Then, looking down at his bowed head, compunction seized her, and tenderness, that rarely entered into her feeling for men.  She could think of nothing to say that would not sound idiotically commonplace.  So she laid her hand on his hair, and moved it caressingly now and then.

She felt a tremor go through him.  He half withdrew his head, checked himself, and capturing her hand, pressed it to his lips, that were hot and feverish.

“Roy—­what is it?  What went wrong?” she asked softly.

He looked up now with a fair imitation of a smile.  “Just—­an old memory.  It was dear of you.  Ungracious of me.”—­Pain and perplexity went from her.  She slipped to her knees beside him, and his arm enclosed her.  “Sorry to behave like this.  But I’m not very fit.  And—­seeing you, brought it all back so sharply!  It’s been—­a bit of a strain, this last week.  A letter from Thea—­brave, of course; but broken utterly.  The wedding too:  and that beast of a journey fairly finished me.”

She leaned closer, comforting him by the feel of her nearness.  Then her practical brain suggested needs more pedestrian, none the less essential.

“Dearest—­you’re simply exhausted.  How about tea—­or a peg?”

He pleaded for a peg, if permissible.  She fetched it herself; made tea; plied him with sandwiches and sugared cakes, for which he still retained his boyish weakness.

But talking proved difficult.  There were uncomfortable gaps.  In their first uplifted moment all had seemed well.  Love-making was simple, elemental, satisfying.  Beyond the initial glamour and passion of courtship they had scarcely adventured, when the fabric of their world was shattered by the startling events of those four days.  Both were realising—­as they stepped cautiously among the fragments—­that, for all their surface intimacy, they were still strangers underneath.

Roy took refuge in talk about Lahore; the high tribute paid to the conduct of all troops—­British and Indian—­and police, under peculiarly exasperating circumstances, the C.O.’s conviction that unless sterner measures were taken—­and adhered to—­there would be more outbreaks, at shorter intervals, better organised....

He hoped her charming air of interest was genuine, but felt by no means sure.  And all the while, he was craving to know what she had to say for herself; yet doubting whether he could stand the lightest touch on his open wound.  Lance had begged him not to hurt her.  Had it ever occurred to that devout lover how sharply she might hurt him?

Tea and a restful hour in an arm-chair eased the strain a little.  Then Rose suggested the garden, knowing him susceptible to the large healing influences of earth and sky; also with diplomatic intent to draw him away from the house before her mother’s meteoric visitation.

And she was only just in time.  The rattle of rickshaw wheels came up the main path two minutes after they had turned out of it towards a favourite nook, which she had strangely grown to love in the last two weeks.