gerous
things, seemed to hang in the air. He had not the material for even the
first stages of comprehension. No one suspected, every one was
satisfied; and at the same time came those broken hints of other things.
He felt choked and muffled, wrapped in the cotton-wool of this easy
life; and all the afternoon he chafed at his own impotence and the
world's stupidity.

When the two travellers presented themselves at the Logans' house that
evening, they were immediately seized upon by the hostess and compelled,
to their amusement, to do her bidding. They were her discoveries, her
new young men, and as such, they had their responsibilities. George,
who liked dancing, obeyed meekly; but Lewis, being out of temper and
seeing before him an endless succession of wearisome partners, soon
broke loose, and accompanied Thwaite to the verandah for a cigar.

The man was ill at ease, and the sight of young faces and the sound of
laughter vexed him with a sense of his eccentricity. He could never,
like George, take the world as he found it. At home he was the slave of
his own incapacity; now he was the slave of memories. He had come out
on an errand, with a chance to recover his lost self-respect, and lo!
he was as far as ever from attainment. His lost capacity for action was
not to be found here, in the midst of this petty diplomacy and
inglorious ease.

From the verandah a broad belt of lawn ran down to the edge of the north
road. It lay shining in the moonlight like a field of snow with the
highway a dark ribbon beyond it. Thwaite and Lewis walked down to the
gate talking casually, and at the gate they stopped and looked down on
the town. It lay a little to the left, the fort rising black before it,
and the road ending in a patch of shade which was the old town gate.
The night was very still, cool airs blew noiselessly from the hills, and
a jackal barked hoarsely in some far-off thicket.

The men hung listlessly on the gate, drinking in the cool air and
watching the blue cigar smoke wreathe and fade. Suddenly down the road
there came the sound of wheels.

"That's a tonga," said Thwaite. "Wonder who it is."

"Do tongas travel this road?" Lewis asked.

"Oh yes, they go ten miles up to the foot of the rocks. We use them for
sending up odds and ends to the garrisons. After that coolies are the
only conveyance. Gad, I believe this thing is going to stop."

The thing in question, which was driven by a sepoy in bright yellow
pyja