“I didn’t expect any answer,” replied Stella.  “Of course the question sounds stupid if you drag it out and worry it.”

Ballantyne snorted contemptuously.

“How’s London?  Try again, Stella!”

Thresk had come to the limit of his patience.  In spite of Stella’s appeal he interrupted and interrupted sharply.

“It doesn’t seem to me an unnatural question for any woman to ask who has not seen London for eight years.  After all, say what you like, for women India means exile—­real exile.”

Ballantyne turned upon his visitor with some rejoinder on his tongue.  But he thought better of it.  He looked away and contented himself with a laugh.

“Yes,” said Stella, “we need next-door neighbours.”

The restraint which Ballantyne showed towards Thresk only served to inflame him against his wife.

“So that you may pull their gowns to pieces and unpick their characters,” he said.  “Never mind, Stella!  The time’ll come when we shall settle down to domestic bliss at Camberley on twopence-halfpenny a year.  That’ll be jolly, won’t it?  Long walks over the heather and quiet evenings—­alone with me.  You must look forward to that, my dear.”  His voice rose to a veritable menace as he sketched the future which awaited them and then sank again.

“How’s London!” he growled, harping scornfully on the unfortunate phrase.  Ballantyne had had luck that night.  He had chanced upon two of the banalities of ordinary talk which give an easy occasion for the bully.  Thresk’s twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur provided the best opening.  Only Thresk was a guest—­not that that in Ballantyne’s present mood would have mattered a great deal, but he was a guest whom Ballantyne had it in his mind to use.  All the more keenly therefore he pounced upon Stella.  But in pouncing he gave Thresk a glimpse into the real man that he was, a glimpse which the barrister was quick to appreciate.

“How’s London?  A lot of London we shall be able to afford!  God! what a life there’s in store for us!  Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dinner, breakfast, lunch—­all among the next-door neighbours.”  And upon that he flung himself back in his chair and reached out his arms.

“Give me Rajputana!” he cried, and even through the thickness of his utterance his sincerity rang clear as a bell.  “You can stretch yourself here.  The cities!  Live in the cities and you can only wear yourself out hankering to do what you like.  Here you can do it.  Do you see that, Mr. Thresk?  You can do it.”  And he thumped the table with his hand.

“I like getting away into camp for two months, three months at a time—­on the plain, in the jungle, alone.  That’s the point—­alone.  You’ve got it all then.  You’re a king without a Press.  No one to spy on you—­no one to carry tales—­no next-door neighbours.  How’s London?” and with a sneer he turned back to his wife.  “Oh, I know it doesn’t suit Stella.  Stella’s so sociable.  Stella wants parties.  Stella likes frocks.  Stella loves to hang herself about with beads, don’t you, my darling?”