"You will get the Star of India," she said, hardly knowing why the particular reward should suddenly have recurred to her.
"A star worth striving for," he said seriously, "even if it should burn one's wings."
"Oh, how I envy you!" Tears rose to her eyes. "And I, who love India too, can do nothing—can never be useful!"
"Who knows? Your chance may come."
"If it does you may be sure I shall take it." Just then Stella looked up, to see Sher Singh standing in the doorway, and she realised that for the last few moments the man had been coughing gently to attract her attention. Was she never to be free from this perpetual spying and watching?
"What is it?" she asked impatiently in Hindustani.
"Your highness"—with a low salaam—"the sahib has sent a message. Will Fer-lint Sahib go to the office? The Commissioner-Sahib desires his presence."
Mr. Flint rose. "Well, good-bye, Mrs. Crayfield. Needs must when official devildom drives. I will tell you when the George Thomas romance is well started."
"Don't forget the book about him you promised to lend me," said Stella eagerly. But when he had gone she gave herself over to a frenzy of suspicion. Had Sher Singh told Robert that she was laughing and talking with "Fer-lint Sahib"? and had the message been sent with a purpose? She dreaded yet looked for Robert's return, so that she might know where she stood in regard to Mr. Flint's visit. Perhaps it was all her imagination. The summons might have been perfectly free from intrigue on the part of Sher Singh; yet she was uneasy, and she wandered from room to room, a victim to apprehension, her condition aggravated by the knowledge that she had found such pleasure in this new friendship, fearful as she was that it might be denied her.
To her astonished relief, when Robert appeared for the midday breakfast he was accompanied by Mr. Flint, and the two seemed already to be on excellent terms.