," said Jan, lifting him on to her knee. "Never mind. I'll
love you an extra lot to make up."

"And Fay?" he asked.

"And Fay--we must both love Fay more than ever now."

"I do love Fay," Tony said, "because I'm used to her. She's been here a
long time...."

Suddenly his mouth went down at the corners and he leant against Jan's
shoulder to hide his face. "I do want Mummy so," he whispered, as the
slow, difficult tears welled over and fell. "I like so much to look at
her."

* * * * *

It was early afternoon, the hot part of the day. The children were
asleep and Jan sat on the big sofa, finishing a warm jersey for little
Fay to wear towards the end of the voyage. Peter, by means of every
scrap of interest he possessed, had managed to secure her a three-berth
cabin in a mail boat due to leave within the next fortnight. He insisted
that she must take Ayah, who was more than eager to go, and that Ayah
could easily get a passage back almost directly with people he knew who
were coming out soon after Jan got home. He had written to them, and
they would write to meet the boat at Aden.

There was nothing Peter did not seem able to arrange.

In the flat below a lady was singing the "Indian Love Lyrics" from the
"Garden of Khama." She had a powerful voice and sang with considerable
passion.

Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel,
Less than the rust that never stained thy sword.

Jan frowned and fidgeted.

The song went on, finished, and then the lady sang it all over again.
Jan turned on the electric fan, for it was extremely hot, and the strong
contralto voice made her feel even hotter. The whirr of the fan in no
way drowned the voice, which now went on to proclaim with much _brio_
that the temple bells were ringing and the month of marriages was
drawing near. And then, very slowly and solemnly, but quite as loudly as
before, came "When I am dying, lean over me tenderly----"

Jan got up and stamped. Then she went swiftly for her topee and gloves
and parasol, and fled from the bungalow.

Lalkhan rushed after her to ask if she wanted a "tikka-gharri." He
strongly disapproved of her walking in the streets alone, but Jan shook
her head. The lift-man was equally eager to procure one, but again Jan
defeated his desire and walked out into the hot street. Somehow she
couldn't bear "The Garden of Khama" just then. It was Hugo Tancred's
favourite verse, and was among the few bo