"Hai, sahib. (Yes, sir)" said the servant salaaming.
Wargrave was free of the house and, taking off his hat, went into the cool hall and walked up the great staircase. He entered the drawing-room. After the blinding glare outside the closely-shuttered apartment seemed so dark that at first it was difficult for him to see if it were tenanted or not. But it was empty; and he paced the floor impatiently, frowning in chaotic thought.
"Good morning, Frank. You are early to-day. And what a bad temper you seem to be in!" exclaimed a laughing voice; and Mrs. Norton, looking radiant and delightfully cool in a thin white Madras muslin dress, entered the room.
He went to her.
"They're sending me away, Violet," he said.
"Sending you away?" she repeated in an astonished tone. "Sending you where?"
"To hell, I think," he cried. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean—yes, they're sending me away from Rohar, from you. Sending me to the other side of India."
The blood slowly left her face as she stared uncomprehendingly at him.
"Sending you away? Why?" she asked.
"Because—because we're friends, little girl."