artist would have attempted. But it's come out better than
I thought possible. And I'm glad you like my work."

"I do; no question. I'm no critic, though; only a soldier, with a taste
for most kinds of art. It's full of latent vigour; rugged without being
rough, like Lenox himself. A fine bit of weathered rock, eh? I am only
afraid that after feasting your eyes on this, the original may give you
something of a shock at first sight."

"Is he so terribly changed . . in one month?"

"Well, think what he's been through. Concussion and cholera have knocked
some of the vigour out of him; and he looks years older, for the time
being. But you mustn't let that upset you. It's not unusual after
cholera; and in a week he'll be looking more like himself again."

Then the truth dawned on her.

"Captain Desmond,--are you telling me all this because . . ?"

"Yes . . again, because . . . !" he answered, smiling.

"To-day?"

"As soon as you please."

She gave a little gasp; then shut her lips tightly.

"Do you mean . . have you actually told him?" she murmured with averted
eyes.

"Yes."

"And did he--is he----?"

"It's not for me to say." Desmond seemed equal to any amount of
incoherence this morning. "You'll find out for yourself in no time."

"Oh dear!"

"Is it as dreadful as all that?"

"In some ways,--yes. It takes my breath away."

"Try and get it back before you go in to him," he counselled her kindly.
"And keep some sort of hold on yourself--for his sake. Don't trouble him
about results, unless he broaches the subject. It we can keep clear of
the worry element, just getting hold of you again may do him a power of
good."

Then,--creature of moods and impulse that she was,--she turned on him
spontaneously, both hands outflung.

"_Mon Dieu_, what a friend you have been to us both! Thank you a
thousand times, for everything. I know you hate it. But if I kept it in
any longer, I should burst!"

"Just as well you let it out, then," Desmond answered, laughing, and
grasping the proffered hands. "I must be off now. Good luck to you,
Quita. You're worthy of him."

For some minutes after he had gone Quita stood very still, trying to get
her breath back, as he had suggested: a less simple affair than it
seemed, on the face of it. For although she had taken the plunge, in an
impulse of despair, a week ago, she had only grasped the outcome in all
its bearings during the past three days, througho