Penelope owned to herself frankly that it was. Latterly the possibility of finding herself alone with Ferrers in some isolated station, with no other Europeans within reach, had weighed upon her day and night. In Mr Crayne’s house, eccentric as he might be, she would find protection if she needed it. She did not ask herself from what she would need protection, or renew the useless reflection that the prospect in which she expected to need it was hardly a hopeful one. She looked up at Mr Crayne again. “I should like it much better,” she said; “and it is very, very kind of you to think of it.” Mr Crayne did not seem wholly satisfied. Perhaps it struck him as strange that his company should be welcome in the circumstances. He pushed back Penelope’s hair, and kissed her forehead. “My dear,” he said, “the pleasure will be wholly mine. And if George beats you--why, I shall be at hand to interfere, you see.” He looked for a laughing, indignant denial, but Penelope started guiltily, and flushed crimson. For the moment she felt as if he had read her secret thoughts. “My dear,” he cried, in real alarm, “I don’t think you are quite happy about this. What is it?” But Penelope had regained her self-possession. Bad as the state of affairs might be, she had too much loyalty to discuss it with Ferrers’ uncle. “I am going to try to be happy,” she said, looking him straight in the face. “And Captain Ferrers is satisfied.” “Yes, George is satisfied, and so he ought to be, lucky young dog! Found a wife much too good for him, eh? I don’t mind saying that George has disappointed me in the past; but with you to help him, my dear, he must do well. And you mean to keep him in order, eh? So much the better! Why, there he is clinking his spurs outside. Thinks I’m encroaching on his privileges, eh?” Bestowing a second kiss on Penelope, Mr Crayne left her to his nephew, and went out to see the camels loaded, and incidentally to wrestle with his misgivings, which were difficult to banish. “It’s Keeling if it’s any one. I thought so from the first, and his face last night makes it almost certain. And the girl ain’t happy either. But why should I look after Keeling? He’s old enough to manage his own affairs. No one could expect me to take his side against George. Besides, this is George’s one chance. If any one can keep him straight it’ll be a woman. Keeling can get on all right by himself. Daresay the girl sees it. She seems to have made up her mind--wouldn’t thank me for interfering. Hang it all! I’m not going to interfere, if she’s willing to take George in hand. Must think first of one’s own flesh and blood.” And his meditations having thus led him, by a somewhat different route, to much the same conclusion as that which Colin had long ago reached, Mr Crayne bade his scruples trouble him no more.