"I do pity you," he replied, grimly, and thought the while,
"She can speak to me thus—with that fellow's kisses fresh upon her lips!" For he had undefined suspicions that Wilmot saw her yet, from time to time.
"How tiresome—how absurd is this jealousy!" thought Clare; yet her own conscience told her it was neither absurd nor mistaken now; and all this passed on the night of the forbidden ball!
CHAPTER IV.
Mr. Thorne's suspicions were right; they had been meeting, without design at first; ample though the cantonment, how could it be otherwise?
"Dear, good Fred," she said, one day, as they met among the baubool trees near an old ruined tomb—the tomb of Abu Mirza—"I want you to help me—you alone can do so."
"In what way?" he asked, looking at her in his old tender manner.
"To be good and proper—to keep in the straight path of propriety, and avoid all chance of scandal."
"You are quoting some sermon of Thorne's now."