Stella, divided between her instinctive shrinking from Mrs. White, Cyril's favourite friend, and her desire to be separated by "people" from Valentine Cowley.

And Valentine himself, though he detested the proposition, could scarcely negative the decision of the others.

Sandro Kemp did not speak. He simply turned his grave, kind eyes on Augusta, a little wonder, a little speculation and more sorrow, more inquiry in them than he himself knew of. But the engagement held good; and at three the break came round and they all went off together.

They had a charming drive. The country was beautiful; the old castle which they went to see was interesting; the day was perfect; and no accident of any kind happened to mar the enjoyment which each was supposed to feel. They all kept very close together; and every one but Val and Tony seemed determined to resist all attempts at separation from the main body, and to resolutely decline that dangerous "solitude à deux" which more than one had reason to fear and from which no one had great cause to hope. Sandro was naturally his cousin's bodyguard; and to be Ethel White's bodyguard was no sinecure and left but little

margin of freedom for aught else. Stella clung to Augusta as if her very life depended on keeping tight hold of that firm round arm. She was not to be tempted away by all Val's invitations to mount this bit of broken wall for the sake of the view-to come with him to that angle of the ruined court for the sake of architectural effects. She clung to Augusta like a child; and like a child Augusta took care of her. For her own part, the fair widow talked amiably to Ethel White; and Sandro kept silence. The Pennefathers would have called him as dull as old boots, but Augusta did not. For once or twice their eyes met; and when they did, it was to her as if his had audibly asked her a question, to which she took care to make no reply. So the afternoon passed and with the evening they all came home. But nothing had been done to advance the various dramas holding the stage save the introduction into the circle of Ethel White, Cyril's chosen friend in India and Sandro Kemp's favourite cousin, and the easy manner in which she had established herself as an old friend among them all.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CRIMSON BARS OF EVENING.

It

To a married woman living in India, a train of admirers comes as naturally as a train of servants. Why should she not be adored? does the dear boys good to come about her bungalow like so many tame rabbits; and it keeps them straight to have a friend like herself, maternal and admonitory if she be their junior and exceptionally pretty-their frank playfellow and younger sister if older than they and only comely or maybe commonplace. And if it does them good it does her no harm, and it makes her husband a little more on the alert, a little more careful to keep what he has got, than English husbands are in general. Without question, a train of adorers is a very pleasant addition to the social appanage of a young wife in India; and to do her justice she

seldom stints herself in the strength of her following.

But what comes so naturally to her and the dear boys who crowd round her in the compound and run in and out her bungalow like so many tame rabbits on the hunt for parsley, is a state of things quite foreign to the life at home. It takes a certain education before a young Englishman of ordinarily healthy morality and ordinarily honourable training can bring himself to make love to a married woman, whether her husband be his friend or no. And it soon became evident to Ethel White that no happy hunting-grounds were open to her here, and that she must be content to feel herself distanced by Stella, and shut out all round. This handsome young fellow, this Valentine Cowley, did not attempt to take up the glove thrown down by her expressive eyes. Neither during that drive, nor after it, did he advance one step towards that mental condition which the Doves were wont to localize under the name of

"Spooney Green." He had eyes only for Stella, and the attentions which he paid to her, Ethel White, were of the coldest and most perfunctory kind. How different from the devotion which she was accustomed to receive in that much-abused land of punkahs and rupees!

There she was supreme; here she was nobody -distanced by a little country girl without style or furniture, and who had already a lien on another!

Really this sojourn at St. Ann's threatened to be horribly slow. Ethel wished now that she had remained with her husband's stiff old aunt, instead of breaking loose after a week's stay and one fit of hysterics. She would not have been duller there than it was evident she would be here; and she would have pleased her husband and won golden opinions from his very stupid. family-which was always something gained. Now, subordinate to Stella Branscombe with this handsome Mr. Cowley; knowing that there had been an affair between her and Cyril Ponsonby on whom she had expended a large amount of useless powder and shot; and her cousin Sandro somewhat odd in his manner to this Mrs. Latrobe-who yet was nice enough in her own way-it all was really too horrid ; and no wonder she did not like it.

Her secret dissatisfaction however, showed itself only in increased friendship to the women and more and more delightfulness of gracious queenhood to the men-in taking her place among them all, as if born into it and coming now frankly into her inheritance-and in