experiment. He chose the most comfortable chair for her; insisted on
an elaborate arrangement of cushions at her back; poured out her tea;
and plied her assiduously with stale sponge-cake and mixed biscuits.
Then drawing up his own chair very close, he settled himself to the
congenial task of amusing and flattering her, with such success that
her ten minutes had stretched to an hour before she even thought of
rising to go.

Captain Olliver, meanwhile, had ridden on to the blue bungalow, which
chanced to be his destination; and had spent half an hour in desultory
talk with Desmond, Wyndham, and the Colonel, who had fallen into a
habit of dropping in almost daily.

As he rose to take his leave, a glance at Wyndham brought the latter
out into the hall with him.

"What is it?" he asked. "Want to speak to me about something?"

"Yes. Can we have a few words alone anywhere? It concerns Desmond, and
I can't speak to him myself."

Paul frowned.

"Nothing serious, I hope. Come in here a minute." And he led the way
into his own Spartan-looking room.

"Now let me hear it," he said quietly.

But Olliver balanced himself on the edge of the table, tapped his pipe
against it, and loosened the contents scientifically with his penknife
before complying with the request.

"The truth is," he began at length, "that it's about Mrs Desmond and
that confounded cad Kresney."

"Ah!" The note of pain in Wyndham's voice made the other look at him
questioningly.

"You've noticed it, then?"

"Well,--it was rather marked while Desmond was away. Nothing to
trouble about, though, if it had been any other man than Kresney."

Olliver brought his fist down on the table.

"That's precisely what my wife says. You know what a lot she thinks of
Desmond; and I believe she's capable of tackling the little woman
herself, which I couldn't stand at any price. That's why I promised to
speak to you to-day. Hope it doesn't seem infernal cheek on my part."

"Not at all. Go on."

Each instinctively avoided the other's eyes; while Olliver, in a few
curt sentences, spoke his mind on the subject in hand.

The bond that links the inhabitants of small isolated Indian stations
is a thing that only the Anglo-Indian can quite understand. Desmond's
illness, and the possible tragedy overhanging him, had roused such
strong feeling in Kohat, that his wife's conduct--which at another
time would merely have supplied material for a little mild gossip--had
awake