ines:

"By this you will have heard that our Cossie will be afloat; she has
been very restless and unsettled for a long time--almost ever since you
left; nothing seems to please her. First she took up nursing and soon
dropped that; then she took up typing and soon dropped that. At last
she has got the wish of her life, which is to go abroad. She has
answered an advertisement and secured a top-hole situation, as lady
nurse in Rangoon. She starts in ten days in the ship that took you
out--the _Blankshire_, and is so busy and excited that she is nearly
off her nut."

The same post delivered a thick letter from Cossie, which her
ungrateful and distracted relative tore up unread. Already, in his
mind's eye, Shafto could see Cossie permanently established in Rangoon,
informing everyone that she was his cousin, bombarding him with
_chits_, worrying him for visits, treats and attentions. Heaven be
praised! neither of his horses carried a lady, it was as much as he
could do to ride them himself. He could not possibly leave Rangoon and
so effect his escape; he was nailed down to his work, not like his
lucky chums, whose business duties occasionally carried them up the
country. His job was confined to Rangoon itself, for eight hours a day.

The prospect filled him with despair; life would become intolerable. A
vivid imagination painted the picture of Cossie, helpless and
plaintive, appealing for information and advice, coming to him to patch
up disputes between her and her employer, to take her on the lakes, to
the gymkhana, or the theatre on her days out. And what would Sophy
Leigh think when she saw him accompanied by Mrs. So-and-So's European
nurse? Putting her absurd partiality for him on one side, Cossie in
her normal condition was a good-natured, amiable creature, and, of
course, when she arrived in Burma he, as her only relative in the
country, would be bound to look after her and show her attention;
probably all the world would believe that they were engaged!
Unchivalrous as was the idea, he had a hateful conviction that it would
not be Cossie's fault if they did not arrive at that conclusion.

With this sword of Damocles hanging over his head, and the object of
his apprehension being daily brought nearer and yet nearer, Shafto was
and looked abjectly miserable. FitzGerald rallied him boisterously on
his glum appearance, and on being "off his feed."

"What on earth ails you?"

To his well-intended querie