The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet of water in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque than any Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by graceful over-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the setting sun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparkle like a bed of gems.

"Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed with delight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where the bright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and none grow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs. Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They would add just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room."

"Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, though the stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!—--This excessively long parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!"

But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight of slippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing the prize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, but the tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined.

"Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes.

Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herself ankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slipped one step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into the water. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to her companion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both her hands to help her.

The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walk alongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake, through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instant crashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appeared through the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with a smiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in her hand.

"Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display of knight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the cross walk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and her companion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in a bantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slithery steps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! And your pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you been about to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing at the older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings and ruined frock and hastened to defend her friend.

"Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasol she held out—but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr. Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend.

The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked into the refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of the Pinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend.

Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her guests, and said pointedly:

"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs. Rayner."

"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me. Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you are wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"

"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."

Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened silently to the account of her misfortune.

"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp attack of fever."

"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "But it will be wise to go—or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs. Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.

"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied Clarice, shaking her head.

"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off alone.

"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think, Cheveril? I shall drive you home."

"Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Will that not be simplest?"—"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when he recollected his semi-hostess was by his side.

"Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why, you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!"

"You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr. Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. The Brigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too."

Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, though she felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemen disappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with the ladies.

The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long in that city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk had fallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester when she reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of the afternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs. Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. Major Ryde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which had obliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over which Alfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for Mark Cheveril, he might as well have still been on the Bokhara for all she had seen of him!

A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealing over her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship; and she was now to have a fresh proof of it.

The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into the verandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her jhapra for to hook up Missus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message.

"What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, having already made acquaintance with the useful article then coming into vogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras.

"Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal done put under, it make werry warm Missus clothes."

"That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirts too," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten her plight and its possible consequences.

"Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed her mistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, all excitement, gave directions for the placing of the jhapra above the charcoal fire.

Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks to Mrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; its promptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton's party at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the jhapra.

"We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr. Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton was in readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, having been secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneous with Hester's.

Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had been placed for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would have heard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidently more perceptive than friendly.

"Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has just been telling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She had slipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got a ducking."

"And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger home in that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of that fellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart. Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. They aren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only a struggling barrister like myself!"

"And his wife a rector's daughter—told me so herself this afternoon when Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound the possibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde.

"You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She looks charming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder too how he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not an heiress."

"What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth with a benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperate climate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteer them over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, he comes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form of Regnier—some chap that came over with the Conqueror——"

"Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, what more, Stapleton?"

"Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a large allowance from his people."

"So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well, anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor—such are not unknown on our Indian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whose appearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "I hear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. at Puranapore. Don't envy him his job!"

"No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said another speaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited with being slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a great shikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between the Hindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly. He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Got on badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately that Printer was really a mauvais sujet. Cheveril looks an honest, energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Rayner tacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," he ended, glancing at the two retreating figures.

"Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearly exhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shall see Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has with Rayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too."

Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile, Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond of interest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links between them than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he had received a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that his sister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to be married in a few days.

Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regret swept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whom he had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himself as best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautiful little antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little note of thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, a treasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side.

Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and the spirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for any possibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expert whip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was, however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in the wonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fading glow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softly stirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering the road. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustling murmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points of light, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising even from the grass and glittering against the darkening sky.

"What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had come down from the firmament," said Mark.

"Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory," replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight, they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transform themselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our only illusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," he added, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin too early to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by his wife's description of the young man.

But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention. They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down a wayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctively raised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!"

The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation.

"If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would have been under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himself with an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn't we pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to be waiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that so nearly wrought him destruction!"

Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps, planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of the foot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of a certain wistful, expectant look it wore.

"I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again.

"Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "He needn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drive in! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!"

"A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all the more because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am of mixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood with such——"

"Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner, after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added, slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to me something of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new to India to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me that even when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in some talk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fine Service—and lucky you are—you must keep a quiet tongue in your head about that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry you through if you persist in knocking your head against that post. And there's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "I was just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with Judge Teape near you, that he looked much more chi-chi than you did, though he's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend upon it Hester and I will never breathe your secret. Now there's a compact!" And Rayner bowed graciously.

There was something so offensive in his tone and suggestion that Mark was for a moment struck dumb.

Mistaking his silence, Rayner added, in a patronising tone: "You're taking offence at what I've been saying, old chap. I assure you it's for your good!"

"Offence? No, rather I should like to try to bring you to a better mind," said Mark stoutly. "These prejudices of yours are not new to me. I haven't attained to my years without having them dinned into me at home——"

"Well, perhaps your cure will be best brought about by coming out here, after all! You'll get disillusioned fast enough. Mark my words, I shall enjoy watching the process! A vile, low set are these Eurasians—as they like to be called. Now look here, Cheveril, I'll make a compact with you. Watch these crawling creatures for six months in silence, without disclosing your connection with them, and at the end of that time I'll give you leave to proclaim yourself an East Indian!"

"Thanks, Rayner, you mean kindly, I've no doubt, but I cannot enter into such a compact with you or any man. Not that I'm vain enough to take it for granted that all the world is so interested in me or my forebears as to think it necessary to descant on them at every market cross, but truth and honour must be our shield and buckler," observed Mark in an earnest tone.

It was too dark for him to see the sardonic smile that crossed his companion's face, as he muttered to himself: "High-flown young fool! But I must at once annex Hester, so that I may preserve him as a useful friend in that Puranapore business. I must write to Zynool and tell him to win over the young cub, by hook or by crook, before he cuts his teeth!"

The handsome Australians were now dashing along the avenue, and halted before the broad white flight of steps of the house in Clive's Road, which in the dusk looked a genuine marble palace. Its portico of chunam pillars was gleaming like the purest white Carrara. Lamps twinkled everywhere, for its owner liked a display of light. Through the many open windows of the large dining-room one could see the dinner table, with its tall silver lamps, artistic arrangement of flowers, and elegant furnishings, round which white-robed servants flitted.

Among the gleaming pillars of the verandah stood the lady of the house clad in shimmering white, with the red water-lilies at her breast and a joyful smile on her red lips.

"Here we are," said Rayner, throwing the reins to the syce. "If Mark Cheveril, I.C.S., will honour my humble abode with his presence," he added with a histrionic air.

"A humble abode, Rayner? Say rather a palace!" said Mark, springing from the mail-phaeton.

"Well, a palace if you like," returned his host with the pride of possession in his eyes. "And there stands my princess!"