But Boulte was not listening, and her sentence ended in a gulp. The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not appear, and the new life that she, in the five minutes' madness of the previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed to be no nearer. Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the veranda, and went out. The morning wore through, and at midday the tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. Perhaps the Vansuythen woman would talk to her; and, since talking opens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her company. She was the only other woman in the Station. In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked across to the Vansuythens's house to borrow last week's Queen. The two compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed through the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back. As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that cloaked the drawing-room door, her husband's voice, saying--“But on my Honor! On my Soul and Honor, I tell you she doesn't care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if Vansuythen hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll have nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's Kurrell.” “What?” said Mrs. Vansuythen, with an hysterical little laugh. “Kurrell! Oh, it can't be. You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps you--you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can't be as wrong as you say.” Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. “There must be some mistake,” she insisted, “and it can be all put right again.” Boulte laughed grimly. “It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the least--the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He said he had not. He swore he had not,” said Mrs. Vansuythen. The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a little, thin woman with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood up with a gasp. “What was that you said?” asked Mrs. Boulte. “Never mind that man. What did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?” Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble of her questioner. “He said--I can't remember exactly what he said--but I understood him to say--that is--But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange question?” “Will you tell me what he said?” repeated Mrs. Boulte.