e balcony that overlooked some of the Palace gardens.

Will Musgrave came and joined Olga as she stepped out between the carved
pillars. She greeted him with a smile of welcome. They were old friends.
As a child she had known him before his marriage, though she had seen
nothing of him since. There was something in the quiet strength of the
man that appealed to her. He gave her confidence.

"Well, Olga," he said, "how do you like India?"

They stood together by the fretted marble balustrade, looking down upon
the illuminated gardens that stretched away dim and mysterious into the
night.

Olga did not directly answer the question. "I am not really acquainted
with her yet," she said.

He uttered a short sigh. "She is a hard mistress. I don't advise you to
get too intimate. She has a way of turning and rending her slaves, which
is ungrateful, to say the least of it."

"But you are not sworn to her service for ever," said Olga.

He laughed with a touch of sadness. "Until she kicks me out. Like
Kipling's Galley Slave, I'm chained to the oar. It's all very well so
long as one remains in single blessedness, but it's mighty hard on the
married ones. Take my advice, Olga; never marry an Indian man!"

"I'm never going to marry anyone," said Olga, with quiet decision.

"Really!" said Will Musgrave.

She turned her head towards him. "You sound surprised."

He smiled a little. "I beg your pardon. I was only surprised at the way
in which you said it--as if you had been married for years, and knew the
best and the worst."

There was a slight frown on Olga's face. She looked as if she were
trying to remember something. "Oh, no, it wasn't like that," she said.
"But somehow I don't feel as if I could ever like a man well enough to
marry him. I don't want to fall in love."

"Too much trouble?" suggested Will.

She nodded, the frown still between her eyes. "It doesn't seem worth
while," she said rather vaguely. "It's such a waste."

Will looked at her with very kindly eyes. "I see," he said gently.

She met the look and read his thought. Almost involuntarily she answered
it. "I've never been in love myself," she told him simply. "But somehow
I know just what it feels like. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it? Like
being caught up to the Gates of Paradise." She paused, and the puzzled
frown deepened. "But one comes back again--nearly always," she said.
"That's why I don't think it seems worth while."

"I see," Will said ag