greater value in her eyes.

Tessa and her mother were once more guests in the Ralstons' bungalow.
Netta had desired to stay at the new hotel which--as also at
Udalkland--native enterprise had erected near the Club; but Mrs. Ralston
had vetoed this plan with much firmness, and after a little petulant
argument Netta had given in. She did not greatly care for staying with
the Ralstons. Mary was a dear good soul of course, but inclined to be
interfering, and now that the zest of life was returning to Netta, her
desire for her own way was beginning to reassert itself. However, the
Ralstons' bungalow also was in close proximity to the Club, and in
consideration of this she consented to take up her abode there. Her days
of seclusion were over. She had emerged from them with a fevered craving
for excitement of any description mingled with that odd defiance that
had characterized her almost ever since her husband's death. She had
never kept any very great control upon her tongue, but now it was
positively venomous. She seemed to bear a grudge against all the world.

Tessa, with her beloved Scooter, went her own way as of yore, and spent
most of her time at The Green Bungalow where there was always someone to
welcome her. She arrived there one day in a state of great indignation,
Scooter as usual clinging to her hair and trying his utmost to escape.

Like a whirlwind she burst upon Stella, who was sitting with her baby
in the French window of her room.

"Aunt Stella," she cried breathlessly, "Mother says she's sure you and
Uncle Everard won't go to the officers' picnic at Khanmulla this year.
It isn't true, is it, Aunt Stella? You will go, and you'll take me with
you, won't you?"

The officers' picnic at Khanmulla! The words called up a flood of memory
in Stella's heart. She looked at Tessa, the smile of welcome still upon
her face; but she did not see her. She was standing once more in the
moonlight, listening to the tread of a man's feet on the path below her,
waiting--waiting with a throbbing heart--for the sound of a man's quiet
voice.

Tessa came nearer to her, looking at her with an odd species of
speculation. "Aunt Stella," she said, "that wasn't--all--Mother said.
She made me very, very angry. Shall I tell you--would you like to
know--why?"

Stella's eyes ceased to gaze into distance. She looked at the child.
Some vague misgiving stirred within her. It was the instinct of
self-defence that moved her to say, "I do