She was looking straight at the bureau, but she was seeing that green lane of shaven turf in the haze of an August morning.  She saw it rise and dip in the open between long brown grass.  There was a tree on the left-hand side just where the ride dipped for the first time.  Then it ran straight to the big beech-trees and passed between them, a wide glade of sunlight, and curved out at the upper end by the road and dipped down again to the two lodges.

“And the ridge at the back of Charlton forest, all the weald to Leith Hill in view?” She rose suddenly from her chair.  “Oh, I am sorry that you came.”

“And I am glad,” repeated Thresk.

The stubbornness with which he repeated his words arrested her.  She looked at him—­was it with distrust, he asked himself?  He could not be sure.  But certainly there was a little hard note in her voice which had not been there before, when in her turn she asked: 

“Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t have known,” he said in a quick whisper.  “I should have gone back.  I should have left you here.  I shouldn’t have known.”

Stella recoiled.

“There is nothing to know,” she said sharply, and Thresk pointed at her throat.

“Nothing?”

Stella Ballantyne raised her hand to cover the blue marks.

“I—­I fell and hurt myself,” she stammered.

“It was he—­Ballantyne.”

“No,” she cried and she drew herself erect.  But Thresk would not accept the denial.

“He ill-treats you,” he insisted.  “He drinks and ill-treats you.”

Stella shook her head.

“You asked questions in Bombay where we are known.  You were not told that,” she said confidently.  There was only one person in Bombay who knew the truth and Jane Repton, she was very sure, would never have betrayed her.

“That’s true,” Thresk conceded.  “But why?  Because it’s only here in camp that he lets himself go.  He told us as much to-night.  You were here at the table.  You heard.  He let his secret slip:  no one to carry tales, no one to spy.  In the towns he sets a guard upon himself.  Yes, but he looks forward to the months of camp when there are no next-door neighbours.”

“No, that’s not true,” she protested and cast about for explanations.  “He—­he has had a long day and to-night he was tired—­and when you are tired—­Oh, as a rule he’s different.”  And to her relief she heard Ballantyne’s voice outside the tent.

“Thresk!  Thresk!”

She came forward and held out her hand.

“There!  Your camel’s ready,” she said.  “You must go!  Goodbye,” and as he took it the old friendliness transfigured her face.  “You are a great man now.  I read of you.  You always meant to be, didn’t you?  Hard work?”

“Very,” said Thresk.  “Four o’clock in the morning till midnight;” and she suddenly caught him by the arm.

“But it’s worth it.”  She let him go and clasped her hands together.  “Oh, you have got everything!” she cried in envy.