for
marriage, one should be cut off from her sweet companionship, from the
inspiration that is to be found in that delectable borderland between
friendship and love; and insulted into the bargain by a chit of a
mother-woman, with no more brains and imagination than a sparrow! But
for me, at any rate, there can be no compromise. I do not choose to
profane the sanctuary of my soul, to corrupt my Art, by becoming a mere
breadwinner, a slave of the hearth-rug, and the tea-cup--in fact, the
property of a woman. That's what it amounts to. And I doubt if any of
us relish the position when it comes to the point. Even that devoted
husband of yours, after waiting five years upon your imperial pleasure,
seems in no hurry to tie himself up again; or you would hear less about
his conscientious scruples, I assure you. They would be swept aside,
like straws before a flood."

At that Quita's eyes flashed.

"Michel, you _shall_ not speak so of him," she cried imperiously.
"I've said already that I won't have the subject discussed. How should
_you_ understand a man like Eldred,--you, who hardly know the meaning
of the word 'conscience'?"

"_Dieu merci_; since its chief function seems to be to make oneself and
every one else uncomfortable.--Hark at the rain! I wish you joy of
your journey."

He spoke the last words to an empty room. Quita was already changing
her dress hurriedly, defiantly, shutting her ears to the discouraging
sounds without. Michael's half-jesting insinuation had hit her harder
than he guessed; had deepened her determination to extricate herself,
without loss of time, from a position that justified a suggestion so
galling to her pride.

But the mere getting down from the top of Bakrota, and climbing
half-way up the neighbouring hill, through a desolating world of mist
and rain, was, in itself, a prospect that would have daunted a less
headstrong woman. Michael returned her hasty "good-night" in a voice
of resigned martyrdom, and out in the verandah, four drenched
_jhampannis_ cowering round a hurricane-lantern, had passed beyond
martyrdom to the verge of open rebellion.

They were poor men, and the Miss Sahib's slaves, they protested in
chorus; but it was a very bad rain. Even with the lantern, it would be
impossible to keep the path; and if harm should come to the Protector
of the Poor, the Sahib would smite them without mercy. Also the "mate"
[1] was even now shivering with ague; in proof whereof