Trixie herself was practically oblivious of his presence. She did not observe that he walked a little ahead, his motive being to make sure that she trod on nothing suggestive of reptiles; once he did notice a thin black line that wriggled from the dust in front and disappeared beneath a cactus clump. Luckily she did not see it; she was absorbed in her desire to find herself safe within her home, torn as she was with repentance for her backsliding, dreading as she did the confession she would have to make to George. Guy startled her presently by an abrupt question:
"Why are you in such a funk?" he asked, as though the words had been jerked from his lips against his will.
"What?" said Trixie, with an effort. "What did you say?" She only knew he had spoken, without catching the words.
"I only said, why are you so awfully worried about--about all this? There can't be any scandal when the whole thing was simply an accident."
"It wasn't an accident my going out with all you silly idiots in the middle of the night!" said Trixie crossly. "And if people do talk and say nasty things about our being left behind it will be my own fault, and I shall deserve it. Anyhow, it has taught me a lesson I shan't forget in a hurry."
"Oh, rot! What can they say? And why should you care. Look here, Trixie," he burst out with imprudent impetuosity, "is it that you're in a funk of what the colonel will say or do? For God's sake, tell me if he bullies you. We all know what happened about his first wife."
There was an ominous pause. His pulses beat quickly, the noise of their footsteps crunching the dust sounded loud in his ears. He wished he had let the subject alone.
Then he heard Trixie say in a cold, contemptuous voice: "Perhaps you will tell me what you all know?"
In nervous excitement he stammered his answer. "Why, that he drove her into--into leaving him. Never gave her a chance, wouldn't listen."
And in spite of the anger she felt towards Guy for his outrageous presumption, Trixie's heart sank lower than ever. She knew so little of the history of George's first marriage--had refused to hear when her mother and "Gommie" had wanted to tell her. Never once had she questioned her husband about the divorce, and naturally no one had mentioned it to her in India, until now this blundering boy had raked up the talk he had heard. A horrible doubt assailed her. Could it be true that George had behaved without mercy, had not been entirely blameless as she had always believed? If so, what might she expect herself when he knew she had not only flown in the face of his wishes, but had been absent nearly all night with Guy Greaves, the one individual, harmless youth though he was, with whom he had begged her not to make herself conspicuous during their separation--Guy, over whom they had almost quarrelled! Hurt and annoyed she was sure her husband would be, but what if, as well, he "would not listen, would not give her a chance?"