The truth was that the gay and admired Mrs. Norton, caught up in the whirlwind of social amusement in a lively hill-station, was not the woman who passed weary days of ennui in the company of a dull and unattractive husband in a small, dead-and-alive station.  Nor was the dejected man who so plainly showed that he was pining for someone else the good-looking, heart-whole subaltern who had fascinated her in the boredom of existence in Rohar.  Was he worth incurring social damnation for?  Would his companionship—­for she knew that she had not his love—­make up for a life of loneliness, debt and poverty in a frontier outpost?  If she were resolved on giving up her present assured position—­and Violet felt that existence with Norton would be more than ever unendurable after the exciting pleasures of Poona and Darjeeling—­would it not be wiser to do so for someone who could amply compensate her for the sacrifice?  Love in a cottage—­or its Indian equivalent, a subaltern’s comfortless bungalow—­did not appeal to her.  Her statement that she had written to tell her husband that she was leaving for Wargrave was false.  It had served the purpose for which it was made, and that was the defeat of her rival.  So now, content with her victory, she put all burdensome thought from her and dined, danced and flirted to her heart’s content in the gaieties of the Darjeeling Season.

When Wargrave reached Ranga Duar the little outpost seemed strangely forlorn without the Dermots and their children.  Major Hunt and Macdonald welcomed him warmly.  The latter informed him that he had insisted on the Colonel going to England for his operation because the Political Officer had not been out of India for seven years and needed the change, and besides he would receive more care and attention in a London nursing-home than in an Indian hospital.  The trouble was intestinal but there was no immediate danger to his life.

Another familiar figure was missing.  Before departing Dermot had released Badshah and left him to wander in freedom in the jungle, unwilling that his faithful companion of years should be servant to anyone else and confident that the elephant would come back to him when he returned to the Terai.  Major Hunt placed one of the detachment elephants at Wargrave’s disposal whenever he required it to take him on his tours along the frontier.  And Frank needed it constantly.  For, as soon as the news of Colonel Dermot’s departure spread, the lawless spirits that for fear of him had not ventured for five years to disturb the peace of the Border, began to show signs of restlessness.  The Political Officer’s strong personality and the reputation of divinity that he enjoyed had kept them in check.  But now that he was gone they thought that they could defy with impunity the young sahib who replaced him.