Distress gave her a courage that surprised herself.
"Indeed they have done nothing of the kind! You ask a direct question, and you are bound in fairness to hear my answer. The life here is still very new to Evelyn, and she has not quite found her footing yet;—that is all. I have had it from her own lips that the place matters very little to her so long as she is—with you; and you go too far in saying that she is not happy here."
But her words did not carry conviction. He was still under the influence of his wife's curious aloofness since the night of the fire.
"You're trying to let me down gently, Honor," he said, with a rather cheerless smile. "And you may as well save yourself the trouble. Only—this is where you must not misunderstand me, please,—no shadow of blame attaches to Ladybird if she isn't happy. I had no right to bring her up to this part of the world, knowing it as I did; and I've no right to keep her here. That's the position, in a nutshell."
"Do you mean you ought to—send her away?"
"No—take her away."
Honor started visibly.
"But—surely—that's impossible?"
"I think not," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone that distressed her more keenly than any display of emotion. "It's merely a question of facing facts. If I had money enough, I could throw up the Army and take her home. But, as matters stand, I can only do the next best thing, and give up—the Frontier, by exchanging into a down-country regiment."