marry
me. You might indeed."

But at that her indignation broke bounds. If he were not mad, it made
him the more intolerable. Did he fancy himself so desirable, then, that
he had merely to fling her the handkerchief--to find her at his feet?
His impertinence transcended belief. But she would pay him back in his
own coin. He should never again imagine himself irresistible.

"Really, Lord Ronald," she said, "if I actually needed a
protector--which I do not--you are the very last person to whom I should
turn. And as to a husband----"

She paused a moment, searching for words sufficiently barbed to
penetrate even his complacency.

"Yes?" he said gently, as if desirous to help her out.

"As to a husband," she said, "if I ever marry again, it will be a man I
can respect--a man who can hold his own in the world; a man who is
really a man, and not--not a nonentity!"

Impetuously she flung the words. For all his placidity, he seemed to
possess the power to infuriate her. She longed intensely to move him to
anger. She felt insulted by his composure, hating him because he
remained so courteously attentive.

He made no attempt to parry her thrust, nor did he seem to be
disconcerted thereby. He merely listened imperturbably till she ceased
to speak. Then:

"Ah, well," he said good-humouredly, "you mustn't take me too seriously.
It was only a suggestion, you know." He picked up his hat with the
words. "A pity you can't see your way to fall in with it, but you know
best. Good-bye for the present."

Reluctantly, in response to his evident expectation, she gave him her
hand.

"I wish you to understand, Lord Ronald," she said stiffly as she did so,
"that my reply is final."

He lifted his eyebrows for a second, and she fancied--could it have been
mere fancy?--that the grey eyes shone with a certain steely
determination that was assuredly foreign to his whole nature as he made
deliberate reply:

"That is quite understood, Mrs. Denvers. It was awfully kind of you to
be so explicit. As you know, I am not good at taking hints."

And with that he was gone, unruffled to the last, perfectly courteous,
almost dignified, while she stood and watched his exit with a vague and
disquieting suspicion that he had somehow managed to get the best of it
after all.

II

When Beryl Denvers first came to Kundaghat to be near her friend Mrs.
Ellis, the Commissioner's wife, society in general openly opined that
she had come to the