"And must you go really?"
"Yes, of course I must. Isn't it hard lines? Some bother about the new barracks. The Nicobars are a ghastly hole, a poisonous place. I shall be away two months—that is, if I ever come back," he added in a lachrymose voice.
"And what about Mr. Lisle?"
"Oh, he is such a beggar for seeing new regions—he is coming too."
"I'm sorry you are going to the Nicobars, they have such a bad name for fever and malaria."
"I believe you! I hear the malaria there rises like pea-soup!"
"Mr. Lisle is foolish to go; you should not let him."
"Oh! he may as well be there as here! He is as hard as nails, and it would be deadly for me without a companion. He promised to come, and I shan't let him off, though I must confess, what he says, he sticks to."
Miss Denis thought Mr. Quentin's arrangement savoured of abominable selfishness, and between this news, and the sword of Damocles that was swinging over Mr. Lisle's head, her brain was busy. Dancing went on merrily, but she did not enjoy herself nearly as much as she anticipated. After all, this apple of delight, her first ball, had turned to dust and ashes in her mouth. And why?
Mr. Lisle leant against a doorway, and looked on very gravely: doubtless he knew the fate that was in store for him. He remained at his post for the best part of an hour, and had any one taken the trouble to watch him, they would have noticed that his eyes followed Helen and Jim Quentin more closely than any other couple. As they stopped beside him once, she said,—