“After you had saved his life,” Stella said.

Monck laughed.  “That sort of thing doesn’t count in India.  If it comes to that, you saved mine.  No, we came to an understanding, and we’ve managed to hit it ever since.”

Stella got to her feet.  “Were you very brutal to him, Everard?”

He reached a brown hand to her as she stood.  “Of course I was.  He deserved it too.  If a man makes a beast of himself he need never look for mercy from me.”

She looked at him dubiously.  “And if a woman makes you angry—­” she said.

He got to his feet and put his arm about her shoulders.  “But I don’t treat women like that,” he said, “not even—­my wife.  I have quite another sort of treatment for her.  It’s curious that you should credit me with such a vindictive temperament.  I don’t know what I have done to deserve it.”

She leaned her head against him.  “My darling, forgive me!  It is just my horrid, suspicious nature.”

He pressed her to him.  “You certainly don’t know me very well yet,” he said.

They went back to the bungalow in the late afternoon, walking hand in hand as children, supremely content.

The blue jay laughed at the gate as they entered, and Monck looked up, “Jeer away, you son of a satyr!” he said.  “I was going to shoot you, but I’ve changed my mind.  We’re all friends in this compartment.”

Stella squeezed his hand hard.  “Everard, I love you for that!” she said simply.  “Do you think we could make friends with the monkeys too?”

“And the jackals and the scorpions and the dear little karaits,” said Monck.  “No doubt we could if we lived long enough.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” she protested.  “I am quite in earnest.  There are plenty of things to love in India.”

“There’s India herself,” said Monck.

She looked at him with resolution shining in her eyes.  “You must teach me,” she said.

He shook his head.  “No, my dear.  If you don’t feel the lure of her, then you are not one of her chosen and I can never make you so.  She is either a goddess in her own right or the most treacherous old she-devil who ever sat in a heathen temple.  She can be both.  To love her, you must be prepared to take her either way.”

They went up into the bungalow.  Peter the Great glided forward like a magnificent genie and presented a scrap of paper on a salver to Monck.

He took it, opened it, frowned over it.

“The messenger arrived three hours ago, sahib.  He could not wait,” murmured Peter.

Monck’s frown deepened.  He turned to Stella.  “Go and have tea, dear, and then rest!  Don’t wait for me!  I must go round to the Club and get on the telephone at once.”

The grimness of his face startled her.  “To Kurrumpore?” she asked quickly.  “Is there something wrong?”

“Not yet,” he said curtly.  “Don’t you worry!  I shall be back as soon as possible.”