Sophy had a difficult part to act—in fact no less than three separate roles: one with her aunt, one with Herr Krauss, and a third in public. Those who saw Miss Leigh dancing and playing tennis at the Gymkhana, little guessed how she spent the remainder of the day, soothing and interesting a fretful invalid, or sitting up half the night on duty—and on guard. Herr Krauss was frequently from home, being incessantly engaged in winding up his affairs. Business took him one week to Moulmein, the next to Calcutta. This fat, elderly man displayed a sort of volcanic energy; he lived in a fever of repressed excitement and scarcely gave himself time to gobble his huge meals. Numbers of people—principally natives—pressed for interviews; one or two arrived in fine motor-cars; evidently it was not a European business that appeared to absorb all his time and faculties. However, whatever its nationality, Herr Krauss was happy and exultant; there was an expression of assured triumph upon his frog-like visage. Naturally this triple life left its mark on Sophy, though she kept her miseries and responsibilities to herself. Mrs. Gregory and other friends put their heads together and decided that she looked ill and careworn; and the ever-active Fuchsia laid certain information before Shafto, with the result that the following day he arrived at “Heidelberg” to make a formal call. Of late he found that he could never have a word with Miss Leigh; she rarely rode in the morning and was seldom to be seen at the Gymkhana, and so he, as Fuchsia had suggested, “bearded the lioness in her den”—that is, he called at “Heidelberg” between the orthodox hours of four and five. “This is very formal,” exclaimed Sophy, as he entered the somewhat dusky drawing-room; “visiting hour and visiting card complete. What does it mean?” “It merely means that I wish to see you,” replied Shafto; “I can never get a look in elsewhere. One would almost think that you avoided me and wanted to cut me.” “What a ridiculous idea!” she exclaimed, sitting down and motioning him to a chair. “Well, it does seem ridiculous that we see so very little of you. I hope you are not ill?” “No, indeed, why should I be ill? Do I look like an invalid?” “Since you ask me, I don’t think you seem particularly fit. How is Mrs. Krauss?” “Oh, much the same. Sometimes she is able to be out in the car and sits in the veranda; other days she cannot appear at all.” “And you and Herr Krauss are _tête-à-tête_! How do you get on together?”