up, as Olive's nearest
relative and protector, and--what was it--chaperon, by the aid of
knowledge come at in such a way, however unintentionally! Never in all
his days in the regiment--and many delicate matters affecting honour had
come his way--had he had a thing like this to deal with. Poor child! But
he had no business to think of her like that. No, indeed! She had not
behaved--as--And there he paused, curiously unable to condemn her.
Suppose they got up and came that way!

He took his hands off the stone parapet, and made for his hotel. His
palms were white from the force of his grip. He said to himself as he
went along: "I must consider the whole question calmly; I must think it
out." This gave him relief. With young Lennan, at all events, he could
be angry. But even there he found, to his dismay, no finality of
judgment. And this absence of finality, so unwonted, distressed him
horribly. There was something in the way the young man had been sitting
there beside her--so quiet, so almost timid--that had touched him. This
was bad, by Jove--very bad! The two of them, they made, somehow, a nice
couple! Confound it! This would not do! The chaplain of the little
English church, passing at this moment, called out, "Fine morning,
Colonel Ercott." The Colonel saluted, and did not answer. The greeting
at the moment seemed to him paltry. No morning could be fine that
contained such a discovery. He entered the hotel, passed into the
dining-room, and sat down. Nobody was there. They all had their
breakfast upstairs, even Dolly. Olive alone was in the habit of
supporting him while he ate an English breakfast. And suddenly he
perceived that he was face to face already with this dreadful situation.
To have breakfast without, as usual, waiting for her, seemed too pointed.
She might be coming in at any minute now. To wait for her, and have it,
without showing anything--how could he do that?

He was conscious of a faint rustling behind him. There she was, and
nothing decided. In this moment of hopeless confusion the Colonel acted
by pure instinct, rose, patted her cheek, and placed a chair.

"Well, my dear," he said; "hungry?"

She was looking very dainty, very soft. That creamy dress showed off her
dark hair and eyes, which seemed somehow to be--flying off somewhere;
yes--it was queer, but that was the only way to put it. He got no
reassurance, no comfort, from the sight of her. And slowly he stripped