ill see. Already she seems to care less for you. You
yourself have remarked it."

"I have not," he said with violence.

"To-morrow she will care less, and so less--less--till she too--hates
you."

"Never!"

"Only wait--and you will know. And now, good-night. I must really write
my letter. It is to my mother, and must go by to-morrow's mail."

She resumed her writing quietly. Bellairs watched her for a moment. Then
he strode out of the room, across the gangway, up the bank.

How dark the night was.

* * * * *

The explanation of Clarice struck Bellairs with a benumbing force. In
vain he argued to himself that it was not the true one, that no heart
could follow another as she said Betty's followed hers, that no nature
could merely for ever echo another's. Some furtive despair lurking in
his soul whispered that she had spoken the truth. An appalling sense of
utter impotence seized him, as it seizes a man who fights with a shadow.
But he resolved to fight. His whole life's happiness hung on the issue.

On the following day he forced himself to be cheerful, gay, talkative.
He went early to the dahabeeyah, and proposed to Lord Braydon a picnic
to Thebes. Lord Braydon assented. A hamper was packed. The boat was
ordered. The little party assembled on the deck of the _Hatasoo_ for the
start; Lady Braydon, in a wide hat and sweeping grey veil, Clarice with
her big white parasol lined with pale green, Lord Braydon in his helmet,
his eyes protected by enormous spectacles. But where was Betty? Abdul,
the dragoman, went to tell her that they were going. She came, without
her hat, or gloves, holding a palm leaf fan in her hand.

"I am not coming," she said.

Clarice glanced at Bellairs. He pressed his lips together and felt that
he was turning white underneath the tan the Egyptian sun rays had
painted on his cheeks. Lady Braydon protested.

"What's the matter, Betty?" she said. "The donkeys are ordered and
waiting for us on the opposite bank. Why aren't you coming?"

"I have got a headache. I'm afraid of the sun to-day." All persuasion
was useless. They had to set out without her. Bellairs was bitterly
angry, bitterly afraid. He could scarcely make the necessary effort to
be polite and talkative, but Lord and Lady Braydon readily excused his
gloom, understanding his disappointment, and Clarice no longer desired
his conversation. That night he did not see Betty. She was confined to
her cab