"You haven't heard?" she asked him shakily. "I have heard nothing," he answered. "Can you tell me now?" "Yes--yes!" She paused a moment to steady her voice. Then--"It's Phil!" she faltered. "He has been taken prisoner--murdered perhaps--by those dreadful hill men! Oh Eustace"--lifting her face appealingly--"do you think they would kill him? Do you? Do you?" But Tudor said nothing. He made no attempt to comfort her, and she turned from him in bitter disappointment. His lack of sympathy at such a moment was almost more than she could bear. "How did Devereux know?" he asked, after a pause. She shook her head. "He said something about a _shikari_. He was going to tell the colonel; but he didn't think it would be any use. He said--he said--" She broke off, quivering with agitation. Her husband took the glass from the table again and made her drink a little. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. "You have had a shock. It will do you good," he said, in his level, unmoved voice. And Audrey yielded to the mastery she had scarcely felt of late. The spirit helped to steady her, and at length she rose. "I am going to my room, Eustace," she said, not looking at him. "I--can't go out to-night. Perhaps you will make my excuses." He did not answer her, and she threw him a swift glance. He was standing stiff and upright. His face was stern and composed; it might have been a stone mask. "What excuse am I to make?" he asked. Her eyes widened. The question was utterly unexpected. "Why, the truth--of course," she said. "Say that I have been upset by the news, that--that--I hadn't the heart--I couldn't--Eustace,"--appealing suddenly, a tremor of indignation in her voice--"you don't seem to realise that he is one of my greatest friends. Don't you understand?" "Yes," he said--"yes, I understand!" And she marvelled at the coldness--the deadly, concentrated coldness--of his voice. "All the same," he went on, "I think you must make an effort to accompany me to the Bentleys' to-night. It might be thought unusual if I went alone." She stared at him in sudden, amazed anger. "Eustace!" she exclaimed. "How can you be so cruel, so cold-blooded, so--so heartless? How can you expect such a thing of me--to sit at table and hear them all talking about it, and his chances discussed? I couldn't--I couldn't!" He did not press the point. Perhaps he realised that her nerves in their present condition would prove wholly unequal to such a strain. "Very well," he said quietly at length. "I will send a note to excuse us both." "I don't see why you should stay at home," Audrey said, turning to the door. "I would far rather be alone." He did not explain his motive, and she went out of his presence with a sensation of relief. She had never fully realised before how wide the gulf between them had become.