“Oh, is she?”

“You shall see for yourself.  You must come to tea on Sunday.  I am sure I may invite you; Aunt Flora is so kind and sympathetic, and has a look of mother.”

“I’ll come all right, if you think she’ll not be durwaza bund.”

“No, she is ever so much better, but the last few years has been more or less an invalid.”

“What is her particular illness?  Is it fever?”

“Fever and neuralgia.  Some days she will lie in a darkened room and see no one but her ayah; she won’t even admit me, though occasionally I do slip in; she has had a bad attack lately, but is now convalescent.  Oh, I see Mrs. Muller moving at last; now we shall be going.”

“I’m afraid you’ve found this show a hit dull.”

“Not at all—­it has been a most interesting sight; I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself so much.”

“So have I; it has been a——­”

Whatever Shafto was about to add was interrupted by Mrs. Muller, who pounced on his companion with a laughing apology, and handed her over to the charge of Herr Bernhard.

Two days later Mrs. Gregory and Mrs. Milward called at “Heidelberg,” and on the veranda encountered Sophy, who was hurrying out to keep an appointment to practise duets with Frau Muller.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” she said, when the first greetings were over, “but I must go; I’ll get back as soon as ever I can.  Aunt Flora is at home.”

But when Sophy returned the visitors had already departed, leaving their hostess a good deal disturbed.  Indeed, Mrs. Krauss’s languid spirits had been violently shaken.  Mrs. Milward had remarked on Sophy’s changed appearance, and her tone had been hostile.

“It is very plain that Burma does not suit her,” she said.  “I could not believe that any girl would have altered in so short a time; I shall write to her mother at once.”

“Oh, dear Mrs. Milward, what do you mean?”

“I should think anyone could see what I mean,” rejoined the lady, who was very angry and had heard the tale of Sophy’s heavy cares.

“The girl looks ill.  I have known Sophy for years—­known her since she was a small child—­and I can assure you that she has never been accustomed to a strenuous indoor employment, to getting no exercise or relaxation—­or ever meeting people of her own age.”

Her hostess was struck dumb; her torpid conscience suddenly awoke and condemned her; Mrs. Milward, who was immediately leaving Rangoon and had no fear of retaliation, continued with ruthless animosity: 

“It is true what you say—­that your niece has been a wonderful comfort to you, but will it be a comfort to her mother when she hears that she is merely a hard-worked lady-help?  I think it would be well to arrange that she should return home with me.”

Tears now trembled in the culprit’s dark eyes, and she fumbled for her handkerchief.