"I don't want to know any more. I do take you on trust."
"And there was more in it than that," Sigrid went on, following the train of her thoughts. "It was a bargain. I, too, had something to offer. That suited my pride. I could do for him what I could not have done for another man. I could give him what he desires, I believe, more than life——"
"Position——?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Compton shook her head. Her seriousness was now business-like, scarcely touched with emotion.
"And you think you are strong enough?"
"I don't know. I must be. Everything that matters to me now depends on it."
"If you went away—to another part of India—oh, I don't want you to go—I'm trying to think only of your good——"
"It would be useless. I have won my position here. I have friends. Anywhere else I should just be his wife."
"His wife—you! Oh, it's hardly bearable! Just because we are your friends it hurts worse." She ruffled her hair with an unhappy hand. "Sigrid, you can count on us, of course. I believe you may count on Mrs. Bosanquet, and the Judge follows automatically. She's furious just now, but she has a regular schoolgirl rave on you and it will be too strong for her. I daresay the other women will follow. Even Anne——" She saw Sigrid move restlessly in her chair, and hastily swung off, moved by she knew not what consciousness of pain. "It's the men who'll be the hardest to fight. They'd forgive you most things—things we wouldn't forgive—a vulgar intrigue, an elopement with somebody else's husband—but this is against their code. Men are conventional, women moral. It's the one vital difference between the sexes. And then there are other troubles. Things are rocky in Gaya. We know that the regiment is disaffected. The new Colonel makes no headway. Boucicault's work was too thorough for that. Then there's Rasaldû. He regards your engagement as a sort of insult—and, weak tool though he is, we've got to keep him in hand. All that counts against you. Oh, it will be a fight, though we shall have Tristram. He's always ready for a lost cause——"