meeting on the previous day; and although it never occurred to him to lose his heart to her or even attempt to flirt with her, yet he felt that her friendship would brighten existence for him in Rohar.  Nor did the thought strike him that possibly he might come to mean more to Mrs. Norton than she to him.  For, while he had his work, his duties, the goodfellowship of the Mess and the friendship of his comrades to fill his life, she had nothing.  She was utterly without interests, occupation or real companionship in Rohar.  Her husband and she had nothing in common.  No child had come during the five years of their marriage to link them together.  And in this solitary place where there were no gaieties, no distractions such as a young woman would naturally long for, she was lonely, very lonely indeed.

It was little wonder that she snatched eagerly at the promise of an interesting friendship.  Wargrave stood out and apart from the other officers of the regiment; and his companionship during the uncomfortable incident of the sandstorm bulked unaccountably large in her mind.  It seemed to denote that he was destined to introduce a new element into her life.

As they talked it was with increasing pleasure that she learnt they had so many tastes in common.  She found that he played the violin well and was, moreover, the possessor of a voice tuneful and sympathetic, even if not perfectly trained.  This made instant appeal to her and would have disposed her to regard him with favour even if she had not been already prepared to like him.

The afternoon passed all too quickly for both of them.  Violet Norton had never enjoyed any hours in Rohar so much as these; and when, as she sat at the piano while Frank played an obligato, a servant came to enquire if she wished her horse or a carriage got ready for her usual evening ride or drive, she impatiently ordered him out of the room.  When the time came for Wargrave to return to his bungalow to dress for dinner she begged him to stay and dine with her.

“I shall be all alone; and it would be a charitable act to take pity on my solitude,” she said.  “My husband is dining at your Mess to-night.”

“Thank you very much for asking me,” replied the subaltern.  “I should have loved to accept your invitation; but it is our Guest Night and the Colonel likes all of us to be present at Mess on such evenings.”

“Oh, I forgot!” she exclaimed.  “I ought to have remembered; for Mr. Raymond told me the same thing only last week when I invited him informally.  Well, you must come some other night soon.”

Reluctant to part with her new playmate she accompanied him to the door and, to the scandal of the stately chuprassis, stood at it to watch him drive away and to wave him a last goodbye as he looked back when the pony turned out of the gate.

India is a land of lightning friendships between men and women.

CHAPTER III