Young Andrews, risking everything, was still delaying his return to his post at Junnar. He simply must see Nina before going. He refused to abandon hope.
Once, after repulsing him, she had more than half-yielded. She had repulsed him a second time, it was true; and he did not overlook the significance of the return of Kneedrock, whom she had called her "match" and her "mate."
The odds were overwhelmingly against him. That he knew. But there might still be a chance. And he would make certain before—No, he questioned whether he could return to Junnar with that last hope gone. It might be that he—He didn't know. He wasn't going to face it until it was before him.
Then, in some roundabout way a whisper got to him that Mrs. Darling was much better. The Ramsays, for example, had been to see her.
He had all along been leaving a card for her every day or so. Now he scribbled a line on the card, asking that she would give him a few—just a very few minutes.
He hardly dared fancy that she would. But she did.
Except for her mourning, he found her very little changed.
"I thought you were at work ages ago," was how she greeted him.
He spoke then of the cards he had left. He had sent her some flowers, too.
"I've had no interest in anything," she told him. "There are hundreds of cards here. Some day I may look at them, and still I may not. Every officer in Umballa has sent me flowers, and some of the enlisted men as well. But I do thank you."