He was very good to her, but his absences continued in the old unaccountable way, and her dread of Rustam Karin, which Bernard’s presence had in a measure allayed, revived again till at times it was almost more than she could bear.

She did not talk of it any further to Bernard.  She had told him all her fears, and she knew he was on guard, knew instinctively that she could count upon him though he never reverted to the matter.  Somehow she could not bring herself to speak to him of the strange avoidance of her husband that was being practised by the rest of the station either.  She endured it dumbly, holding herself more and more aloof in consequence of it as the days went by.  Ever since the days of her own ostracism she had placed a very light price upon social popularity.  The love of such women as Mary Ralston—­and the love of little Tessa—­were of infinitely greater value in her eyes.

Tessa and her mother were once more guests in the Ralstons’ bungalow.  Netta had desired to stay at the new hotel which—­as also at Udalkland—­native enterprise had erected near the Club; but Mrs. Ralston had vetoed this plan with much firmness, and after a little petulant argument Netta had given in.  She did not greatly care for staying with the Ralstons.  Mary was a dear good soul of course, but inclined to be interfering, and now that the zest of life was returning to Netta, her desire for her own way was beginning to reassert itself.  However, the Ralstons’ bungalow also was in close proximity to the Club, and in consideration of this she consented to take up her abode there.  Her days of seclusion were over.  She had emerged from them with a fevered craving for excitement of any description mingled with that odd defiance that had characterized her almost ever since her husband’s death.  She had never kept any very great control upon her tongue, but now it was positively venomous.  She seemed to bear a grudge against all the world.

Tessa, with her beloved Scooter, went her own way as of yore, and spent most of her time at The Green Bungalow where there was always someone to welcome her.  She arrived there one day in a state of great indignation, Scooter as usual clinging to her hair and trying his utmost to escape.

Like a whirlwind she burst upon Stella, who was sitting with her baby in the French window of her room.

“Aunt Stella,” she cried breathlessly, “Mother says she’s sure you and Uncle Everard won’t go to the officers’ picnic at Khanmulla this year.  It isn’t true, is it, Aunt Stella?  You will go, and you’ll take me with you, won’t you?”

The officers’ picnic at Khanmulla!  The words called up a flood of memory in Stella’s heart.  She looked at Tessa, the smile of welcome still upon her face; but she did not see her.  She was standing once more in the moonlight, listening to the tread of a man’s feet on the path below her, waiting—­waiting with a throbbing heart—­for the sound of a man’s quiet voice.