ndia they suffered from
too much restriction, it dawned on him that in England trouble might
arise from too much freedom. Always, by some cause, there would be
suffering. The gods would see to it. But not through loss of her--he
mutely implored them. Any way but that!

Everything hung on the walk home. Those two must have finished their
sparring match by now....

They had. Roy was on the bank, helping Aruna pack the basket; and
Cuthbert in possession of Tara--not for long.

He was called upon to punt back; and at the boat-house, where a taxi
removed the elders and the picnic impedimenta, he essayed a futile
manoeuvre to recapture Tara and saddle Dyan with the solid Emily.
Failing, he consoled himself by keeping in touch with Aruna and Roy.

Dyan patently delayed starting, patently lagged behind. Unskilled and
desperately in earnest, he could not lead up to his moment. He was
laboriously framing the essential words when Tara scattered them with a
light remark, rallying him on his snail's pace.

"You _would_ go for that stroll; and you strolled so violently----!"

"Because my heart in me was raging--aching, violently!" he blurted out
with such unexpected vehemence, that she started and stepped back a
pace.

"Of course I knew--there must be difficulties--so I have been waiting
and hoping ..." An idiotic catch in his throat brought a sudden hot
wave of self-consciousness. He flung out both hands. "Tara----!"

Instinctively, she drew her own out of reach. A ghost of a shiver ran
through her. "No--no. I don't ... I never have.... If I've misled you,
I'm ever so sorry."

"If you are sorry--_give me hope_," his voice, his eyes implored her.
"You come so near--then you draw back; like offering a thirsty man a cup
of water he must not drink. Give me only a little time--a little
chance----"

She shook her head. "Please believe me. I'm _not_ the wavering kind. I'm
keen to go on being friends--because of Roy. But, truthfully, it's no
use hoping for anything more--ever."

Her patent sincerity, the sweet seriousness of her face, carried
conviction. And conviction turned his ardour to bitterness.

"Why no use--_ever_?" he flung out, maddened by her emphasis on the
word.

"I suppose--because I know my own mind."

"No. Because--_I_ am Indian." His voice was changed and harsh. "We are
all British subjects--oh yes--when convenient! But the door is opened
only--so far. If we make bold to ask for the best, it is slammed in