On the day that Daisy’s husband arrived, he considerately absented himself from their bungalow, knowing how the boy loved to have his wife to himself.  He had in consequence the whole afternoon at his disposal, and he contemplated paying a surprise visit to his betrothed.  He had ridden with her that morning, and he did not doubt that she was to be found somewhere in Lady Bassett’s compound.  So in fact she was, and had he carried out his first intention, he would have explored behind the summer-house and found her in her retreat.  But he did not after all pay his projected visit.  A very small matter frustrated his plans—­a matter of no earthly importance, but which he always looked upon afterwards as a piece of the devil’s own handiwork.  He remembered some neglected correspondence, and decided to clear it off.  She would not be expecting him, possibly she might not welcome his intrusion.  And so, in consequence of that rigid self-restraint that he was practising, he suffered this latter reflection to sway him in the direction of his unanswered letters, and sat down to his writing-table with a strong sense of virtue, utterly unsuspicious of the evil which even at that moment was drawing near imperceptibly but surely to the girl he loved.

She was lying in her hammock with an unread book on her knees.  It was a slumberous afternoon, making for drowsiness.  The mountains were wrapped in a vague haze, and the whole world was very still.  Very far overhead, the pines occasionally whispered to one another, but below there was no movement, save when a lizard scuttled swiftly over the pine-needles, and once when an enquiring monkey-face peered at her round the red bole of a pine.

It was all very restful, and Muriel was undeniably sleepy.  She had ridden farther than usual with Nick that morning, and it did not take much to tire her.  Lady Bassett had gone to a polo-match, she knew, and she luxuriated in undisturbed solitude.  It lay all about her like a spell of enchantment.  With her cheek pillowed on her hand she presently floated into serene slumber.  It was like drifting down a tidal river into a summer sea....

Her awakening was abrupt, almost startling.  She felt as if some one had touched her, though she realised In a moment that this was impossible; for she was still alone.  No one was in sight.  Only from the arbour a few feet away there came the sound of voices, and the tinkle of tea-cups.

Visitors evidently!  Lady Bassett had returned and brought back a couple of guests with her.  She frowned impatiently over the discovery, realising that she was a prisoner unless she elected to show herself.  For her corner behind the summer-house was bounded by the wall of the compound, and there was no retreat save by the path that led to the bungalow, and this wound in front of the arbour itself.