And in one second all the false ramparts she had erected around her had crumbled to dust. One moment she had been laughing, free from care, the next she had looked up in the midst of some careless banter to see Philip—but what a different Philip, cold and callous and hard! Stella did not doubt Maud's version of the conversation that had passed between the two. It seemed clear enough that Philip shrank from renewal of the past, and was it any wonder? She tried to be just to him, yet a feeling of bitter resentment fought with her sense of fair play. Why, when she had discovered that, given the opportunity, life could be enjoyed, should he have come to disturb and distress her? Where, all this time, had he been, what had he been doing? No word concerning him had reached her. Of course, she understood that he had not known she was at Surima; yet why, if he did not wish to meet her again, had he come up to her in the ball-room? Surely it would have been simple enough to leave Surima without allowing her to know he had been there at all. Was it partly for her sake that he had, to quote Maud, "cleared out," or was it entirely because he feared she might expect him to lay his heart at her feet once more? Whatever the reason the result was the same. He had gone without a word or a message that would have left her in possession of the truth.
Passionately she wished she had the power to wipe the whole incident from her mind. Maud was right; she had her compensations; but of what value would they be to her once she was back at Rassih? In another month or less she must return to Robert, to the horrible old house, to Sher Singh, and the loneliness, the dull round of petty happenings repeated day after day.... A fierce defiance seized her; at least she had this month before her; she could but make the best of it. Her heart hardened. She looked up at the clear blue sky, watched an eagle soaring over the valley, became conscious of the vast, sunny peace around her, drew in long breaths of the wonderful air.... After all, she was young, she was well; and when she returned to Rassih she would endeavour to recover her influence with Robert. Once reassured of her loyalty he might allow her to invite friends to stay with her, friends she had made at Surima, might permit her to pay visits in return. Next year she would manœuvre to take a house of her own at Surima for the hot-weather months. With such a prospect the coming winter could be endured. She realised that Robert, on his part, had a grievance against her; undoubtedly she had been a disappointment to him. She owed him some consideration; in his way he had not been ungenerous; all this time at Surima he had kept her well supplied with money, and if he had been glad to get rid of her was it not only natural?
Well, she would continue to enjoy herself now, and then she would go back and wheedle and coax and work upon Robert's weaknesses until she could induce him to grant her liberty when occasion should arise. Let Philip go hang. If he wished to forget her let him do so; she could play the same game, and play it she would! Resolutely she turned her mind to coming dissipations; the General's garden party this afternoon—she was fully aware that the station regarded her as the special "favourite" of Sir George Rolt. Subalterns made up to her with the idea that she held the ear of the Chief; not only subalterns either, but more senior aspirants to favour and promotion. The sense of prestige and power fed the worst side of her nature, and, in addition, she liked Sir George Rolt, whose free admiration raised her to a pinnacle of importance, rendered her an object of envy among all the other women of a certain type in the place who possessed any claim to attractions. To-night there would be the Club dinner, with theatricals to follow; at both gatherings she knew she would be the best looking, best dressed woman of the throng, and her sore spirit took comfort in the conviction.
Stella wandered back to the little bungalow on the side of the hill feeling as though she had drunk deep of some draught that stilled trouble and pain for the time, however pernicious its after-effects.
CHAPTER VII
The Swan Song of the Surima season took the form of a picnic—a truly ambitious entertainment given by a moneyed merchant from Calcutta, whose ideas of hospitality had apparently no boundaries. A banquet was prepared in the vicinity of a famous waterfall some two miles below the station; champagne vied with the waterfall itself in its volume and flow; there was a band; Badminton nets had been erected on a convenient plateau, and covetable prizes had been provided for the winners of an improvised tournament of two a side; in addition every lady present was to receive a gift—chocolates, scent, pretty, expensive trifles. High spirits prevailed, and amid the gay, well-dressed assemblage of women Mrs. Crayfield was pre-eminent.
Stella had won the first prize in the tournament, a jewelled bangle; animated, flushed, she stood the centre of attention receiving congratulations, protesting that her success was due only to her handicap, and to the exertions of her partner in the game. "You all know I can't play a bit!" she said laughing, radiant; the bangle was lovely, everyone was so nice, nobody seemed to grudge her the little triumph; it was all delightful.
"Never mind—you have won, no matter how!" chaffed the General. "Now aren't you tired?" he added, lowering his voice. "Come for a stroll, to get an appetite for tea!"