But Stella was evidently too engrossed with her own affairs to pay much attention to the doings of her fiance.  His love-making was not of a nature to be carried on in public.  That would come later when they walked home through the glittering night and parted in the shadowy verandah while Tommy tramped restlessly about within the bungalow.  He would claim that as a right she knew, and once or twice remembering the methods of his courtship a little shudder went through her as she danced.  Very willingly would she have left early and foregone all intercourse with her lover that night.  But there was no escape for her.  She was pledged to the last dance, and for the sake of the pride that she carried so high she would not shrink under the malicious eyes that watched her so unsparingly.  Her dance with Monck was quickly over, and he left her with the briefest word of thanks.  Afterwards she saw him no more.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of gaiety that meant very little to her.  Perhaps, on the whole, it was easier to bear than an evening spent in solitude would have been.  She knew that she would be too utterly weary to lie awake when bedtime came at last.  And the night would be so short—­ah, so short!  And so she danced and laughed with the gayest of the merrymakers, and when it was over at last even the severest of her critics had to admit that her triumph was complete.  She had borne herself like a queen at a banquet of rejoicing, and like a queen she finally quitted the festive scene in a ’rickshaw drawn by a team of giddy subalterns, scattering her careless favours upon all who cared to compete for them.

As she had foreseen, Dacre accompanied the procession.  He had no mind to be cheated of his rights, and it was he who finally dispersed the irresponsible throng at the steps of the verandah, handing her up them with a royal air and drawing her away from the laughter and cheering that followed her.

With her hand pressed lightly against his side, he led her away to the darkest corner, and there he pushed back the soft wrap from her shoulders and gathered her into his arms.

She stood almost stiffly in his embrace, neither yielding nor attempting to avoid.  But at the touch of his lips upon her neck she shivered.  There was something sensual in that touch that revolted her—­in spite of herself.

“Ralph,” she said, and her voice quivered a little, “I think you must say good-bye to me.  I am tired to-night.  If I don’t rest, I shall never be ready for to-morrow.”

He made an inarticulate sound that in some fashion expressed what the drawing of his lips had made her feel.  “Sweetheart—­to-morrow!” he said, and kissed her again with a lingering persistence that to her overwrought nerves had in it something that was almost unendurable.  It made her think of an epicurean tasting some favourite dish and smacking his lips over it.

A hint of irritation sounded in her voice as she said, drawing slightly away from him, “Yes, I want to rest for the few hours that are left.  Please say good night now, Ralph!  Really I am tired.”