"You find this sort of thing pleasant enough while Desmond's away; but _will_ you keep it up when he comes back? Tell me that----" He leaned closer; but she turned her head away, avoiding his gaze. "Oh, I don't know. How can I possibly tell?" she answered, half plaintively, half petulantly. "Why _are_ men so tiresome? They never seem able to enjoy things peaceably without making tragedies and getting too much in earnest----" "But how if I am in earnest--in desperate earnest?" He spoke with sudden vehemence. Something in his tone startled her into a recollection of the incident at Lahore. And there was no Theo at hand to protect her now. Forgetful of the loosened rein, and of her insecure hold on the stirrup, she struck the mare more sharply than she knew. The astonished animal bounded forward, stumbled on a round stone, and came down on her knees, pitching Evelyn over her head into the dust of the metalled road. Kresney stifled an oath. "What the devil did the little fool do that for?" he muttered between his teeth. Springing to the ground, he shouted to a passing native child to hold the two horses, and hurried to Evelyn's side, reflecting as he went that, if she were not seriously injured, the accident might have its advantages. She was on her knees when he reached her, and was pressing both hands to her temples. "Are you badly hurt?" he asked, anger banished by real anxiety. "I don't--know. Oh--my head--my head!" The words ended in a sob; she swayed as if she would fall, and quick as thought his arm went round her, pressing her close. But at his touch she recovered herself as if by magic; and pushing him fiercely aside, staggered panting to her feet. Kresney stood regarding her for a moment, an evil expression in his eyes. "Well, I'm damned!" he broke out at length. "I'm not a disease that you should shake me off in that fashion." "I'm sorry," she said with quick-coming breaths. "You meant to be kind, I know, but--don't touch me again, please." "I only wanted to keep you from falling in the dust," he retorted huffily. "I know. But--I would rather fall in the dust." She spoke almost in a whisper, yet with such obvious sincerity that he set his teeth viciously and answered nothing. She remained standing before him, helpless, tantalising, unapproachable, in her childlike dignity. Her head was dazed and throbbing. Her knees shook under her so persistently that she gave it up at last, and sank down in the road, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, how _am_ I going to get home?" she moaned, more to herself than to him. He came and stood near her again. He was surprised to find how keenly her distress hurt him, and now that his anger was past, her flash of independence made her more alluring than ever.