never
writing ... about her. I did try. But so difficult.... And--you
knew----?"

"Yes--I knew," he said in a repressed voice. On that subject he could
not trust himself just yet. Every curve and fold of her sari, and the
half-seen coils of her dark hair, every movement, every quaint turn of
phrase, set his nerves vibrating with an ecstasy that was pain. For the
moment, he wanted simply to be aware of her; to hug the dear illusion
that the years between were a dream. And illusion was heightened by the
trivial fact that her appearance was identical in every detail. Was it
chance? Or had she treasured them all this time? Only she herself looked
older. Though her face kept its pansy aspect, her cheek-bones were a
shade too prominent; no veiled glow of health under her dusky skin. But
her smile could still atone for all shortcomings.

"Let's sit down," he added after a strained silence. "And tell
me--what's come to Dyan?"

She shook her head. "Oh--if we could _know_. Not much use, after all,
trying to push away sadness!" She sank into her chair and looked up at
him. "The more you push it away, the more it comes flowing in from
everywhere. Everything so broken and confused from this terrible War. At
the beginning how they said all would be made new; East and West firmly
united. But here, at home, while the best were fighting, the worst were
too busy with ugly whispers and untrue talk. Even holy men, behind the
purdah...."

"As bad as that, is it?" asked Roy, distracted from his own sensations
by the subject that lay nearest his heart. "And you think Dyan's in with
that crew?"

"Yes, we are afraid.... A pity he came back from France too soon,
because half his left arm must be cut off. Then--you heard--he went to
Calcutta?"

"Yes, I wrote at the time. He didn't answer. I haven't heard since."

She nodded. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Always now ... no answer.
Like trying to speak with some one dead. So Grandfather fears he was not
only studying art. You know how he is too quick to catch fire. And too
easily, he might believe those men who spin words like spider's webs.
Also he was very sore losing his arm, by some small stupid chance; and
there was bitterness for that trouble ... of Tara...."

Roy started. "Lord--was it _Tara_?" Instantly there flashed a vision of
the walled lane leading to New College; Dyan's embittered mood and
bewildering change of front.... Looking back now, the thing seemed
glaringly obvious;