In chastened moods, Rose did not quite care to remember how many times she had succumbed, experimentally, to that supreme temptation. Good heavens! What would her precious pair think of her—if they knew! At least, she had the grace to feel proud that the tale of her conquests included two such men.
But Lance was gone—on account of Roy—where no spell of hers could touch him any more; and Roy—was he going too ... on account of Lance...? Not if she could prevent him; and yet ... goodness knew!
The sigh that shivered through her sprang from a deeper source than mere self-pity.
Rattle of rickshaw wheels, puffing and grunting of jhampannis, heralded the return of her mother, who had been out paying a round of preliminary calls. It took eight stalwart men and a rickshaw of special dimensions to convey her formidable bulk up and down Simla roads; and affectionate friends hinted that the men demanded extra pay for extra weight!
A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in the air.
"Oh, Rose—there you are. I've had the shock of my life!" Waving away her jhampannis, she sank into an adjacent cane chair that creaked and swayed ominously under the assault. "It was at Mrs Tait's. My dear—would you believe it? That fine fiancé of yours—after worming himself into our good graces—turns out to be practically a half-caste. A superior one, it seems. But still—the deceitfulness of the man! Going about looking like everybody else too! And grey-blue eyes into the bargain!"
At that Rose fatally smiled—in spite of genuine dismay.
"I can't see anything funny in it!" snapped her mother. "I thought you'd be furious. Did you ever notice——? Had you the least suspicion?"
"Not the least," Rose answered, with unruffled calm. "I knew."
"You knew? Yet you were fool enough to accept him—and wilfully deceive your own mother! I suppose he insisted, and you——"