m; Olga never aspired to be that. But with her woman's
knowledge she realized that even Nick had his limitations. There were
certain corners of her soul which he could never penetrate. He would
have understood the wild crying of her heart, but her steady stifling of
that crying would have been beyond him. Simply he stood on another
plane, and he would not understand that her heart must break before she
could listen to its passionate entreaty. Nor could she explain herself
to him. She belonged to the inexplicable and unreasonable race called
woman. Her motives and emotions were hidden, and she could never hope to
make them understood even by the shrewdest of men.

So she veiled her sorrow from him, little guessing how the vigilant
eyes took in that also when they did not apparently so much as glance
her way.

On the morning of the day on which Sir Reginald was to arrive, he kept
her waiting for breakfast, a most unusual occurrence. Olga was occupied
with a letter from her father, one of his brief, kindly epistles that
she valued for their very rarity; and it was not till this was finished
that she realized the lateness of the hour.

Then in some surprise she went along the verandah in search of him.

His window stood open as usual. She paused outside it. "Nick, aren't you
coming?"

There was no reply to her call, and she was about to repeat it when
Kasur the _khitmutgar_ came along the verandah behind her.

"Miss _sahib_, Ratcliffe _sahib_ has not yet come back from the city,"
he said.

Olga turned in astonishment. "The city, Kasur! How long has he been
there? When did he go?"

The man looked at her with the deferential vagueness which only the
Oriental can express. "Miss _sahib_, how should I know? My lord goes in
the night while his servant is asleep."

"In the night!" Again incredulously she repeated his words. "And to the
city! Kasur, are you sure?"

Kasur became more vague. "Perhaps he goes to the cantonments, Miss
_sahib_. How should I know whither he goes?"

It was an unsatisfactory conversation, obviously leading in every
direction but the one desired. Olga turned from him, impatient and
perplexed. She went slowly back round the corner of the bungalow to the
breakfast-table, set in the shade of the cluster-roses that climbed over
the verandah, and sat down before it with a sinking heart. What did this
mean? Was it true that Nick went nightly and by stealth to the city?
What did he do there? And how