Honor made no immediate reply. It was only charitable to suppose that an overdose of sunshine and block tea was responsible for the note of irritation in Evelyn's tone.
"I suppose you think I ought to imitate her," Mrs Desmond went on, after an expectant pause. "Kohat is hateful enough in the cold weather, and with heat and cholera, and flies added, it would kill me outright! Besides, I don't believe a man loves one any better for that sort of thing in the end. He probably gets horribly bored, and doesn't like to say so. Besides—Theo prefers me to go, he said so; and that settles everything quite comfortably for us both. By the way, I've been planning a sort of introduction picnic for you, only that stupid tea-party put it out of my head. I'll make out a list of people at once and send the invitations out this evening."
She crossed over to her bureau, which, apart from the piano, was the only piece of furniture the room contained that in England would be considered worthy of the name.
While she sat absorbed in her congenial task, Desmond entered equipped for polo, and after a few words with Honor went over to his wife.
"What are you so taken up with, Ladybird?" he asked.
"Something lovely! A picnic—for Honor."
Desmond laughed.
"Six for her and half a dozen for yourself! Let's see who we're inviting."
He ran his eye down the list of guests—twelve in all. At sight of the last two names—Mr Kresney, Miss Kresney—he frowned sharply, and taking up his wife's discarded pencil ran a broad black line through both.