“Yes; Baring.”  Baring repeated his own name deliberately; and, as by a single flash of revelation Hope understood the meaning of his contempt.

She stood as if turned to stone.  She had often seen Ronnie curiously excited, even incoherently so, before that night, but she had never seen him like this.  She had never imagined before for a single instant what now she abruptly knew without the shadow of a doubt.

A feeling that was like physical sickness came over her.  She looked from Ronnie to Ronnie’s major with a sort of piteous appeal.  Baring turned gravely towards her.

“You will let me have a word alone with your brother?” he said quietly.  “I was waiting to see him, as you know.”

She felt that he had given her a definite command, and she obeyed it mutely, almost mechanically.  He opened the door for her, and she went out in utter silence, sick at heart.

V

MORE THAN A FRIEND

Two days later Hope received an invitation from Mrs. Latimer to join her at the Hill Station for a few weeks.

She hesitated, for her brother’s sake, to accept it, but he, urged thereto by some very plain speaking from his major, persuaded her so strongly that she finally yielded.

Though she would not have owned it, Hope was, in fact, in sore need of this change.  The heat had told upon her nerves and spirits.  She had had no fever, but she was far from well, as her friend, Mrs. Latimer, realized as soon as she saw her.

She at once prescribed complete rest, and the week that followed was to Hope the laziest and the most peaceful that she had ever known.  She was always happy in Mrs. Latimer’s society, and she had no desire just then for gaiety.  The absolute freedom from care acted upon her like a tonic, and she very quickly began to recover her usual buoyant health.

The colonel’s wife watched her unobserved.  She had by her a letter, written in the plain language of a man who knew no other, and she often referred to this letter when she was alone; for there seemed to be something between the lines, notwithstanding its plainness.

As a result of this suspicion, when Hope rode back in Mrs. Latimer’s rickshaw from an early morning service at the little English church on the hill, on the second Sunday after her arrival, a big figure, clad in white linen, rose from a charpoy in Mrs. Latimer’s veranda, and stepped down bareheaded to receive her.

Hope’s face, as she recognized the visitor, flushed so vividly that she was aware of it, and almost feared to meet his eyes.  But he spoke at once, and thereby set her at her ease.

“That’s much better,” he said approvingly, as if he had only parted from her the day before.  “I was afraid you were going on the sick-list, but I see you have thought better of it.  Very wise of you.”

She met his smile with a feeling of glad relief.