"I do not in the least understand your methods," Beatrice said, "but they have hitherto been so eminently successful that I suppose I ought not to question them. I hope for the best. I really was rather sorry for Lois--especially as she behaved so well." "Are you starting a conscience, Miss Beatrice?" Travers asked gaily. "I rather suspect you. It would be such a typically feminine proceeding." "There you are quite wrong," she answered, with a shade of annoyance in her cool voice. "A conscience is an appendage which I discarded a good many years ago as the luxury of respectability. As you know, and as any woman at the Station would tell you, I am not respectable." "Whence this anxiety, then?" "It is purely a practical one. You talk of gratitude--do you really think anyone is grateful to me for--this?" She waved her hand toward the lofty, handsomely decorated room before her. "Why, I doubt if anyone remembers that I had anything to do with it. But every one suspects me of having bewitched Stafford into becoming a deserter--thanks to Mrs. Carmichael's tongue--and every one feels a just and holy indignation. I doubt whether they really care a rap about poor Lois, and indeed I could accuse one or two of a certain satisfaction; but the matter has given them a new whip with which to beat us out of Marut." "But you will not be beaten out of Marut," Travers said, a smile passing over his fresh face. "You have got a far too firm footing. The woman who has bagged the finest catch in the Station has nothing more to fear." "You mean Captain Stafford?" "I do." "Then, if you have no objection, we will leave that subject alone." "By all means, if you wish it," he agreed, somewhat taken aback. "But, between friends, you know, one does not need to be so delicate." Her hands played idly with the handle of her silk parasol. "It is not a matter of delicacy," she said, "--at least, not altogether. It would be rather silly to begin with that sort of thing at my time of life, wouldn't it? But--you don't know for certain that I shall marry Captain Stafford." "My dear lady! You have accepted him!" Travers exclaimed. She looked at him, her clear hazel eyes flashing with momentary fun. "It is very bad policy to rely upon what a woman says further back than twenty-four hours," she warned him. For once he remained serious. "That may be true, but it is sometimes necessary to warn her that first thoughts are best." "Now, what do you mean?" He folded his arms over his broad chest. "Miss Beatrice," he said, appearing to ignore her question, "do you remember some time ago my telling you that we were like two partners at a game of bridge?" "I remember very well." "Well, we are still partners, though the game is nearing its end. As a rule I am for straight, aboveboard play, but there are moments when a man is strongly tempted to cheat." "Haven't we cheated all through?" she inquired, with a one-sided smile.