he said drawing it from the brooch at her bosom
and laying it against his lips. "Look, it is fading fast. Will you fix
it in my coat?"

Joyce unaffectedly complied. He was welcome to the rose as a reward for
his beautiful music. "When you get home, put it in water, and it will
fill your room with fragrance," she said patting it into position.

"--And my mind of you?" he suggested tentatively, knowing full well that
he would forget all about her and her rose the moment he was out of
sight of her dwelling. Already he was wondering why he had allowed
himself to waste so much of his valuable time in trifling and whether he
would have dared the same liberty with the rose had it been resting on
Honor Bright's bosom. With Honor, somehow, a man would have to plead for
favours and value them for their rarity when obtained. No man in the
Station took liberties with Honor Bright, and every man thoroughly
respected her. Dalton shook his mind free of the thought of Honor
Bright.

"I shan't mind if the rose recalls me to you, so long as you promise to
forget my _Liebestraum_!" said Joyce.

"I shall remember only the tears I caused you to shed, and never be so
cruel again." Dalton passed out into the verandah accompanied by his
hostess who desired to speed the parting guest. "When does your husband
return?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night. I am counting the hours," she replied. "Haven't you
heard that 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'?"

"I don't subscribe to that sentiment," he retorted with a disagreeable
laugh as he walked towards the car.

She certainly had the makings of a dangerous flirt, he decided, though,
at present, she was only feeling her way. Time would develop her powers
and then, God help the young idiots who would lose their heads! Most of
all, God help her fool-husband--the besotted idealist! In a few years,
Joyce Meredith would be no better than most lovely women in the
East--notably such as flourished in the hill stations of India.

Dalton was amused, and laughed aloud at his own weakness and folly. He
had not wanted her rose--yet, at the moment, the propinquity of her
beauty had magnetised him and given him the desire for a closer
intimacy--possibly a kiss!--so he had put his lips to the rose! Feminine
witchery had made utter fools of men through the ages! Given further
chances of intimacy, a rose might not again suffice!

By the time Dalton had reached the crossroads, indecision had again
taken possessi