If I'm not mistaken you have plenty of grit; so don't allow circumstances to get the better of you. Take what you can get out of life without losing your place in the ranks of the righteous, or you'll be trampled into the dust. Love as much as you like, but love wisely. Bide your time, Stella, my child; you'll forget this lover, whoever he is, and there'll be plenty more. Break hearts all over the place, they'll mend soon enough, and you'll have had your amusement without paying for it. But don't make false steps and imagine you can't suffer for them at the hands of the world. It's not good enough, believe me!"

From one point of view Stella felt he was right; from another, and a higher point, that his advocations were false. Had he told her to remember her marriage vows, to be faithful in thought as well as in deed to her husband, to shrink with shame from all thought of extracting consolation by devious methods.... She almost laughed as she imagined Sir George preaching such practice. Yet in substance his counsel was not far removed from the course she had mapped out for herself that morning on the hill side after her meeting with Philip in the ball-room; and Maud had often said much the same thing, though not quite so plainly perhaps. Truly she was between the devil and the deep sea; but which was which? To do her duty by Robert honestly, squarely, meant a sort of death in life—the deep sea? To play a part while seeking underhand compensations—the devil?

"Look here," went on Sir George kindly. "Come and stay with me for the race meeting at my headquarters this November. You shall have the time of your life. A big party, all the prettiest women in the Province, and you'll be the prettiest. You shall do hostess if you like. People might talk, no doubt they do now, but that doesn't matter as long as they've nothing to lay hold of. Is it a bargain?"

It was an alluring invitation. But could she accept it with any hope of fulfilment? Perhaps—if she carried out her programme of false conciliation where Robert was concerned.

"I'm not sure if I could get away," she said doubtfully.

"The husband?" queried Sir George smiling. "Aren't you clever enough to get round him?"

Stella felt reckless. "Anyway, I'll try," she declared; and she determined, if humanly possible, to succeed.

"Very well, leave it at that, and let us hope for the best. Count on me to send you the right kind of letter, and we'll pull it off somehow. Cheer up, my dear, never say die!" He patted her hand, and lit his cigarette, persuaded her to take one too, and Stella felt comforted, almost convinced that he and Maud were right—that in time she might forget Philip; she had all her life before her in which to do so!

Someone was shouting below them; it was the summons to tea. Figures emerged from all quarters, the valley resounded with voices, privacy was at an end. Stella rose readily. "We must go," she said, glad of the interruption; and they scrambled and slipped their way back to the meeting place. At sunset a procession started toward the station—a phalanx of dandies and ponies and more Spartan pedestrians who felt equal to the climb. It was almost dark when Stella and her friends reached their perch on the hill side, tired yet cheerful, ready for a rest if hardly for dinner after the superabundance of fare they had lately enjoyed. Maud rushed to the nursery, Dick hung about, smoking, in the veranda; Stella was making for her bedroom when one of the servants accosted her with a salver in his hand on which lay a yellow envelope.

"Telegram, Memsahib," he said stolidly; she opened it with a qualm of foreboding. It was signed "Antonio," and she read:

"Come down Colonel Crayfield ill."