“I’m all right now,” he said, looking up at the Colonel. “It was this that drove me home from the North Country. One hates to be ill, helpless, to pass out among those heathen, you know. And then there was—Paul.” His bravado was all gone. His tone was low and wistful like that of a child wanting its mother. The Colonel was smitten to the heart with pity for him. The thought of the mission which had brought him there was repugnant to him. Come what might, it would not be his hand that would deal him a blow that might well be his death. Slowly they returned to the bungalow. Gaspard poured himself a stiff glass of spirits. “Ah, that’s better,” he said, after he had finished the glass. “You see, I can’t stand much of a strain, especially emotional strain. Seeing you again, and all that, got to my vitals. I must go softly for a bit.” “You ought to have a doctor see you right away,” said the Colonel with decision. “Better let me send you McGillivray, what?” “No, no. Thanks all the same. I mean to ride down to the Post and see him one of these days. Today and tomorrow I am going to lie up.” Then after a pause he added, “The day following I hope to accept Mrs. Pelham’s kind invitation to lunch. Then I shall see Paul.” The Colonel’s report to his wife was given in a forlorn-hope-now-do-your-worst sort of manner. “Did you see that Indian woman?” she asked. “I did not. Would you have had me ask for her?” replied the Colonel, with the air of a man who has dared the ultimate. “No, dear, you did perfectly right. And it’s my opinion that everybody else will follow your example.” His wife knew better than to goad a man gone wholly desperate. The third day at lunch she had her opportunity with Gaspard, but, as the Colonel said, shamelessly crowing over her, nothing was said about the conventions. The Colonel’s report of Gaspard’s grave heart seizure had driven in her front line. Augusta, however, was merely biding her time. She was still on guard, and waiting a favourable moment to make the counter-attack. CHAPTER X