His thoughts were swept by two currents, one shot with chill warnings, the other warm with the wine of anticipation. But for the incident of the uniform at Benares, the announcement that she would sail on the same boat would have done anything but disturb him. However, even if she did suspect his brother-fabrication, she could not guess his mission. As Tavernake she knew him. A few days more—a lengthening of the intermezzo, rich notes and chords of harmony to remember afterward—then, at Rangoon, the finale. Allegro moderato.... No harm, this Tavernake interlude; a cool breath to the being, like temple-dusk after arid desert heat.
"What a coincidence!" she remarked; then explained, "My brother lives in Rangoon. But he isn't there now. He had an—an accident in Delhi, and I came ahead to attend to some matters for him. Oh, nothing serious happened to him, or I wouldn't be here. But it is queer that we're going on the same boat. Don't you think so?"
And he replied in a manner that was new for him.
"Not altogether. It merely proves that Kismet had a purpose in arranging our meeting last night."
"A purpose?" she echoed—and they both were thinking different thoughts.
They were in Chitpur Road; soon Chowringhee; then the hotel. To him the throbbing of the motor car suddenly became the pulse of the night, of the hot street where, on either side, dark faces peered curiously at them. Subconsciously, his brain dipped back; he saw her beneath the black-and-gold scroll on the previous night.... Her voice broke in, a crystallization of his thoughts.
"I was thinking how foolish it was," she said, "for me to have done what I did last night."
"You mean"—he smiled—"in speaking to me, or—"
A whimsical laugh. "Both. Oh, don't misunderstand me! The thought just occurred that—well, my adventure might have turned out differently. I'm wondering, too, if I should have come with you to-night. Instead of a jeweller from London, you might have been—anything. What I'm trying to say, and doing it badly, is that after all we're prisoners of instinct—at the mercy of elements that we have not the power to fathom!"
A pause ensued, and when she spoke again her tone was one of light raillery, yet beneath it was a tense excitement that puzzled him.