“To-morrow?” she cried.

“Yes, I go to Ajmere.  I go to find my friend.  I must go.”

Violet started.  Into her eyes there crept a look of fear, and she was silent.

“The Prince?” she asked with a queer suspense in her voice.

“Yes—­Shere Ali,” and Dick became perceptibly embarrassed.  “He is not as friendly to us as he used to be.  There is some trouble,” he said lamely.

Violet looked him frankly in the face.  It was not her habit to flinch.  She read and understood his embarrassment.  Yet her eyes met his quite steadily.

“I am afraid that I am the trouble,” she said quietly.

Dick did not deny the truth of what she said.  On the other hand, he had as yet no thought or word of blame for her.  There was more for her to tell.  He waited to hear it.

“I tried to avoid him here in India, as I told you I meant to do,” she said.  “I thought he was safe in Chiltistan.  I did not let him know that I was coming out.  I did not write to him after I had landed.  But he came down to Agra—­and we met.  There he asked me to marry him.”

“He asked you!” cried Linforth.  “He must have been mad to think that such a thing was possible.”

“He was very unhappy,” Violet Oliver explained.  “I told him that it was impossible.  But he would not see.  I am afraid that is the cause of his unfriendliness.”

“Yes,” said Dick.  Then he was silent for a little while.

“But you are not to blame,” he added at length, in a quiet but decisive voice; and he turned as though the subject were now closed.

But Violet was not content.  She stayed him with a gesture.  She was driven that night to speak out all the truth.  Certainly he deserved that she should make no concealment.  Moreover, the truth would put him to the test, would show to her how deep his passion ran.  It might change his thoughts towards her, and so she would escape by the easiest way the difficult problem she had to solve.  And the easiest way was the way which Violet Oliver always chose to take.

“I am to blame,” she said.  “I took jewels from him in London.  Yes.”  She saw Dick standing in front of her, silent and with a face quite inscrutable, and she lowered her head and spoke with the submission of a penitent to her judge.  “He offered me jewels.  I love them,” and she spread out her hands.  “Yes, I cannot help it.  I am a foolish lover of beautiful things.  I took them.  I made no promises, he asked for none.  There were no conditions, he stipulated for none.  He just offered me the pearls, and I took them.  But very likely he thought that my taking them meant more than it did.”

“And where are they now?” asked Dick.

She was silent for a perceptible time.  Then she said: 

“I sent them back.”  She heard Dick draw a breath of relief, and she went on quickly, as though she had been in doubt what she should say and now was sure.  “The same night—­after he had asked me to marry him—­I packed them up and sent them to him.”