“The station burnt and looted.  The Ferozepur train held up!  Two of our officers wounded and two warrant officers beaten to death with those horrible lathis!” She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy could even get near Rose.  “It’s official.  Mr Haynes has just been telling us.  An English woman and three tiny children—­miraculously saved by two N.C.O.’s and a friendly native Inspector.  Did you ever——!  And I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the bodies of those poor men at Amritsar.  So now we know why the price ran up and why ‘none was coming into the country!’ Yet they say this isn’t another Mutiny,—­don’t tell me!  I was so thankful to be getting away; and now I’m terrified to stir.  Fancy if it happened to us—­to-morrow!”

“My dear Mother, it won’t happen to us.”  Her daughter’s cool tones had a tinge of contempt.  “They’re guarding the trains.  And Fakir Ali wouldn’t let any one lay a finger on us.”

Mrs Elton’s sigh had the effect of a small cyclone.  “Well, I don’t believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut—­or worse,” she declared with settled conviction.

“You’ll be almost disappointed if we do!” Rose quizzed her cruelly, but sweetly.  “And now perhaps I may get at Roy, who’s probably tired and thirsty after all those hours in the sun.”

The Jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but directly it was over Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir—­her own corner; its atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl herself, after all the strife and heat and noise of the city.

They spent a peaceful two hours together.  Roy detected no shadow of constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday had passed off.  For himself—­all inner perturbations were charmed away by her tender concern for the bruised shoulder—­a big bruise; she could feel it under his coat—­and the look in her eyes while he told the story of Lance; not colouring it up, because of what he had said; yet not concealing its effect on himself.

“He’s quite a splendid sort of person,” she said, with a little tug at the string of her circular fan.  “But you know all about that.”

“Rather.”

She drew in her lip and was silent.  If he could speak now.  In this mood, he might believe her—­might even forgive her....

But it was she who spoke.

“What about—­the Kashmir plan?”

“God knows.  It’s all in abeyance.  The Colonel’s wedding too.”

“Will you be allowed—­I wonder—­to pay me a little visit first?” Her smile and the manner of her request were irresistible.

“It’s just possible!” he returned, in the same vein.  “I fancy Lance would understand.”

“Oh—­he would.  And to-morrow—­the night train?  Can you be there?”

He looked doubtful.  “It depends—­how things go.  And—­I rather bar station partings.”