well it isn't
your hand, you know. Unpleasant--for the women."

"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in that vein had
him at a disadvantage, always.

"Don't be too late," he added, as Roy turned to go. "We may be needed.
Those operatic performers in the City aren't going to sit twiddling
their thumbs by the look of them. When's ... the departure?"

"To-morrow or next day, I think."

"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't make a tale over
my hand."

"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll be back
about six."

He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love to Rose
damped by the fact that he had not been able to look Lance in the eyes.

Things couldn't go on like this. And yet...? Impossible to ask Rose
outright whether there had been anything definite between them. If she
said "No," he would not believe her:--detestable, but true. If she--well
... if in any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find
it hard to control himself--or forgive her: equally detestable and
equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still....

He found the household ready for immediate flitting, and Mrs Elton in a
fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news from Kasur.

"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up! Two of our
officers wounded and two warrant officers _beaten_ to _death_ with those
horrible lathis!" She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy
could even get near Rose. "It's official. Mr Haynes has just been
telling us. An English woman and three tiny children--miraculously saved
by two N.C.O.'s and a friendly native Inspector. Did you _ever_----! And
I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the
bodies of those poor men at Amritsar. So _now_ we know why the price ran
up and why 'none was coming into the country!' Yet they say this isn't
another Mutiny,--don't tell _me_! I was so thankful to be getting away;
and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it happened to _us_--to-morrow!"

"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's cool tones had a
tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the trains. And Fakir Ali wouldn't
let any one lay a finger on us."

Mrs Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well, _I_ don't
believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut--or worse,"
she declared with settled conviction.

"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!"