Anger, humiliation, injured pride, a quick perception of advantage, a rapid gleam of pleasure, the thrill of delightful excitement at the thought of a great deal of money to spend, all darted through Mrs. Stanhope’s mind, and glittered in her eager eyes. The disagreeable sentiments finally died away in the others which were more rational. To have the ordering of a great entertainment regardless of expense, and everybody at her feet, the providers of the same, and the guests, and indeed the whole community eager either for commissions or invitations! This was a temptation more than any woman could resist. “Mr. Rowland,” she said, “you are a very extraordinary man. But I must warn you that Evelyn will not like it, and she knows that we cannot afford it. Oh, I will try, if you have set your heart upon it, and just say as little to her as possible. I suppose something like what Mrs. Fawcett had when Bertha was married? And you must give me a list of all the people you want to invite.” “The Fawcetts’ was a very humdrum affair,” said Rowland critically, “quite an ordinary business. We must do a great deal better than that. And as for the invitations, ask everybody--beginning with the Governor. He’ll be at Cumsalla about that time, and it will be a fine opportunity for him to visit the station in a semi-official way: and the General commanding, and the Head of the district, and----” “The Governor and the General!” Mrs. Stanhope gasped. She lay back in her chair in a half-fainting condition, yet with a keen conviction running through her mind like the flash of a gold thread, that to receive all these people in his own house, at a magnificent entertainment, would be such a chance as never could have been anticipated for Fred! “_Carte blanche_,” said Mr. Rowland, pressing in his enthusiasm her limp and hesitating hand. Evelyn Ferrars came in a moment after with the children. She gave a smile to her future husband, and a glance of surprise at her friend, who had not yet recovered that shock of emotion. “What are you plotting?” she said: but did not mean it, though it was so near their real occupation. As for Mr. Rowland he was equal to the occasion, his faculties being so stirred up and quickened by the emergency that he was as clear about it as if it had been a railway or a canal. “We are plotting against you,” he said, “and I think I have got Mrs. Stanhope to enter into my cause.” She looked from one to another with a little rising colour, divining what the subject would be. For once in her life Mrs. Stanhope was the dull one, not understanding her ally’s change of front. She thought he was about to betray the conspiracy into which he had just seduced her, and that Evelyn’s dislike and opposition would put an end to the delightful commotions of the marriage feast. “Oh,” she cried, “don’t tell her. She will never consent.”