Going to the verandah outside the room he called a hotel servant and gave him the order, then returned to his chair and sat down wearily.  He stared at the floor in silence.  He had sent the girl that he loved away utterly humiliated; and he knew that, with her proud spirit, the shame of his rejection of her would cut her to the heart.  He cursed himself for bringing this pain to her.  It was all his fault.  Not only had he had no right to speak of love to her while he was bound to another woman, but he ought never to have sought her society as he had done, never striven to gain her friendship, for by doing so he had unconsciously won her love.  The harm was done long before he spoke to her of his feelings.  What a selfish brute he was to thus cause two women to suffer!

Presently he remembered that his moodiness, his silence, were uncomplimentary, cruel, to Violet.  She was right in saying that she came first.  Indeed she was the only one to be considered now.  The other had passed out of his life.  It might be that they should meet again some day in their restricted world, but while he could he must try to avoid her.  There was only Violet left.

He looked up to find his companion’s eyes fixed on him with an undefinable expression.  He roused himself with an effort that was not lost on the woman watching him.

“So you have told your husband,” he said.  “Well, now we must arrange what we are going to do.”

“We won’t discuss our plans at this moment,” replied Violet.  “I’m not in the mood for it.”  Then after a pause she added bitterly, “I must give you time to recover from the shock of the abrupt ending to your little jungle romance.”

Before he could reply the servant appeared with a tray.

“Ah, thank goodness, here are the cocktails.  There’s only one.  Aren’t you having one, too?  It will do you good.  No?”

She sipped her cocktail slowly.  When she had finished it she got up from her chair, saying: 

“I’ll get ready to go to the Amusement Club.  Will you wait for me here?  You needn’t change—­we won’t play tennis to-day; for we’ve got this dinner and dance on to-night and I don’t want to tire myself.  I shan’t be long.”

As she passed his chair she tapped his cheek and said: 

“Don’t look so miserable, my dear boy.  You’ll soon get over the loss of your jungle girl.  There, you may kiss my hand as a sign of your return to your allegiance.”

But when she entered her bedroom she did not at once proceed to get ready to go out, but unlocked her dressing-case and, taking out of it a letter, sat down to read it for the tenth time since she had received it that morning.  Yet it was short and concise.  It was from Rosenthal and addressed from the Mess of the 2nd (Duke’s Own) Hussars in Bangalore; for, as it told her, he had returned to his regiment as his leave had expired.  It was the first that had come from him since she had left Poona, although, as he said in it, he had obtained her new address from the Goanese clerk in the Munster Hotel office on the day of her flight, thanks to the persuasive powers of a fifty-rupee note.