“I suppose that now you are free,” she said, “you will go up into the central Provinces and see something of India.”

“But I am not free,” replied Thresk.  “I must get immediately back to England.”

“So soon!” exclaimed Mrs. Carruthers.  “Now isn’t that a pity!  You ought to see the Taj—­oh, you really ought!—­by moonlight or in the morning.  I don’t know which is best, and the Ridge too!—­the Ridge at Delhi.  You really mustn’t leave India without seeing the Ridge.  Can’t things wait in London?”

“Yes, things can, but people won’t,” answered Thresk, and Mrs. Carruthers was genuinely distressed that he should depart from India without a single journey in a train.

“I can’t help it,” he said, smiling back into her mournful eyes.  “Apart from my work, Parliament meets early in February.”

“Oh, to be sure, you are in Parliament,” she exclaimed.  “I had forgotten.”  She shook her fair head in wonder at the industry of her visitor.  “I can’t think how you manage it all.  Oh, you must need a holiday.”

Thresk laughed.

“I am thirty-six, so I have a year or two still in front of me before I have the right to break down.  I’ll save up my holidays for my old age.”

“But you are not married,” cried Mrs. Carruthers.  “You can’t do that.  You can’t grow comfortably old unless you’re married.  You will want to work then to get through the time.  You had better take your holidays now.”

“Very well.  I shall have twelve days upon the steamer.  When does it go?” asked Thresk as he rose from his chair.

“On Friday, and this is Monday,” said Mrs. Carruthers.  “You certainly haven’t much time to go anywhere, have you?”

“No,” replied Thresk, and Mrs. Carruthers saw his face quicken suddenly to surprise.  He actually caught his breath; he stared, no longer aware of her presence in the room.  He was looking over her head towards the grand piano which stood behind her chair; and she began to run over in her mind the various ornaments which encumbered it.  A piece of Indian drapery covered the top and on the drapery stood a little group of Dresden China figures, a crystal cigarette-box, some knick-knacks and half-a-dozen photographs in silver frames.  It must be one of those photographs, she decided, which had caught his eye, which had done more than catch his eye.  For she was looking up at Thresk’s face all this while, and the surprise had gone from it.  It seemed to her that he was moved.

“You have the portrait of a friend of mine there,” he said, and he crossed the room to the piano.

Mrs. Carruthers turned round.

“Oh, Stella Ballantyne!” she cried.  “Do you know her, Mr. Thresk?”

“Ballantyne?” said Thresk.  For a moment or two he was silent.  Then he asked:  “She is married then?”

“Yes, didn’t you know?  She has been married for a long time.”

“It’s a long time since I have heard of her,” said Thresk.  He looked again at the photograph.