"I'll trouble you not to talk like that."
Dyán rose also, confronting him. "I must say what is in mind—or go. Better accept the fact—it is useless to meet."
"I refuse to accept the fact."
"But—there it is. I only make you angry. And you imply evil of the man—I admire."
He so plainly boggled over the words that Roy struck without hesitation.
"Dyán, tell me straight—do you admire him? Would you have Arúna marry him?"
"N—no. Impossible. There is—another kind of wife," he blurted out, averting his eyes; but before Roy could speak, he had pulled himself together. "However—I mustn't stay talking. Good-night."
Roy's anger—fierce but transient, always—had faded. "There are some ties you can't break, Dyán, even with your Bande Mátaram. Come again soon."
Impossible to resist the friendly tone. "But," he asked, "how long are you hanging about Delhi like this?"
"As long as I choose."