She tried to wrench herself free from him. "Jim—don't—don't, dear."
"I want it. Hush, don't make a fuss. You shall have it back, I promise you. Heavens—what a child——!"
She was crying now convulsively. He put his arms round her and pressed her closer with an impatient tenderness.
"It was all I had of you," she sobbed. "It was our luck—a sort of link—now it's gone——"
"—into my pocket," he retorted, good-humouredly, "and in a week or two it'll be back on your wrist. I'll put it there if I have to come all the way to Calcutta. Hush, for God's sake; don't cry like that——"
She became suddenly very quiet. Instinctively she knew that he was trying to listen to something beyond her sobbing, and she too listened, intently, with the alertness of a frightened animal.
"Jim—what is it——?"
He freed himself deliberately from her arms.
"It's down at the dâk-bungalow. Some one playing. It's a long way off. The wind must be in the east——"
"The dâk-bungalow? Who lives there?"