g business!" He looked down at her with steady scrutiny. "I am
glad _you_ had courage to cut yourself free before it came to that
point."

"But I am different... I told you so. I had my work," protested
Katrine, flushing, "and moreover something _did_ happen. Fate came to
my aid, and practically forced me away!"

"Yes?"

Once more Bedford leaned his elbows on the rail, and bent towards her
with a keen interrogative glance. "Is it permissible to ask in what
form?"

Why on earth need she blush? Katrine mentally railed at herself, but
the more she fumed the hotter blazed the colour in her cheeks. Plying
such a flag of betrayal it seemed obviously absurd to reply by a prim:
"My brother married, and no longer required my services," and in
Bedford's equally prim "Quite so," the scepticism seemed thinly veiled.
There was silence for several moments, while both gazed fixedly ahead.
Without looking in his direction Katrine knew exactly the expression
which her companion's face would wear. The lips closed tight, drooping
slightly to one side. The chin dropped, the eyes unnaturally grave.
Strange how clearly his changes of expression had already stamped
themselves upon her mental retina! She knew how he would look, what she
could not guess was what he would _think_ ... What _would_ he think!
That preposterous blush would surely suggest a reason more personal than
a brother's marriage. A love affair, a lover, but mercifully a lover in
England, since she had already explained that Jack Middleton and his
wife were her sole friends in India. Yes! that would be the
explanation, a persistent lover--a lover who had been refused, a lover
left behind to recover at his ease. Katrine's self-possession was
restored by this assurance. Certainly she had had lovers... She
adopted what was evidently intended to be an "Isabel Carnaby air," and
demanded lightly:

"And now, Captain Bedford, it is your turn to confess your troubles."

"I have none," he said instantly. He looked full into her face with his
twinkling eyes. "Or if I had--I have forgotten."

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

The next morning broke hot and still. The breeze had died down and its
absence was shown in pallid faces, and limp, exhausted attitudes. A few
daring spirits waxed apoplectic over deck sports. Jackey, the
mischievous, roamed from one deck chair to another, teasing, protesting,
whimpering, and ultimately curled up in a corner of the deck, and