"In a strange country no one is an exception, Colonel. One coward, one thief, one drunkard is quite enough to cast the blackest slur upon the whole nation in the eyes of another race. As sincerely as he believed yesterday that we were all heroes, as sincerely Nehal Singh believes to-day that there isn't an honest man among us." This time Colonel Carmichael made no answer. He went over to the window and stood there frowning obstinately out over the neglected garden. His eyes fell on the ruined bungalow, and he called Nicholson to his side. "Look at that!" he said. "In that place Behar Singh murdered my best and only friend, Steven Caruthers. I have not forgotten and I can not forget. It has branded every native for me as a murderer. No doubt this proves your argument. From the first I shrank from all contact with the present Rajah. I distrusted him, and it is obvious now that my distrust was well founded. What do you say, Stafford? You, too, were against having anything to do with him." To his surprise and annoyance, Stafford did not respond. He stood there with his hands clasping the back of the chair, his brows knitted in painful thought. "Come, Stafford, what have you to say?" the Colonel repeated impatiently. "I think there is a good deal in what Nicholson says," Stafford answered, speaking as though he had only just heard that he was being addressed. "The Rajah has not been well treated. He has a right to feel bitter. And he seemed a fine sort of man. Without prejudice, Colonel, one can not withhold a certain admiration for him. He has behaved better than some of us." Colonel Carmichael frowned, but his sense of justice forced him to a reluctant admission. "Yes, he has a few showy virtues. Yesterday, for instance. Under the circumstances, he behaved like a gentleman and a man of honor. Before nightfall the English share-holders in the mine got their money back in gems and rupees--he must have pulled the palace to pieces. In fact, everything might have gone off smoothly if it hadn't been for that--that--" He coughed and glanced at Stafford, not without a touch of malicious satisfaction. "You are alluding to Miss Cary, Colonel," Stafford said, returning his glance with dignity, "and you are at liberty to say what you like, for I have no longer the right to champion her. At her request, our engagement is at an end. But as her friend I can not refrain from saying this much--she has not spared herself, and, God knows, she also has not been treated well." What memories passed before the Colonel's mind as he stood there gazing absently in front of him! Recollections of mean and envious criticisms, ugly underhand slanders, petty intrigue, his own shame-faced patronage! And then the vision of a lovely, white-faced woman making her desperate self-accusal, and of a terrible, vulgar mother trying to hold her back with threats and pleadings! He turned at last to the two men, his own face red and troubled.