oks Fay appeared to possess,
Fay who was lying in the English cemetery, and so glad to be there ...
at twenty-five.

What was the good of life and love, if that was all it led to? In spite
of the heat Jan walked feverishly and fast, down the shady side of the
Mayo Road into Esplanade Road, where the big shops were, and, just then,
no shade at all.

The hot dust seemed to rise straight out of the pavement and strike her
in the face, and all the air was full of the fat yellow smell that
prevails in India when its own inhabitants have taken their mid-day
meal.

Each bare-legged gharri-man slumbered on the little box of his carriage,
hanging on in that amazingly precarious fashion in which natives of the
East seem able to sleep anywhere.

On Jan went, anywhere, anywhere away from the garden of Khama and that
travesty of love, as she conceived it. She remembered the day when she
thought them such charming songs and thrilled in sympathy with Fay when
Hugo sang them. Oh, why did that woman sing them to-day? Would she ever
get the sound out of her ears?

She had reached Churchgate Street, which was deserted and deep in shade.
She turned down and presently came to the Cathedral standing in its trim
garden bright with English flowers. The main door was open and Jan went
in.

Here the haunting love-lyrics were hushed. It was so still, not even a
sweeper to break the blessed peace.

Restlessly, Jan walked round the outer aisles, reading the inscriptions
on marble tablets and brasses, many of them dating back to the later
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Men died young out in India
in those days; hardly any seemed to live beyond forty-two, many died in
the twenties. On nearly all the tablets the words "zeal" or "zealous"
regularly appeared. With regard to their performance of their duties
these dead and gone men who had helped to make the India of to-day had
evidently had a very definite notion as to their own purpose in life.
The remarks were guarded and remarkably free from exaggerated tributes
to the virtues they celebrated. One Major-General Bellasis was described
as "that very respectable Officer--who departed this life while he was
in the meritorious discharge of his duty presiding at the Military
Board." Others died "from exposure to the sun"; nearly all seemed to
have displayed "unremitting" or "characteristic zeal" in the discharge
of their duties.

Jan sat down, and gradually it seemed as though the sp