esidency, listening, without comprehending what was
said, to James Antony's gruff voice firing off items of latest
intelligence like minute-guns. In a few moments he would see Honour,
look into her frank eyes, hold her cool hand, begin the siege of her
heart in which his faithful love--freed from the disturbing influence of
Charteris's presence--must surely succeed in breaking down the rampart of
maiden coldness within which she had entrenched herself. Yes, he was
glad of Charteris's absence; thankful for it. Bob had bidden him of his
own free will to go ahead, and was he to waste the opportunity for which
he had so long yearned in vain?

But disappointment was waiting for him at the Residency. Honour remained
so persistently in the background behind Mrs Antony that it seemed almost
as if she was hiding. Her hand barely touched Gerrard's, her eyes
shunned his, and her manner was constrained--almost awkward. Before
Gerrard had crossed the verandah he had divined a reason for this change:
she had read her own heart at last, and it was Bob Charteris that she
loved. And here was he, lagging miserably superfluous on the stage for
three or four weeks, while Charteris was held fast by his duties before
Agpur, and was as unaware of his good fortune as he was unable to profit
by it.

Second thoughts brought, if not a degree of hope, at least a less
complete yielding to despair. Perhaps it was not Charteris whose image
blinded Honour to the presence of her other lover. It might only be that
people had been talking, that Mrs Jardine had presumed to offer Honour
some advice inconsistent with the delicate nature of the situation,
perhaps urged her to terminate it in Gerrard's favour, since she had,
unasked, taken his candidature under her wing. That would be quite
sufficient to account for the girl's coolness and constraint. The battle
was not, then, absolutely lost, and it might even yet be possible to turn
it into a victory. Gerrard would be very cautious, very diplomatic, and
would keep their intercourse on the safe ground of their common
preferences in prose and poetry, until he had enabled her to dissociate
him in her mind from his too zealous champions.

Save in one respect, Honour responded to this treatment with a readiness
that was almost embarrassing. Her novel shyness fell from her when it
became clear that Gerrard was not intending immediately to speak to her
of love, and in discussing the new Dickens and