"How did you know about the bones?" he asked, rather to delay the making of a decision at the moment than because he wished to hear. "Mother has one--not that it ever brought her any luck, poor dear, unless it was getting me married; and I suppose Gommie, at any rate, would call that good luck! Guy Greaves told me about the bones, too, and he's going to give me one when he shoots his first tiger. He was to have come back yesterday, wasn't he? Was he on parade this morning?" "Yes," said Coventry. The sudden mention at this juncture of young Greaves made Coventry's heart contract with a spasm of jealous apprehension. "I hope," he said, with injudicious haste, "that, if I do go on this shoot, you won't let that boy hang round the bungalow and follow you about all over the place while I am away." Trixie flushed. "So that is why you hesitated about going?" she asked him ominously. "Perhaps you would like me to say 'Not at home' to visitors and refuse every invitation while you are not here?" "Trixie, don't be foolish!" He regretted having voiced his feelings. It had put him in a false position. Now he must either accept the invitation, or refuse it and remain under the suspicion that he would not leave his wife because he feared he could not trust her to behave becomingly. "Of course, I know you would not do anything really wrong, but you are so careless about appearances, and people don't take circumstances into consideration. Why should they? They wouldn't know or remember that you have known Greaves nearly all your life. They would only say that he was in love with you, and that you were encouraging him. You can't be too careful in India, where we all know each other, and live, so to speak, on the house-tops." "Then you wouldn't mind how much I went about with Guy so long as nobody was any the wiser?" "Yes, of course I should; but I naturally should not put the same construction on it that people would who did not know you." "Perhaps you had better not go, then," said Trixie sweetly; and she began to play with the monkey and pet the kittens, and throw scraps to the dogs. Then she rose, flourishing a bunch of keys. "I must go and fight with the cook," she announced. "His bill for charcoal is preposterous. The other women tell me we use four times what we ought--or pay for it, at any rate--and, of course, that won't do, will it, George?"