an artist, in the inclusive sense,
when he is worth anything, stands for the strongest thing in the world
. . . an idea."

Her face brightened with interest.

"That's true. But unhappily great art doesn't necessarily imply great
character, and great action does. That's why the world's heroes have
nearly always been men of action; and always will be."

"Ah, now you've given yourself away neatly!" Desmond cried, like a
great schoolboy. "Where would your heroes be a hundred years after
their death, but for the men who immortalise them on canvas, and in
print? Would the effect of their noble living be one-half as
far-reaching, if it remained unrecorded? It's no case for comparison,
any more than the eternal man and woman question. They are diverse;
and the world has equal need of both. So there's consolation for us
all!"

"Well played, Desmond!" Lenox remarked, smiling and nodding across the
table at his wife.

"I surrender at discretion," she admitted sweetly. "But still, being
an artist, I take off my hat to men of action, and always shall."

"Good luck for the men of action!" Desmond retorted, with an amused
glance at Lenox, as they rose from the table.

By now cholera and fever were dying out slowly, like spent fires. The
Infantry had come in from camp; and the Battery was expected back
shortly, only two fresh cases having occurred. Then, as Honor began to
mend, people dropped in again at tea-time, eager for news of her; and
Quita discovered how widely and deeply she was beloved. Little Mrs
Peters disappeared behind a very crumpled handkerchief while trying to
express her feelings; and the Chicken blew his nose vigorously when
Quita announced that Honor would soon be allowed into the drawing-room
for tea.

She was getting used to her new name now. Officers of all ranks came
to call on her as a 'bride'; an embarrassing attention which she would
gladly have dispensed with in the circumstances, since Eldred basely
deserted her on each occasion; and she was introduced to Norton, who
inspected her critically and flagrantly, as a possible stumbling-block
to a promising career. Altogether, she was beginning to see India in a
new perspective. Hitherto, in her aimless wanderings with Michael, she
had merely looked on at its vast and varied panorama of life; had
studied it with the detached interest of the outsider. Now she felt
herself absorbed into the brotherhood of those who worked and suffered
for