"Mr. Macdonald wires that Kevin must go at once to England for an operation. He says I'm not to worry, as there is no immediate danger. But of course I can't help being alarmed. It's all so sudden. I didn't know that Kevin was ill. Mr. Macdonald is travelling with him to the junction on the main line where the children and I are to meet them. Isn't it kind of him? I'm so glad to know my husband will have someone with him until I come." "We'll meet at the railway station after lunch, then," said Wargrave. "We'll be together as far as the junction." Mrs. Dermot hesitated. "Are you travelling alone?" she asked. Frank flushed as he replied: "Yes. She--Violet is to follow later." Noreen made no comment; and having learned all that he could he returned to his hotel. He dreaded the ordeal of the parting with Mrs. Norton, but when the time came for it he found his fear of a distressing scene quite uncalled for. She said goodbye to him in a pleasantly friendly, though somewhat casual, manner, and did not offer to accompany him to the station as she had a previous engagement. And long before the little train had zig-zagged down the seven thousand feet to the foot of the Himalayas she had dismissed him from her mind. The truth was that the gay and admired Mrs. Norton, caught up in the whirlwind of social amusement in a lively hill-station, was not the woman who passed weary days of _ennui_ in the company of a dull and unattractive husband in a small, dead-and-alive station. Nor was the dejected man who so plainly showed that he was pining for someone else the good-looking, heart-whole subaltern who had fascinated her in the boredom of existence in Rohar. Was he worth incurring social damnation for? Would his companionship--for she knew that she had not his love--make up for a life of loneliness, debt and poverty in a frontier outpost? If she were resolved on giving up her present assured position--and Violet felt that existence with Norton would be more than ever unendurable after the exciting pleasures of Poona and Darjeeling--would it not be wiser to do so for someone who could amply compensate her for the sacrifice? Love in a cottage--or its Indian equivalent, a subaltern's comfortless bungalow--did not appeal to her. Her statement that she had written to tell her husband that she was leaving for Wargrave was false. It had served the purpose for which it was made, and that was the defeat of her rival. So now, content with her victory, she put all burdensome thought from her and dined, danced and flirted to her heart's content in the gaieties of the Darjeeling Season.