the discovery of this sensitive and
intelligent person not very long from Sandhurst and exactly twenty-six.
I was barely allowed a familiar reference, and anything approaching a
flippancy was met with penetrating silence. I was almost rebuked for
lightly suggesting that she must occasionally find herself bored in
Peshawur.

'I think not anywhere,' said Mr. Chichele; 'Mrs. Harbottle is one of the
few people who sound the privilege of living.'

This to me, who had counted Mrs. Harbottle's yawns on so many occasions!
It became presently necessary to be careful, tactful, in one's
implications about Mrs. Harbottle, and to recognize a certain
distinction in the fact that one was the only person with whom Mr.
Chichele discussed her at all.

The day came when we talked of Robert; it was bound to come in the
progress of any understanding and affectionate colloquy which had his
wife for inspiration. I was familiar, of course, with Somers's opinion
that the Colonel was an awfully good sort; that had been among the
preliminaries and become understood as the base of all references. And I
liked Robert Harbottle very well myself. When his adjutant called him a
born leader of men, however, I felt compelled to look at the statement
consideringly.

'In a tight place,' I said--dear me, what expressions had the freedom of
our little frontier drawing-rooms!--'I would as soon depend on him as on
anybody. But as for leadership--'

'He is such a good fellow that nobody here does justice to his soldierly
qualities,' said Mr. Chichele, 'except Mrs. Harbottle.'

'Has she been telling you about them?' I inquired.

'Well,' he hesitated, 'she told me about the Mulla Nulla affair. She is
rather proud of that. Any woman would be.'

'Poor dear Judy!' I mused.

Somers said nothing, but looked at me, removing his cigarette, as if my
words would be the better of explanation.

'She has taken refuge in them--in Bob Harbottle's soldierly
qualities--ever since she married him,' I continued.

'Taken refuge,' he repeated, coldly, but at my uncompromising glance his
eyes fell.

'Well?' I said.

'You mean--'

'Oh, I mean what I say,' I laughed. 'Your cigarette has gone out--have
another.'

'I think her devotion to him splendid.'

'Quite splendid. Have you seen the things he brought her from the Simla
Art Exhibition? He said they were nice bits of colour, and she has hung
them in the drawing-room, where she will have to look at them every day