She watches her master curiously, but by no sign does he reveal that anything unusual has occurred, save that he laughs more frequently, and seems as light-hearted and high spirited as a boy. "Maybe he has paid the devil off," Quamina surmises. * * * * * Captain Stevenson and Major Short ride over, much to Eleanor's delight, who enjoys a chat with the outer world as keenly as Carol. She longs once again to hear Major Short's melodious voice, and bringing her guitar, begs for "Mandalay." But he shakes his head. "I shall tire you of the one song," he declares. "Not when it is the favourite," she protests. "Only four lines, if you will, or a single bar of the tune. I love the sad refrain." He follows her on to the verandah. Quinton and Capt. Stevenson are talking and smoking within. They catch the words between the pauses in their conversation: "Ship me somewhere east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there ain't no ten Commandments, and a man can raise a thirst. For the temple bells are callin' and it's there that I would be, By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea." "Dreadful morals!" laughs Captain Stevenson. "Do _you_ love the East?" asks Eleanor, as Major Short lays aside the guitar. "Yes, well enough, but I get terribly homesick at times. I long to draw round a huge log fire in the old hall at home on a still winter's evening, with the shutters shut and the curtains drawn, and my feet on the fender. No one has any conception of the bliss of those long, luxurious hours over the flame and the coal. Those who have it don't appreciate it. Imagine yourself nipped by a biting frost coming suddenly in to such a scene of warmth and ease, to lose yourself in the depths of an enormous spring chair, and gaze in that wilderness of red, while the wood crackles, and blue flickers up like a phantom light in the blazing scarlet. It is many years since I passed a good old English Christmas, with plum pudding and bells chiming over the snow. Bah! I cannot endure to think of it--I get so green with envy." "I am afraid I never cared for the winter. The sun is better than artificial warmth--the East is rosier than the fireside." "But you must yearn sometimes to get home to your family and friends. Have you no mother you long to kiss--no father who is pining for a sight of his daughter's smile, and old chums waiting to greet you with a hearty handshake and a cheery welcome?" Eleanor shakes her head mournfully--her large soft eyes look sad and wistful--she is no hypocrite--she never could pretend. "No; England is all a blank. My whole interest in life is centred in my husband." Involuntarily a pang of pity shoots through the man's heart. He hardly knows why, since she is so happy in Quinton's love. He mistrusts him, for men are quicker in reading each other than a woman blinded by skin-deep fascination.