'It is the second time this evening you have hinted at that, Lewis. I suppose--being a sort of relation--you know something of that boy and girl entanglement before I married your cousin. Is it so?' Her unexpected and unusual frankness took him aback into faint excuse. 'There is nothing to apologise about, I assure you,' she went on, regaining her carelessness. 'You may as well know the facts. I was engaged to Mr. Fitzgerald. We were both babies, and my people disapproved. Then your cousin proposed, and good sense came to us; for we were not suited to each other. _Du reste_, Mr. Fitzgerald and I are still friends, and he is the best dancer in Rajpore.' There was a pause, before he said quietly, 'Why not be quite frank, Gwen, and say he is in love with you still? Surely that is palpable.' 'Perhaps. But I prefer to leave such questions alone, even with my cousin. Especially since that cousin has done me the honour of telling me many times that he is devoted to me himself.' He smiled at her deft evasion. 'What is the use of any one being devoted to you, Gwen, if you are going to marry Colonel Tweedie?' he replied half jestingly. 'I did not know I was going to marry him; but I am certainly going to look after Miss Rose Tweedie in camp--if she will have me. Do you think I shall want a new riding-habit, Mr. Gordon?' 'I really cannot help you on that question, Mrs. Boynton.' She leant towards him, so that he could see the laugh pass from her pretty eyes. 'Don't be foolish, Lewis. You have been too good and kind to me for that. You, who know my affairs as well as I know them myself, must see that I have scarcely any choice between marrying again, and going home to live with my mother-in-law, or starving in some horrid poky lodging. How I should hate either! I can't live without money, Lewis. I don't spend much--but it goes somehow. Then my pension as a civilian's widow is but genteel poverty. Clothes are so expensive to begin with; yet even your best friends don't care for you unless you are well dressed.' The real regret in her tone made him quote a trite saying about beauty unadorned. 'Rubbish!' she interrupted, sinking into her cushions again. 'Beauty is like the blue teapot; you must live up to it. I must marry some one who can afford a well-dressed wife. I must indeed, in common honesty to my future creditors. Personally I should prefer it to the mother-in-law. Besides, if I went home I should never see you again, Lewis. I should not like that--would you?'