“Drop it, Roy.”  There was pain and impatience in Desmond’s tone.  “I’m not going to talk about that.”

Flat opposition gave Roy precisely the spur he needed.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to, though.”  The statement was placable but decisive.  “I can’t go on this way.  It’s getting on my nerves——­”

“Devil take your nerves,” said Lance politely.  Then—­with an obvious effort—­“Has she—­said anything?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell can’t you let be!”

“I shall let be—­altogether, if this goes on;—­this infernal awkwardness between us; and the things she says—­the way she looks ... almost as if she cares.”

“Well, I give you my oath—­she doesn’t.  I suppose I ought to know?”

“That depends how things were before I came up.  She’s twice let your name slip out, unawares.  And at Anarkalli she was extraordinarily upset.  And to-day—­about your hand.  Then, riding home, I met Mrs Ranyard.  And she started talking ... hinting at a private engagement——­”

“Mrs Ranyard deserves to have her tongue removed.  She’d tell any lie about another woman.”

“Quito so.  But is it a lie?  It fits in too neatly with—­the other things——­”

Lance gave him a sidelong look.  Their faces were just visible in the moonlight.

“Jealous—­are you?”—­His tone was almost tender.—­“You damned lucky devil—­you’ve no cause to be.”

That natural inference startlingly revealed to Roy that jealousy had little or nothing to do with his trouble; and so great was the relief of open speech between them, that instinctively he told truth.

“N-no.  I’m bothered about you.”

“Good God!” Desmond’s abrupt laugh had no mirth in it. “Me?”

“Yes—­naturally.  If it amounted to ... an engagement, and I charged in and upset everything ...  I can’t forgive myself ... or her——­”

At that Desmond sat forward, obstructive no longer.  “If you’re going so badly off the rails, you must have it straight.  And ... confound you!... it hurts——­”

“I can see that.  And it’s more or less my doing——­”

“On the contrary ... it was primarily my doing ... as you justly pointed out to me a week or two ago.”

Roy groaned.  The irony of the situation stung like a whip-lash. “Did it amount to an engagement?” he persisted.

“There or thereabouts.”  Lance paused and took a long pull at his cigar. “But—­it was quite between ourselves—­in fact, conditional on ... the headway I could manage to make.  She—­cared, in a way.  Not—­as I do.  That was one hitch.  The other was Oh ’Ell’s antipathy to soldiers, as husbands for her precious family.  She—­Rose—­knew there would be ructions; a downright tussle, in fact.  Well—­she’ll go almost any length to avoid ructions; specially with her mother.  I don’t blame her.  The woman’s a caution.  So—­she shirked facing the music ... till she felt quite sure of herself....”