early summer, when warmth and fragrance and
colour permeate soul and body; keeping them delectably in thrall; wooing
the brain from irksome queries--why, whence, whither?

By now, the sheer fascination of her had entered in and saturated his
being to a degree that he vaguely resented. Always one face, one voice,
intruding on him unsought. No respite from thought of her, from desire
of her; the exquisite intolerable ache, at times, when she was present
with him; the still more intolerable ache when she was not.

The fluidity of his own dual nature, and recoil from the Aruna
temptation, inclined him peculiarly to idealise the clear-eyed,
self-poised Western qualities so diversely personified in Lance and this
compelling girl. Yet emphatically he did not love her. He knew the great
reality too well to delude himself on that score. Were these the
authentic signs of falling 'in love'? If so--in spite of rapturous
moments--it was a confoundedly uncomfortable state of being....

Where was she leading him--this beautiful, distracting girl, who said so
little, yet whose smiles and silences implied so much? There was no
forwardness or free-and-easiness about her; yet instinctively he
recognised her as the active agent in the whole affair. Twice, lately,
he had resolved not to go near her again; and both times he had failed
ignominiously--he who prided himself on control of unruly emotions...!

Had Lance, he wondered, made the same resolve and managed to keep
it--being Lance? Or was the Gymkhana momentarily the stronger magnet of
the two? He and Paul, with a Major in the Monmouths, were chief
organisers; and much practice was afoot at tent-pegging, bare-back
horsemanship, and the like. For a week Lance had scarcely been into
Lahore. When Roy pressed him, he said it was getting too hot for
afternoon dancing. But as he still affected far more violent forms of
exercise, that excuse was not particularly convincing.

By way of retort, he had rallied Roy on overdoing the tame-cat touch and
neglecting the important novel. And Roy--wincing at the truth of that
friendly flick--had replied no less truthfully: "Well, if it hangs fire,
old chap, you're the sinner. _You_ dug me out of Paradise by twitting me
with becoming an appendage to a pencil! Another month at Udaipur would
have nearly pulled me through it--in the rough, at least."

It was lightly spoken; but Lance had set his lips in a fashion Roy knew
well; and said no more.

Alt