Miss Filbert looked professionally touched.  “It was silent prayer, of course,” she said.

Alicia, standing with one hand upon the toilet-table, had an air of eagerness, of successful capture.  The yellow sky in the window behind her made filmy lights round her hair, and outlined her tall figure, in the gracefulness of which there was a curious crisped effect, like a conventional pose taken easily, from habit.  Laura Filbert thought she looked like a princess.

“I seem to hear of nothing but petitions,” she said.  “Isn’t somebody praying for you?”

The blood of any saint would have risen in false testimony at such a suggestion.  Laura blushed so violently that for an instant the space between them seemed full of the sound of her protest.

“I hope so, miss,” she said, and looked as if for calming over Alicia’s shoulder away into the after-sunset bars along the sky.  The colour sank back out of her face, and the light from the window rested on it ethereally.  The beautiful mystery drew her eyes to seek, and their blue seemed to deepen and dilate, as if the old splendour of the uplifted golden gates rewarded them.

“Why do you use that odious word?” Alicia explained.  “You are not my maid!  Don’t do it again—­don’t dream of doing it again!”

“I—­I don’t know.”  The girl was still plainly covered with confusion at being found in the house uninvited.  “I suppose I forgot.  Well, good-evening,” and she turned to the door.

“Don’t go,” Alicia commanded.  “Don’t.  You never come to see me now.  Sit down.”  She dragged a chair forward and almost pushed Laura into it.  “I will sit down too—­what am I thinking of?”

Laura reflected for a moment, looking at her folded hands.  “I might as well tell you,” she said, “that I have not been praying that Mr. Lindsay should get better.  Only that he should be given time to find salvation and die in Jesus.”

“Don’t—­don’t say those things to me.  How light you are—­it’s wicked!” Alicia returned with vehemence, and then as Captain Filbert stared, half comprehending, “Don’t you care?” she added curiously.

It was so casual that it was cruel.  The girl’s eyes grew wider still during the instant she fixed them upon Alicia in the effort of complete understanding.  Then her lip trembled.

“How can I care?” she cried; “how can I?” and burst into weeping.  She drew her sari over her face and rocked to and fro.  Her dusty bare foot protruded from her cotton skirt.  She sat huddled together, her head in its coverings sunk between weak shaking shoulders.  Alicia considered her for an instant as a pitiable and degraded spectacle.  Then she went over and touched her.

“You are completely worn out,” she said, “and it is almost dinner-time.  The ayah will bring you a hot bath and then you will come down and have some food quietly with me.  My brother is dining out somewhere.  I will go away for a little while and then I know you will feel better.  And after dinner,” she added gently, “you may come up if you like and pray again for Mr. Lindsay.  I am sure he would—­”