As a result of this suspicion, when Hope rode back in Mrs. Latimer's rickshaw from an early morning service at the little English church on the hill, on the second Sunday after her arrival, a big figure, clad in white linen, rose from a charpoy in Mrs. Latimer's veranda, and stepped down bareheaded to receive her.
Hope's face, as she recognized the visitor, flushed so vividly that she was aware of it, and almost feared to meet his eyes. But he spoke at once, and thereby set her at her ease.
"That's much better," he said approvingly, as if he had only parted from her the day before. "I was afraid you were going on the sick-list, but I see you have thought better of it. Very wise of you."
She met his smile with a feeling of glad relief.
"How is Ronnie?" she said.
He laughed a little at the hasty question.
"Ronnie is quite well, and sends his love. He is going to have a five days' leave next week to come and see you. It would have been this week, but for me."
Hope looked up at him enquiringly.
"You see," he quietly explained, "I was coming myself, and—it will seem odd to you, of course—I didn't want Ronnie."
Hope was silent. There was something in his manner that baffled her.