"They are supposed to be endowed with some ethereal gift, which remains with them until their hearts are touched, their emotions awake; then it leaves them—the power is lost—the door, as they say out here, is shut."
"What a pity! I wonder if I am too old to look into the ink pool?"
"You have never, I infer, cared two straws for any one?"
She shook her head—slowly—and as she did so the truth came to her in one dazzling flash—she cared for him! He had touched her heart. It was amazing to discover that of all her suitors, with their advantages of social status, wealth, surroundings, the only one who had aroused her interest was this Indian police officer, who sat there within a few yards, bareheaded, grave-eyed, with his arms resting on the oars. It was true that he was poor; a miserable "parti" from a worldly point of view, but he was a strong man!—a strong man, armed with many fine qualities, who had entered her heart and closed the door on all others. Were she still Verona—the heiress—she would gladly be his wife, but as Verona—the Eurasian—she must keep her secret from him and all. But oh, what a temptation! To go away from Manora, to forget—to go with Brian, who loved her—for her own sake——!
No, no, no; for his own sake she would never marry Brian Salwey.
As the lady's reply was a suspiciously long time in coming, her companion said:
"Besides, you are disqualified! If you have never loved—many have loved you!"
"What do you mean?" she asked. "How can—you know? At home——"
"At home I imagine your conquests were Legion. Out here—there is Haig."
"No, no," she protested; "he does not care; he cannot forgive my birth. Once he volunteered to be my champion—there is an end of all that."