"You have only to say the word, and as soon as I am on my feet again I'll see what can be done."
But the word was not forthcoming; and in her changed position he could see nothing of her face but its oval outline of cheek and chin. He waited; holding his breath. Then, at last, she spoke.
"No, Theo. It wouldn't be fair. You belong to the Frontier. Every one says so. And—I shall get used to it in time."
She spoke mechanically, without turning her head; and Desmond's arm went round her on the instant.
"But you haven't got to think of me," he urged. "I want to do what will make you happy. That's all."
"It—it wouldn't make me happy. And, please, don't talk about it any more."
At that he drew her down to him.
"God bless you, my darling!" he whispered. But even in speaking he knew that he could not accept her sacrifice; that her courage—barely equal to the verbal renunciation—would be crushed to powder in the crucible of days and years. For the moment, however, it seemed best to drop the subject, since nothing definite could be done without Honor's consent.
"Now I ought to be attending to my business!" she said, freeing herself with a little nervous laugh. "It's getting too light. I must put out the lamp and dress you up in your shade again, you poor, patient Theo. Then we'll have chota hazri together."