there's the--the other thing," murmured the pretty sinner with a
doleful shake of her head. "He won't forgive me that; and he _doesn't_
seem to see that I'm sorry. I wanted to tell him this morning, when I
saw that letter. But he somehow makes me afraid to say a word about
it."

"Better not try yet awhile, dear. When a man is in trouble, there is
nothing he thanks one for so heartily as for letting him alone till it
is well over."

Evelyn looked up again with a misty smile.

"I can't think why you know so much about men, Honor. How do you find
out those sort of things?"

"I suppose it's because I've always cared very much for men,"--she
made the statement quite unblushingly. "Loving people is the only sure
way of understanding them in the long-run."

"_Is_ it?... You are clever, Honor. But it doesn't seem to help me
much with Theo."

Such prompt, personal application of her philosophy of the heart was a
little disconcerting. The girl could not well reply that in love there
are a thousand shades, and very few are worthy of the name.

"It _will_ help you in time," she said reassuringly. "It is one of the
few things that cannot fail. And to-day, at least, you have learnt
that when things are going hardly with Theo, it is kindest and wisest
to leave him alone."

Evelyn understood this last, and registered a valiant resolve to that
effect.

But the day's events gave her small chance of acting on her new-found
knowledge. Desmond himself took the initiative: and save for a bare
half-hour at tiffin, she saw him no more until the evening.

Perhaps only the man who has trained and loved a polo pony can
estimate the pain and rebellion of spirit that he was combating,
doggedly and in silence; or condone the passing bitterness he felt
towards his uncomprehending wife.

He spent more time than usual in the stables, where Diamond nuzzled
into his breast-pocket for slices of apple and sugar; and Diamond's
_sais_ lifted up his voice and wept, on receipt of an order to start
for Pindi with his charge on the following day.

"There is no Sahib like my Sahib in all Hind," he protested, his
turban within an inch of Desmond's riding-boot. "The Sahib is my
father and my mother! How should we serve a stranger, Hazur,--the pony
and I?"

"Nevertheless, it is an order," Desmond answered not unkindly, "that
thou shouldst remain with the pony, sending word from time to time
that all goeth well with him. Rise up. It is enough."

R