Chapter Twenty Three.
Light.
“After months—which seemed years—of the most abominable hardship, wearying anxiety, and constant danger, the security and restfulness of this sort of thing is simply beyond all words to define.”
Thus Campian, clad in irreproachable evening dress, with a wave of the hand which takes in the lighted table and trophy hung walls. The only other occupant of Upward’s dining room has just entered, likewise in full panoply—with opera-cloak, and fan and gloves.
“Yes. That is indeed true. Do you know, I wish we had not got to go out to-night.”
“Then why do we; for as it happens I entirely share that wish. Suppose we stay at home instead. Or are you going to say ‘Duty’?”
Vivien does not at once reply. Something in the tone, in the scarcely veiled meaning wherewith he emphasises the word, strikes home to her. The Upward party and her uncle have gone on, bound for a regimental theatrical performance at the Assembly Rooms, and they two are left to follow. Not many days have gone by since Campian’s return to Shâlalai; not many more are to go by before he leaves it—almost certainly for ever.
“Shall we stay at home then, dear?” answers Vivien, a little wave of unsuppressed tenderness in her voice. “We may throw duty overboard for once, for the sake of a poor returned wanderer. But—I have made you this, and in any case you must wear it.” “This” being an exquisite little “button-hole” which she is now carefully pinning on for him. The great tiger jaws on the walls seem to snarl inaudibly in the lamplight—as though to remind both of the multifold perils of the beautiful, treacherous East.