et you know directly if they are going to send me to the
Shiny?"

"Of course I should like to know, but . . . India is a long way off,
Reggie, why do you want to go so far?"

"Because, my dear, it means work and promotion, and one's chance, and
lots of things; one being quite decent pay. Besides, I like India, I
shall be glad to go back, if . . ."

They had followed the path, and it led them out to the lawn again,
where the others were standing. He didn't finish his sentence--

"Say you want me to get out there, Mary."

"Of course I want you to go if you really wish it."

"I'll let you know then. I shall know myself early in July, I
fancy . . . perhaps I'll run down to Redmarley; you'll be back then?"

They joined the others; Reggie made his farewells and left.

Mary went and took her grandfather's arm, and made him walk round the
garden with her. She developed an intelligent interest in geography,
and made searching inquiries as to the healthiness of India generally.

It was comforting to walk arm and arm with grandfather. She didn't
know why, but she felt a little frightened, a little homesick. How
clearly one can see some people's faces when they are not there. What
unusual eyes Reggie had, so green in some lights. He was looking
dreadfully thin, poor boy, downright ill he looked, and yet everyone
said he was very strong. No one else shook hands quite like Reggie: he
had nice hands, strong and gentle; thin, but not hard and nubbly. Why
is a summer night often so sad? Night-scented stock has a sad smell,
though it is so sweet. He shouldn't work so hard. He was overdoing
it. Surely if he went to India they'd give him some leave . . . it
might be years before he came back. Three years he was away once.

Mary clasped both her hands over her grandfather's arm. "I do love you
so, Ganpy," she said; "there's nobody like you in the world, no one at
all."

The General smiled in the twilight, and pressed the arm in his against
his side. He said nothing at all, yet Mary felt vaguely comforted.

In the beginning of July she went back to Redmarley, and everyone was
very glad to see her again. One Saturday morning when the Squire and
Mrs Ffolliot had started in the victoria to lunch with neighbours on
the other side of Marlehouse, Mary called Parker and went to walk in
the woods. It was a grey morning, warm and sunless and still. She
wandered about quite aimlessly. She was restless and unsettled,