rned away without
daring to meet her eyes.

It all passed in a few seconds, but it left him tingling with repressed
rage. He had made a fool of himself in her eyes; had probably given away
his secret to the whole party. After all, what matter? He could not
much longer have kept it hidden. By the touch of hands and his daring
words he had practically told her....

As he settled himself, her clear voice rang out: "Wake up, Roy! I'll
race you to the backwater."

They raced to the backwater; and Tara won by half a length, amid cheers
from the men.

"Well, you see, I _had_ to let you," Roy explained, as she confronted
him, flushed with triumph. "Seemed a shame to cut you out. Not as if you
were a giddy suffragette!"

"_Qui s'excuse--s'accuse!_" she retorted. "Anyway--_I'm_ the winner."

"Right you are. The way of girls was ever so. No matter what line you
take, it's safe to be the wrong one."

"Hark at the Cynic!" jeered young Cuthbert. "Were you forty on the 9th,
or was it forty-five?"

Roy grinned. "Good old Cuthers! Don't exhaust yourself trying to be
funny! Fish out the drinks. We've earned them, haven't we--High Tower
Princess?" The last, confidentially, for Tara's ear alone.

And Dyan, seeing the smile in her eyes, felt jealousy pierce him like a
red-hot wire.

The supper, provided by Roy and Dyan, was no scratch wayside meal, but
an ambrosial affair:--salmon mayonnaise, ready mixed; glazed joints of
chicken; strawberries and cream; lordly chocolate boxes; sparkling
moselle--and syphons for the abstemious.

It was a lively meal: Roy, dropped from the clouds, the film of the East
gone from his face, was simply Nevil again; even as young Cuthbert, with
his large build and thatch of tawny hair, was a juvenile edition of
Broome. And the older man, watching them, bandying chaff with them,
renewed his youth for one careless golden hour.

The punts were ranged alongside; and they all ate together, English and
Indian. No irksome caste rules on this side of the water; no hint of
condescension in the friendly attitude of young Oxford. Nothing to jar
the over-sensibility of young India--prone to suspect slight where no
thought of it exists; too often, also, treated to exhibitions of
ill-bred arrogance that undo in an hour the harmonising work of years.

Dyan sat by Tara, anticipating her lightest need; courage rising by
leaps and bounds. Aruna, from her nest of cushions, exchanged lively
sallies with Roy. Petted