It was understood that, so long there was no disorder, the authorities would make no move.  But, by Saturday, all emergency plans were complete:  the Fort garrison strengthened; cavalry and armoured cars told off to be available.

Roy had no notion of being a mere onlooker, if things happened; and he felt sure they would.  Directly he was dressed he waited on the Colonel, and had the honour to offer his services in case of need; further—­unofficially—­to beg that he might be attached, as extra officer, to Lance’s squadron.  The Colonel—­also unofficially—­expressed his keen appreciation; and Roy might rest assured the matter would be arranged.

So he went off in high feather to report himself to Lance, and discuss the afternoon’s programme.

Lance was full of a thorough good fellow he had stumbled on, a Sikh—­and a sometime revolutionary—­whose eyes had been opened by three years’ polite detention in Germany.  The man had been speaking all over the place, showing up the Home Rule crowd, with a courage none too common in these days of intimidation.  After the sports, he would address the men; talk to them, encourage them to ask questions.

It occurred to Roy that he had heard something of the sort in a former life; and—­arrived on the ground—­he recognised the very same man who had been howled down at Delhi.

He greeted him warmly; spoke of the meeting; listened with unmoved countenance to lurid speculations about the disappearance of Chandranath; spoke, himself, to the men, who gave him an ovation; and, by the time it was over, had almost forgotten the astounding fact that he was virtually engaged to be married....

* * * * *

Driving out five miles to Lahore, he had leisure to remember, to realise how innately he shrank from speaking to Rose of his mother.  Though in effect his promised wife, she was still almost a stranger; and the sacredness of the subject—­the uncertainty of her attitude—­intensified his shrinking to a painful degree.

She had asked him to come early, that they might have a few minutes to themselves; and for once he was not unpunctual.  He found her alone; and, at first sight, painful shyness overwhelmed him.

She was wearing the cream-and-gold frock of the evening that had turned the scale; and she came forward a trifle eagerly, holding out her hands.

“Wonderful!  It’s not a dream?”

He took her hands and kissed her, almost awkwardly.  “It still feels rather like a dream,” was all he could find to say—­and fancied he caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes.  Was she thinking him an odd kind of lover?  Even last night, he had not achieved a single term of endearment, or spoken her name.

With a graceful gesture, she indicated the sofa—­and they sat down.

“Well, what have you been doing with yourself—­Roy?” she asked, palpably to put him at ease.  “It’s a delightful name—­Royal?”