ch a few words with
Miss Arden and secure his rose. It had been given to one of the
'_kits_,' who would put it in water and produce it on demand. For the
affair of the favours was to be a private affair. Miss Arden, however,
in choosing a Marechal Niel, tacitly avowed him her knight. Lance would
know. All their set would know. He supposed she realised that. She was
not an accidental kind of person. And she had a natural gift for
flattery of the delicate, indirect order.

No easy matter to get near her again, once you left her side. As usual,
she was surrounded by men; easily the Queen of Beauty and of Love. In
honour of that high compliment, she wore her loveliest race gown; soft
shades of blue and green skilfully blended; and a close-fitting hat
bewitchingly framed her face. Nearing the tent, Roy felt a sudden twinge
of apprehension. Where were they drifting to--he and she? Was he
prepared to bid her good-bye in a week or ten days, and possibly not set
eyes on her again? Would she let him go without a pang, and start afresh
with some chance-met fellow in Simla? The idea was detestable; and
yet...?

Half irritably he dismissed the intrusive thought. The glamour of her so
dazzled him that he could see nothing else clearly.

Perhaps that was why he failed to escape Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who
skilfully annexed him in passing, and rained compliments on his
embarrassed head. Fine horsemanship was common enough in India; but
anything more superb----! Wide blue eyes and extravagant gesture
expressively filled the blank.

"My heart was in my mouth! That handkerchief trick is _so_ thrilling.
You all looked as if you _must_ have your brains knocked out the next
moment----"

"And if we had, I suppose the thrill would have gone one better!" Roy
wickedly suggested. He was annoyed at being delayed.

"You deserve 'yes' to that! But if I said what I _really_ thought, your
head would be turned. And it's quite sufficiently turned already!" She
beamed on him with arch significance, enjoying his impatience without a
tinge of malice. There was little of it in her; and the little there
was, she reserved for her own sex.

"I suppose it's a _dead_ secret ... whose favour you are going to wear?"

"That's the ruling," said Roy; but he felt his blood tingling, and hoped
to goodness it didn't show through.

"Well, I've got big bets on about guessing right; and the biggest bet's
on yours! Major Desmond's a good second."

"Oh, he bars the