"Mataji and the widowed Aunt----"

"What do they know of him?"

"How can I tell? I think it was--through our _guru_, he made offer of
marriage--for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was wondering--could
it be the same----?"

"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious. "If it is--you
can tell them I _won't_ have it. Grandfather would be furious. He ought
to know--and Dyan. Your menfolk don't seem to get a look in."

"Not much--with marrying arrangements. That is for women and priests.
But--for now, I am safe, with Mrs Leigh----"

"And you'll stay safe--as far as he's concerned. You see, I know the
fellow. He's the man I slanged in the City that day. Besides--at
school----"

He unfolded the tale of St Rupert's; and she listened, amazed.

"So don't worry over that," he commanded, in his kind elder-brotherly
tone. "As for your poor little chiragh, for goodness' sake don't let it
get on your nerves."

She sighed--knowing it would; yet longing to be worthy of him. It seemed
he understood, for his hand closed lightly on her arm.

"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding your head
an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life."

"Is it? I never thought----" she murmured, puzzled, but impressed. And
after that, things somehow seemed easier than she had thought possible
over there, by the tank.

Secure, under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they were
royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join them at table
without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared--grey-bearded,
courtly and extensively jewelled--supported by Sir Lakshman, the prince,
and a few privileged notables; whereupon they all migrated to the
Palace roof for the grand display of fireworks--fitting climax to the
Feast of Lights.

Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Aruna's side. They
said little, but his presence wrapped her round with a sense of
companionship more intimate than she had yet felt even in their happiest
times together. While rocket after rocket soared and curved and
blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze reverted persistently to the outline
of a man's head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky....

Still later on, when he bade her good-night in the Residency
drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned queen. It
certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when she had crouched
in the shadows praying vain prayers--shedding vain