As a matter of fact, she was thinking of unpaid bills; since human lilies of the field, though they neither toil nor spin, must pay for irreproachable shoes and unlimited summer raiment.
The girl's own thoughts, as they were apt to do in leisure moments, had wandered to Kohat: to the men who were working with cheerful, matter-of-fact courage in the glare of the little desert-station; and to the one brave woman, who remained in their midst to hearten them by her own indomitable gladness of soul.
The beauty of the evening bred a longing—natural in one so sympathetic—that they also could be up on this green hill-top, under the shade of the deodars, enjoying the exquisite repose of it all.
"Have you heard from Theo this week, Ladybird?" she asked suddenly. It was the first time she had used the name, for habit is strong; and Evelyn looked up quickly, the colour deepening in her cheeks.
"Don't call me Ladybird!" she commanded, with unusual decision. "It belongs to Theo."
Honor noted her rising colour with a smile of approval.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said gently. "I quite understand. But—have you heard lately?"
Evelyn's face cleared as readily as a child's.
"Oh, yes; I forgot to tell you. I had quite a long letter this morning. Perhaps you would like to read it."