And Honor, who would fain have listened to their host for another half-hour, had no choice but to obey.
"Why, Evelyn," she said, as they left the striped sun and shadow of the lines, "you never told me that Captain Desmond won his V.C. by saving the Jemadar's life. I want to hear all about it, please."
Evelyn smiled, and shrugged her shoulders.
"You probably know as much as I do. Theo never will tell about himself. Besides, in my own heart, I think he was rather foolish to risk getting killed several times over just for the sake of a native." The scorn that some few Anglo-Indians never lose lurked in her tone. "Of course it's very nice for him to have the V.C., and I suppose he thought it was worth while just for that. But I hope he won't go in for any more things of that sort. There's me to be considered now."
Such peculiar views on the subject of heroism smote Honor to silence, and with a hurried murmur that Dilkusha seemed impatient to get home she set the mare into a trot.
Arrived in the cool dimness of her own drawing-room, Evelyn Desmond sank gratefully into a chair, her skirts billowing softly about her.
"How refreshing it is here, after that glaring courtyard! This place is getting too hot already. I do wish Theo would let me go to Simla again this year. Last season the Walters asked him to let me join them; and it was simply lovely. Though I didn't half like leaving him behind; and I suppose I shan't like it much this year either."
"Then why go at all?" suggested practical Honor. "You're not obliged to. Surely Mrs Olliver stays?"
"Mrs Olliver! She's not a woman! She's a Regimental Institution. I can't think what the men see in her to make such a fuss about! A plain, badly-made Irishwoman, who dresses abominably. And she's much too casual with all of them—especially with Theo, even if she did save his life from typhoid fever."