"I haven't done anything," declared Maud defensively. "He saw for himself that you weren't exactly pining away without him, and if you do still care about him you ought to be thankful that he has gone off like this without making further trouble for you or for himself. After all, you wouldn't bolt with him when you had the chance, and quite right too! And now you shouldn't want him to be a martyr any more than he wants you to mope for the rest of your life."
Stella gazed at her blankly. Staunch friend though Maud was, how little she understood. Oh, why had she not stayed on at the ball? She might have got at the truth for herself. Instead, she had behaved like a fool, like a coward; and so Philip had gone!
She burst out: "Tell me what he said, what you said. Tell me exactly. Don't dare to keep anything from me."
"My dear girl, keep calm. You can't expect me to remember every single word we uttered. I'm not trying to make mischief and muddles, like people in stories. I simply told him how I had got you away from Rassih and how ill you were, and he simply said that as you looked very happy and well he thought the best thing he could do was to clear out, and I agreed with him. I pointed out that you had learnt to enjoy yourself, and that he couldn't blame you. He said he didn't. I must say I don't wonder you fell in love with him, especially at Rassih. He is an awfully good sort; but you know if he had stayed here now the whole thing would have begun all over again, and been worse than ever. Buck up, Stella! You had a lucky escape. I dare say I might have persuaded him to stay, but I knew it was best not to. When you have thought it all over you'll say I was right and be grateful, instead of looking as if you would like to poke my eyes out!"
Stella sat miserably silent. There was nothing further to be said. It would hardly be fair to accuse Maud of having done her an ill turn, but at present she certainly could not bring herself to feel grateful. Sore and wretched, she rose.
"I'm going for a walk before tiffin," she said abruptly.
"Keep out of the sun, then," advised Maud, "or you'll have a headache. Remember it's the General's garden party this afternoon, and the club dinner and theatricals to-night. Just put out the 'Not at home box,' will you? I'm not fit to be seen this morning, and can't be bothered with callers."
A little later Stella strolled along the pathway. She hung the protective card-box on the trunk of the pine tree that guarded the small domain; then she wandered up the steep incline towards an upper road little frequented by the English community. It led to the back of the hill, where as yet no bungalows had been erected, dwindling eventually to a mere bridle path used by the hill people from far distant villages. Once away from all sound of the station, she seated herself on a moss-covered boulder and gazed gloomily over the blue valleys and the opposite mountains that in the rarefied atmosphere looked so unnaturally near. Jungle fowl were calling, crickets sang lustily among the ferns that fringed the tree branches; a family of black monkeys crossed the path and went crashing and chattering down the wooded precipice below; round the shoulder of the hill trudged a stalwart hill-woman, a load of charcoal on her back in a conical-shaped basket. She had a flat Mongolian countenance, red colour in her brown cheeks, and her eyes were like green agates; a heavy turquoise necklace hung round her neck. She grinned a friendly greeting as she passed the forlorn figure seated by the wayside, and Stella envied her. How contented and independent she looked, though probably she had two or three husbands and led a hard life of toil. At any rate, she was neither desolate nor oppressed. The sound of her stately tramping died away, and at last, influenced unconsciously by the solitude, the grand beauty of the landscape, the purity of the air, Stella began to think more coherently, to think of all she would have told Philip had he been beside her asking for her confidence, anxious to know all that had befallen her since their parting at Rassih. Then, though she had thought he was going out of her life, the distress and the terror had been leavened by the conviction that he loved her. This time he had gone of his own free will, ready to forget her, wishing to forget her. It seemed years since he had called to her that night in the big drawing-room. She seemed to hear his voice now, charged with love and despair. And the memory of the time intervening until Maud's arrival was like a long nightmare, followed at Surima by a blank that, ill as she was, came as a dreamless, refreshing sleep from which she had awakened to a world of diversion.
With returning health and the stimulation of Maud's company she had begun to find solace in her freedom, in the power of her beauty, which slowly she had learn to value. At first the attention she attracted came to her as a genuine surprise, and all the dances, the parties, the light-hearted gatherings proved a welcome refuge from depressing thought. Finally she had plunged into the gay whirl with a will, encouraged by Maud, living solely in the agreeable, intoxicating present, banishing as far as possible the past from her mind, refusing to look forward.