Till this morning, she had scarcely realised how unobtrusively she had been, as it were, their connecting link in all difficult or delicate matters, where their natures were not quite in tune.  But now, Roy being a man, they must come to terms in their own fashion....

At the first far-off sound of his step on the stairs, she rose and came over to the easel, and stood there a few moments—­fascinated always by the swift sure strokes.

“Good—­eh?” he asked, smiling into her serious eyes.

She nodded.  “Quite evident—­you are in the mood!” Her fingers lightly caressed the back of his hand.  “I will come back later. Such a tray of vases waiting for me in the drawing-room!”

As Roy entered, she passed him and they exchanged a smile.  Her eyes, mutely blessing him, besought him not to let his eager tongue run away with itself.  Then she went out, leaving them together—­the two who were her world.

Down in the drawing-room, roses and sweet-peas, cut by Christine—­her fairy daughter—­lay ready to hand.  Between them they filled the lofty room with fragrance and harmonies of delicate colour.  Then Christine flew to her beloved piano; and Lilamani wandered away to her no less beloved rose-garden.  Body and mind were restless.  She could settle to nothing till she knew what had passed between Nevil and Roy.  His boyish confidences and adorations of the night before had filled her cup to overflowing.  She felt glad and proud that her first-born should have set his heart on the high project of trying to promote deeper sympathy between his father’s great country and her own people, in this time of dangerous antagonism and unrest.

But beneath her pride and gladness, stirred a fear lest the scales she had tried to hold even, should be inclining to tilt the wrong way.  For duty to his father’s house was paramount.  Too strong a leaning towards India—­no matter for what high purpose—­would still be a tilt the wrong way.  She had seen the same fear lurking in Nevil’s heart also; and now, unerringly, she divined the cause of that hidden trouble which baffled Roy.  Nevil feared that—­if Roy went to India—­history might repeat itself.  She admitted the danger was real; and she knew his fear implied no reflection on herself or her country.  Best of all, she knew that—­because of his chivalrous loyalty that had never failed her—­he would not speak of it, even to his son.

Clearly then, if Roy insisted on going to India, and if a word of warning must be spoken to ease Nevil’s mind, only one person in the world could speak it—­herself.  For all her sensitive shrinking she could not, at this critical turning-point, stand outside.  She was “in it”—­as Roy dramatically assured her—­up to the hilt....

Time passed—­and he did not come.  Troubled, she wandered back towards the house; caught sight of him, lonely and abstracted, pacing the lawn:  saw him stop near the great twin beeches—­that embowered a hammock, chairs and rugs—­and disappear inside.  Then she knew her moment had come....