Colonel Crayfield stood silent, motionless, until all sound of Philip Flint's exit had ceased. When, with a dazed effort, Stella looked up at her husband, his face reminded her dimly of some monster depicted on a Chinese screen. She held her breath, half expecting him to kill her there and then. Instead, to her amazement, he merely spoke to her as he might have spoken to an unruly child caught in some act of mischief, ordered her to her room, watched her grimly as she rose in dumb obedience.

Passing through the hall, she encountered Philip's old servant; he looked harassed, bewildered, as he salaamed. "It is the Sahib's order," he said in querulous resentment, "that his belongings be taken back to the Rest House at once! Even but now hath he departed there himself, and on foot! Yacoub-dog also." Clearly the old man expected some explanation. What could she say? Only that she supposed the Sahib's orders must be obeyed. She left him standing puzzled, indignant, in the doorway of the bedroom his master had occupied.

For days afterwards Stella felt, as it were, "put into the corner" by Robert. This attitude on his part, humiliating to her though it was, came as a partial relief; it gave her time to revive in a sense from the shock she had suffered. The interval of disgrace, despite its ignominy, rested her nerves, and helped her to face Robert's forgiveness, which, when it pleased him to extend it, was far more unbearable than his displeasure. She dared make no further appeal for permission to join Mrs. Cuthell; she knew well enough, if she did so, what Robert would say: that she was not to be trusted! Her very pride gave her strength to conceal, often to overcome, her physical distress during the unhealthy, wearisome months that followed before the cold season set in.

The monsoon weakened, failed; the heat was diabolical, mosquitoes were a torment, the days and nights seemed endless, and there was always Sher Singh, watchful, malignant. Champa had begged leave to resign from the Memsahib's service once the disturbance caused by the episode of the pearls had subsided in the compound; she did so with crocodile tears and feeble excuses. The truth was, that having been frightened out of her senses, she felt unable to recover her pretentious position in the Rassih establishment. So Champa departed without great loss of dignity, and her place was taken by a humble person whose name her new mistress did not even trouble to inquire, since the word "Ayah" seemed to be the beginning and the end of her obtuse personality.

Stella's spirit supported her, but nothing could deaden the heartache; there was nothing to relieve the burden of her time, nothing to ease the struggle to control her ever-growing abhorrence of Robert and his demands on her outward docility.

All that winter they toured in tents. The scarcity, though not so severe in the Rassih division as in other adjacent areas, meant much extra work for the Commissioner, and occasionally Stella would be left in the camp for two or three days while Robert and his satellites went off on side inspections by rail. At such times Robert would commandeer some lady, whose husband happened to be on duty with him, to keep Mrs. Crayfield company. Stella would have preferred to be alone; it seemed to her that she had lost the capacity for making friends; but at least Robert was absent, at least she was freed from the strain of his presence, and for that she gave thanks while enduring the companionship of an unwelcome visitor who she knew was an unconscious watchdog.

Only these little periods of peace, the tonic of the cold-weather climate, the frequent change of locality kept her going; but when they returned to Rassih her vitality sank, the effort to keep up appearances became harder, and she felt that the fight could not continue much longer. Constant attacks of low fever laid hold of her, and Robert was annoyed because she could not eat, could not sleep, because, he declared, she would make no attempt to exert herself, because the medicines prescribed by Dr. Antonio did her no good.

Gradually his impatience changed to indifference. He ceased to scold and advise, or to insist on her company; paid little attention to her. She knew he was bored with her sickliness, her altered appearance. She only prayed that he might send her home.

Relief came from quite an unexpected quarter. The English mail arrived one evening while Robert was out riding: the usual consignment of papers for him—he seldom received anything else beyond business communications—a letter for Stella from Aunt Augusta, and one with an Indian postmark; the handwriting on this envelope stirred her memory, but she laid it aside till she had read Aunt Augusta's letter. The little chronicles from The Chestnuts were precious to her now. She read greedily of small happenings, how old Betty had been so troubled with rheumatism that further help was needed from the village; how grandmamma had dropped her handkerchief in church last Sunday, and little Isaac Orchard, the blacksmith's son, had picked it up and run after them, and grandmamma had given him a penny. (Stella could see her bestowing the reward with the air of a potentate; doubtless they had talked of the incident all through luncheon.) The potatoes were disappointing: so many of them were diseased this year. Canon and Mrs. Grass had been to tea; poor Mrs. Grass's health did not improve, but she had been none the worse for the outing. Aunt Ellen had embroidered such a very pretty cushion cover as a birthday present for grandmamma, and so on. The letter concluded with the usual messages from all at The Chestnuts to dear Stella and Robert, and the hope that they were both keeping fairly well.

Stella then opened the other envelope. Maud Matthews! What a surprise! Only once had Maud written since her arrival in India as a bride, and Stella had long since assumed that she had dropped out of Maud's thoughts. The letter was like a refreshing little breeze to its dejected recipient:

"My dear Stella,—

"I know I'm a pigandadevil (that's Dick's word) not to have written all this time, but unless I make myself answer a letter the moment it comes I somehow get so that I simply can't answer it at all. Anyway, you'll have to answer this, because I want to know if I can break my journey up country at Rassih with you and your good man. Don't you hate that expression? In most cases I'm sure 'bad man' would be nearer the mark. I've got a baby—such a grand excuse for going to the hills! And I've taken a small house at Surima, a long journey from here, but it's such a jolly place, and no one bothers what you do. My old Dick will be as right as rain by himself, and he'll come up on leave later on. Rassih isn't much out of my way, and I must stop somewhere to take breath. It would be such fun to meet again and have a talk and a laugh. Are you going away for the hot weather, or are you one of those saintly wives who never desert their husbands? Have you got a baby? If not, don't; they are a scourge, though I admit mine might be worse now he's here, and I refrain from infanticide because he does me such credit. He's not a bit like Dick. Now may we come? Send me a wire, because we must start in a few days, and, anyway, wiring is easier than writing a letter!

"Ever yours,
"Maud Matthews."

Stella dropped the letter in her lap, and sighed with mingled hope and foreboding. Would Robert consent to her friend's visit? What a blessed break it would make in the monotony of her days. Her courage rose. She decided to send the telegram now, before Robert's return. He could hardly insist that she should cancel it, once it had gone; whereas, if she waited to ask his permission he might raise objections, though what reason could he advance for refusing to receive Mrs. Matthews and her baby for a few days on their way to the hills?

Hastily she wrote out a telegram, called a peon, and dispatched him with it to the post office. Mercifully, Sher Singh was not lurking about, else the message would certainly have been withheld until his master's return; such was her bondage to the servant who ruled!

Nervously she told her husband, when he came back, what she had done, handed him Maud's letter, her heart beating fast.

"What a flibbertigibbet!" he exclaimed contemptuously. "I suppose we must put up with the infliction, as you say you have wired already."

"I thought you wouldn't mind," said Stella apologetically. "She's an old friend of mine, and I should like to see her again."

"Very well then, let her come. Perhaps it will be an incentive to you to pull yourself together and behave a little less like a wet rag!"

Maud arrived with mountains of luggage, the baby, and a retinue of servants, and from that moment the house seemed transformed. Robert succumbed reluctantly to the gay company of his guest, who took it for granted that he was overjoyed to receive her; she chattered and chaffed and looked charming—such a contrast to her frail hostess!

It was not until the morning after her arrival, when Robert was safely at work, that Maud started a confidential conversation with Stella, who hitherto had avoided a tÊte-À-tÊte. She shrank from any admission of her unhappiness and ill-health; but Maud, with all her fortunate lot in life, had spotted at once that something was wrong, and by degrees she succeeded in worming the truth from the unwilling Stella, who proved as wax in her ruthless hands. Very soon she knew all concerning the unsuitable marriage, the trouble with Sher Singh, the affair with Philip Flint and the incident of the pearls, Stella's pitiful condition of body and mind. The two sat talking in low voices throughout the morning, while it pleased "young Richard," as his mother called him, to sleep soundly.

"Something must be done," pronounced Maud; "you'll snuff out if you go on like this!"

"I shouldn't care," said Stella hopelessly.

"Nonsense! What you want is a good rousing change away from this beastly house and every one in it. That bearer alone would give me the creeps if I stayed here much longer. Once you were away from it all you'd get over this business with Philip Flint. I should have forgotten Dick if I hadn't married him. Now I'll tell you what: I mean to make up to your old Robert-the-devil and canoodle him into letting you come to Surima with me."

Stella gave an incredulous laugh. "You don't know him. He will never let me go!"

"I know men pretty well, my dear, and after all he is a man, as well as a brute—very often the same thing, but not always. You can pretend to be jealous, if you like; it might help matters on!"

"I can't pretend any more about anything!" Stella had small hope that Maud would succeed in her project; if she did it would be little short of a miracle.

"Very well, then; lie low and leave it all to me. Here he comes, my lord the elephant. How the time has flown without him."

She turned to greet Robert as he came into the room. "Well, here you are at last, just in time to save us from dying of dullness. Have you been working very hard? If so, how do you manage to look as if you had just come out of a band-box? You ought to be made to give up the secret!"

Robert regarded her with amused indulgence. "How do you manage to talk such nonsense and look so fetching?" he retorted.

"Do I look fetching?" She rose and shook her skirts. "Oh! I've lost my shoe!" She hopped, and held forth a slim little foot in an open-work stocking. "There it is, under that chair."

With a grunt, Robert stooped and retrieved the shoe. "What an absurdity!" he exclaimed, balancing it on the palm of his hand.

She clutched his arm to steady herself. "Don't make my shoe look silly! I daren't put my foot down; I might tread on a pin or something and get 'mortification-set-in' or whatever it is."

He pushed her into a chair. "Now then, 'hold up' and be shod." He pressed her ankle with his finger and thumb. "Quite clean: no splint, not a wind-gall!" He took his time fitting on the truant shoe.

Stella observed the scene with excited wonder. Robert was flirting! She could hardly credit her senses. His small eyes twinkled wickedly. Maud looked like a mischievous sprite. Was it possible that by this means Maud might really succeed in her object? As long as she did succeed Stella did not care what means she employed.

They went in to breakfast. Maud sparkled and bantered, and talked tactfully of food, praised the curry and the cutlets, exchanged reminiscences with her host concerning the cooking at various restaurants in London, besought Colonel Crayfield to take her for a ride that evening, and, to Stella's secret entertainment, Robert agreed at once, though she knew he had arranged to play tennis. For her part she had planned a drive alone with Maud; instead, she found herself placed in charge of "young Richard." Later on she and the baby, with his ayah, watched the pair ride away, Maud mounted on the grey stud-bred that by now had become a sober and tractable member of the stable.

"Gee-gee!" quoth the ayah importantly to the bundle in her arms; and young Richard, aged eight or nine months, leapt and squealed with delight. He was a handsome, good-tempered child; to Stella he appeared singularly intelligent, and she felt almost happy that afternoon wandering about the garden with him and his attendants, the ayah garrulous and consequential, swinging her voluminous skirts, a staid bearer carrying a white umbrella and a rattle.... Yet Stella did not envy Maud her motherhood, no thrill of maternal longing possessed her as she took the child in her arms to show him the birds and the squirrels; she was only thankful there was no "young Robert" to bind her more closely to the man she had come to loathe.... She wondered how Maud was progressing with her subtle scheme, wondered with a gleam of hope if, after all, Robert might not be glad rather than otherwise to get rid of her, glad to take advantage of Maud's persuasions while pretending to grant his engaging guest the favour she asked of him. Had Maud already broached the subject during their ride ...?

Could she have known it, Maud was making headway, craftily, with Robert while Stella was amusing young Richard.

"Isn't it funny?" said Mrs. Matthews as she and Colonel Crayfield walked their horses along the canal bank after a brisk canter. "I feel as if I had known you for years! I think Stella is very much to be envied."

"Do you?" He grinned complacently. "Tell me why you think so."

Maud sighed. "It must be so nice to have a husband one can lean on, who doesn't expect his wife to do all the planning and thinking. Now with me and Dick I have to take all the responsibility about everything. I daresay I seem very frivolous and feather-headed, but I flatter myself I have my share of common sense. It was dreadful having to decide about leaving Dick for the hot weather. Of course, I was torn in two—duty, you know, and all that—but there was the child to be considered as well as my own health. I am sure if you thought Stella ought to go to the hills, instead of saying, like Dick, 'do as you think best,' you would settle it off-hand, not leave the decision to her. Wouldn't you?"

"Stella has no common sense," he said evasively, frowning.

Mrs. Matthews gazed thoughtfully ahead. "I know what you mean. Some people take a long time to grow up. Of course Stella is awfully good and sweet, but as a companion for a man of the world——"

He glanced at her in quick suspicion, and she divined that he was questioning how much, if anything, Stella had confided to her.

"I can't quite make her out," Maud continued confidentially. "She seems to me so listless, not interested in anything. I tried my utmost to get her to talk this morning, but it was no use. What is the matter with her, Colonel Crayfield?"

"She's not well, and she will make no sort of effort to rouse herself." He paused, then added violently: "She's just a little fool!"

"Well, when you think of her upbringing what can you expect? But it seems rather hard on you! I wonder if I could help in any way——"

"What could you do? If a man of my age is weak enough to marry a child, he must put up with the consequences."

"Perhaps if she could have a change; is there no one you could send her to?"

"Only a woman who wouldn't know how to look after her. She'd very soon get into mischief."

"Oh! surely Stella would never do that!"

His silence was significant. For the moment Mrs. Matthews accepted it. She appeared plunged in reflection. Presently she said: "Couldn't you get leave yourself and take her away?"

"Just now it's quite impossible."

"I understand. Later on do you think you could manage it?"

"Perhaps. But I've no use for hill stations."

"Rotten places," said Maud. "I know I shall be bored to death at Surima."

"Not likely," scoffed Robert. "You!"

Mrs. Matthews felt she had perhaps made a false step. "Oh! I've no doubt I shall have a good time after a fashion. I always make the most of circumstances, and luckily I have a head if I haven't much heart! I can take care of myself anywhere. Look here," she went on boldly, "would you think of entrusting Stella to me? I should like a companion, and there's plenty of room in the house I have taken. Directly you can get leave you could join us for a bit, and that would be ripping!"

He hesitated, gnawed his lip, said grumpily: "It's rather a tall order!"

"Why? It would do Stella all the good in the world. I'm certain she'd come back a different creature. You'd never repent it. What could be worse for you than the silly state she has got into?"

"That's true," he admitted; and she played on his vanity and his self-commiseration until he had promised to think over her proposal.

Maud returned from the ride in the sure and certain hope that she had triumphed.