She stood before him mute.

And--perhaps he knew what was in her mind--Monck was silent also after
that single earnest appeal of his. He held her hand for a few seconds,
and then very quietly let it go. She knew by his action that he would
respect her wish for the time at least and say no more.

CHAPTER VIII

THE TRUCE

Tommy was in a bad temper with everyone--a most unusual state of
affairs. The weather was improving every day; the rains were nearly
over. He was practically well again, too well to be sent to Bhulwana on
sick leave, as Ralston brutally told him; but it was not this fact that
had upset his internal equilibrium. He did not want sick leave, and
bluntly said so.

"Then what the devil do you want?" said Ralston, equally blunt and ready
to resent irritation from one who in his opinion was too highly favoured
of the gods to have any reasonable grounds for complaint.

Tommy growled an inarticulate reply. It was not his intention to confide
in Ralston whatever his grievance. But Ralston, not to be frustrated,
carried the matter to Monck, then on the high road to recovery.

"What in thunder is the matter with the young ass?" he demanded. "He
gets more lantern-jawed and obstreperous every day."

"Leave him to me!" said Monck. "Discharge him as cured! I'll manage
him."

"But that's just what he isn't," grumbled Ralston. "He ought to be well.
So far as I can make out, he is well. But he goes about looking like a
sick fly and stinging before you touch him."

"Leave him to me!" Monck said again.

That afternoon as he and Tommy lounged together on the verandah after
the lazy fashion of convalescents, he turned to the boy in his abrupt
fashion.

"Look here, Tommy!" he said. "What are you making yourself so
conspicuously unpleasant for? It's time you pulled up."

Tommy turned crimson. "I?" he stammered. "Who says so? Stella?"

There was the suspicion of a smile about Monck's grim mouth as he made
reply. "No; not Stella, though she well might. I've heard you being
beastly rude to her more than once. What's the matter with you? Want a
kicking, eh?"

Tommy hunched himself in his wicker chair with his chin on his chest.
"No, want to kick," he said in a savage undertone.

Monck laughed briefly. He was standing against a pillar of the verandah.
He turned and sat down unexpectedly on the arm of Tommy's chair. "Who do
you want to kick?" he said.

Tommy glanced at him and was silent.

"Significant