He stopped abruptly and turned from her.  From the room behind them there came a cheery hail.  Tommy came tramping through.

“Hullo, old chap!  You, is it?  Has Stella been attending to your comfort?  Have you had a drink?”

Monck’s answer had a sardonic note, “Your sister has been kindness itself—­as she always is.  No drinks for me, thanks.  I am just off in Ralston’s car to Khanmulla.”  He turned deliberately back again to Stella.  “Will you come with me?  Or will you go with Tommy—­and the Ralstons?”

There was neither anxiety nor persuasion in his voice.  Tommy frowned over its utter lack of emotion.  He did not think his friend was playing his cards well.

But to Stella that coolness had a different meaning.  It stirred her to an impulse more headlong than at the moment she realized.

“I will come with you,” she said.

“Good!” said Monck simply, and stood back for her to pass.

She went by him without a glance.  She felt as if the wild throbbing of her heart would choke her.  He had spoken in such a fashion as she had dreamed that he could ever speak.  He had spoken and she had not sent him away.  That was the thought that most disturbed her.  Till that moment it had seemed a comparatively easy thing to do.  Her course had been clear.  But he had appealed to that within her which could not be ignored.  He had appealed to the inner truth of her nature, and she could not close her ears to that.  He asked her only to be true to herself.  He had taken his stand on higher ground than that on which she stood.  He had not urged any plea on his own behalf.  He had only urged her to be honest.  And in so doing he had laid bare that ancient mistake of hers that had devastated her life.  He did not desire her upon the same terms as those upon which she had bestowed herself upon Ralph Dacre.  He made that abundantly clear.  He did not ask her to subordinate her happiness to his.  He only asked for straight dealing from her, and she knew that he asked it as much for her sake as for his own.  He would not seek to hold her if she did not love him.  That was the great touchstone to which he had brought her, and she knew that she must face the test.  The mastery of his love compelled her.  As he had freely asserted, he had the right—­just because he was an honourable man and he loved her honourably.

But how far would that love of his carry him?  She longed to know.  It was not the growth of a brief hour’s passion.  That at least she knew.  It would not burn and go out.  It would endure; somehow she realized that now past disputing.  But was it first and greatest with him?  Were his cherished career, his ambition, of small account beside it?  Was he willing to do sacrifice to it?  And if so, how great a sacrifice was he prepared to offer?

She yearned to ask him as he sped her in silence through the chequered moonlight of the Khanmulla jungle.  But some inner force restrained her.  She feared to break the spell.