ing spared. It's one more than I
can stand; an' that's the truth."

Honor took possession of the hand that patted her shoulder,--a square
hand; rough with much riding and exposure,--and laid it against her
cheek.

"Bless you, Frank," she said softly. "You make me feel quite ashamed
of myself. Come and get the feeding-cup; and take me home with you.
I've wired to Mrs Rivers; and the answer will come to you. I couldn't
tell Theo, till . . I must."

Frank's smile had the effect of sunshine striking through a shower.

"Saints alive, how you spoil the dear man! But indeed an' I wonder who
could help it? Not meself, I'll swear."

Desmond came in very late for tiffin. At Paul's announcement that
Honor had gone to Mrs Olliver's till tea-time, he raised his eyebrows
without question or comment: then, going over to the mantelpiece, stood
contemplating a recent photo of her and the child.

"Did you happen to notice her at breakfast?" he asked abruptly, his
eyes on the picture. "She didn't seem to me quite up to the mark. And
of course . . bringing her into this . . . one feels responsible . . ."

There was more in the tone than in the broken sentence; and Wyndham,
coming up behind him, grasped his shoulders.

"My dear Theo," he said soothingly, "I can't let you be hag-ridden by
your favourite nightmare! Honor is woman enough to be responsible for
her own actions. Besides, she is perfectly well. I had a talk with
her before she went. As to her coming down into this, you couldn't
have held her back. She has every right to stand by you, if she
chooses; and you must know, even better than I do, that in the good
future ahead of you, wherever you may be, unless it's active service,
Honor will be there too, . . as sure as my name's Wyndham."

This was quite a long speech for Paul; one that it cost him an effort
to make; and Desmond, fully realising the fact, turned upon his friend
with impulsive warmth.

"True for you, Paul, old man! She's a Meredith. That about covers
everything. What an amazing talent you have for casting out
devils!--Now, let's be common-sensible, and have some food. Kohi hai!
Tiffin lao." [4]

And as if the walls had ears, the meal made its appearance with that
silent celerity which the retired Anglo-Indian--who has sworn at native
servants for thirty years--misses so keenly, when he is relegated to
the cumbersome ministrations of the British house-parlourmaid of Baling.

"By the wa