THE INDISCRETION
Joyce had started out on her motor ride with the doctor as happy as a
child on a holiday. Her baby was well and there was no cause for
anxiety; in fact, all the world seemed smiling and kind. At last she was
learning that a short absence from home made no difference to an infant
in the care of so capable a nurse as her Madrassi ayah, trained in the
way of infants by the remarkable "Barnes-Memsahib."
All things considered, there seemed no earthly reason why she should not
be happy with the light-heartedness of youth helped by a kind friend to
pass the time agreeably while she remained in India. In the spring----
But she would not look ahead. Why borrow trouble? When the hot, March
winds began to blow, Ray himself would recognise the necessity of
sending the little one home. No father could be so selfish as to allow
his own son and heir to fade away under his own eyes, and neglect the
only chance of saving his little life. As to the hills!--the innumerable
infantile diseases incurred in the hills owing to the dampness of the
climate made life a constant terror. No! It would have to be Home in
March. Passages were usually booked long beforehand but people often
dropped out at the last, and a passage for a "lady and infant" could
easily be found at the eleventh hour.
Meanwhile, this was December, and she was capable of enjoying herself
amazingly in circumstances that were innocent and harmless.
With a friend like Captain Dalton at her service, so to speak, and Honor
to love her almost as a sister would, she was very lucky and could
afford to be as happy as the season would permit.
Station gossip whispered that Dalton would not have spared so much of
his precious time unless he were receiving some return by way of
compensation; which was a logical deduction in estimating a masculine
nature not governed by religious scruples; but with this Joyce was
hardly concerned, having little comprehension of all that gossips
implied. She was delighted to requite so much self-sacrifice on the
doctor's part with all the geniality she could command.
As a matter of fact, Captain Dalton was finding a cynical amusement in
the study of this--to him--new type of feminine creature: a married
woman with the mind of a child, unawakened as yet to the deeper
emotions, in whom the instincts of sex were still asleep. He was quite
sure that, like most pretty women, she was vain and easily led, and, if
it were not himself, it would be some other fellow who would undertake
her awakening, since her husband was trustingly content to leave her
mental development to chance and nature.
Having passed the stage of desperate infatuation for mere physical
beauty, he could play at his leisure with the idea of encompassing her
ruin, as he sat beside her in his car, watching the dimples come and go.
Life had done him a bad turn at the beginning of his career, and he was
envious of men who had escaped suffering such as he had known. Out of
sheer devilry he would like to pull Meredith's house about his ears and
teach him that no woman of extraordinary physical attractions was a safe
asset as a wife. Sooner or later, vanity would be her undoing and she
would join the ranks of the fast and free. His experience was fairly
wide and his faith, _nil_. Already Joyce Meredith coquetted
delightfully. In a little while she would be doing it dangerously; by
and by, audaciously, and so on, till she developed into the accomplished
flirt, the sport of men in the East. He had watched the evolution till
he had arrived at the theory that, with time and opportunity, the
generality of women could be brought to capitulate.
This afternoon they had set out with the intention of visiting the
ruins, taking with them a rug and a tea basket for a _tete-a-tete_
picnic. At first Dalton had thought of leaving the car on the high road
and walking the rest of the way, but on second thoughts he decided to
risk the tires and springs over the bumpy ground, forcing a passage
through the obstacles in the way. Remembering the nature of the jungle,
he came prepared with the necessary implements for hacking a passage
through, so that he was enabled to take the car much farther than he had
at first thought possible. After they had partaken of refreshment under
the drooping boughs of a great banyan tree, with a screen of bamboos on
the west sheltering them from the afternoon sun, they proceeded on foot
to the ruins, he carrying the rug in case she should need to rest.
"How fairy-like and lovely it all is!" cried Joyce clinging to his arm
and picking her way among the dead leaves. The speckled sunlight dancing
through the leaves, the spreading branches overhead, the graceful
foliage of the tropical vegetation, the beautiful birds, made the spot
peculiarly fascinating. "It gives one such a sense of isolation," she
added.
"We are completely isolated," he returned. "Hardly a soul comes this
way. Some months ago when I wandered down here, a native who was
chopping wood said the place was haunted, for which reason the people
give it a wide berth."
"Haunted!" exclaimed Joyce fearfully, as she crept closer to his side.
"The natives are terribly superstitious and easily scared. The devil is
said to be in possession of the palace, and ill-luck or disaster to
overtake any who enter it. Are you nervous?"
"Not if you are not. You see, I have such immense faith in you," she
said with charming flattery.
"Then we'll brave the fellow together." He hacked at the creepers and
tore them aside, and having cleared a path, drew her towards the gloomy
walls visible through gaps in the foliage. It was a friendly little hand
that nestled confidingly in his. "These wild convolvuli grow with such
amazing rapidity, that in a month of rainy weather the whole path is
blocked. If you were put to sleep in the ruin by a wave of the devil's
wand, the creepers would make a wall and shut you in, like the princess
in the fairy tale. How would you like to sleep here for a hundred years
walled in by creepers as high as the tree-tops?"
"And be awakened by a splendid prince?" she laughed, entering into the
spirit of his raillery.
"I can picture him tearing his way through with the instinct to kiss
you, so as to learn the true meaning of Life! You don't need enchantment
to turn you into the Sleeping Beauty; you are that now. It would be
interesting to see what would happen were the Prince to arrive."
"He arrived when I met Ray," she said colouring richly.
"You think he did, but that was in your dreams. You are not awake yet,
so your experience has yet to come." He avoided her eyes while he spoke
and left her puzzled to follow his thought.
"I cannot understand you. Why should you say I am asleep?"
"Because it is written in your eyes."
"Then I am a somnambulist?" she laughed.
"Yes. A dangerous one," and they laughed together.
"Who is going to wake me?" she coquetted with a pretty drooping of her
lashes.
Dalton stole a look at her pouting lips, thinking he would defer the
reply to her question for a while. She put him in mind of a child
consciously playing with fire, yet expecting to escape unscorched. Of
course, she would have to learn her mistake. She knew perfectly that
nine out of ten men would be on fire with passion for her under such
intimate circumstances, and reveal the fact without loss of time; she
was not quite so sound asleep as not to be aware of her own beauty and
its spell, yet she dared to experiment on men and rouse their emotions.
Let her, then, take the consequences!
Soon, Joyce found herself in front of the ruined palace, standing on
higher ground, its dome and minarets visible for miles in a setting of
dense foliage and drooping palms. It had been built in the sixteenth
century for heathen worship, and subsequently converted by a Mohammedan
grandee into a residence for his own accommodation and that of his
harem. To Joyce it looked an irregular mass of ruined masonry, roofless
in parts and overgrown with jungle. The portion which had been reserved
to the women formed a separate wing which at one time had been enclosed
by a high wall, but which was now reduced to mounds of fallen brick-work
and shattered concrete. "The place looks almost as though it had
suffered bombardment," she said, "how desolate and weird!"
"I could tell you a romance connected with that wing which savours of
the _Arabian Nights_," said Dalton. "Want to hear it?"
"How do you know so much more about it than any one else?" she asked,
accompanying him gingerly over the fallen masonry to gain a better view
of the harem. All around them the undergrowth was dense and matted;
date-palms reared themselves from thickets and mingled their drooping
branches with tamarind trees, the prickly _babul_, and the wild
_jamun_[16].
[Footnote 16: Indian blackberry.]
"I make it my business to know all about every place I live in," he
returned.
"Tell me the romance," she commanded.
Dalton spread the rug on a grassy mound, and when they had seated
themselves, he began his tale in true Oriental fashion, with a charm of
style that captured her fancy.
"Once upon a time, when the land belonged to those who could hold it by
the sword, a rich Nawab built himself a costly residence out of a
heathen temple. Behold the residence!"--with a wave of his hand. "And
with him dwelt his retinue and his sycophants, his child-wife, and the
women who contributed to her needs and his pleasures.
"Alas, for masculine confidence! In a moment of weakness, this great
prince took into his service a young warrior of Rajputana as the chief
of his bodyguard--a Hindu by religion and of exclusive caste--because of
his great strength and the beauty of his youth and person. This one,
tradition tells, conceived a burning passion for the favourite wife of
his master, having seen her face by chance, unveiled, at the bars that
protected her window;--a girl of extreme loveliness, and as slender as a
wand, whom custom prevented from disclosing her features to the eyes of
men who were not her near relatives. She had therefore been closely
guarded within the harem walls in company with other women of her lord's
establishment, and left to find entertainment for herself in the
priceless jewels that adorned her person.
"Every day the Rajput, by name Ramjitsu Singh, would pass and repass
below the high wall that enclosed the women's quarters, hoping again to
see, by favour of the gods, this beauteous vision whose wondrous charms
were the talk of the bazaars; their fame having been spread by her
female attendants. Small was she, they said, with eyes like a gazelle's,
and lips of the redness of ripe berries. Her hands and her feet were the
hands and feet of a babe, so slender were they, and soft; and the hair
of her head could have robed her.
"One day, the Rajput's patience was rewarded by a sight of the beautiful
face which made his senses swim as in a sea of delight. She stood again,
unveiled, at the bars of her window, and gazed down at him with great
sadness and yearning. Like a bird in its cage she looked upon the free
world with longing, and sighed. The foolish one!--The faithless one!"
"How can you call her foolish and faithless?" Joyce interrupted
indignantly.
"That is how the Indian story-teller speaks of her."
"It was only natural. Think of her youth and the conditions to which she
was obliged to conform!"
"Well, see what happened. Are you interested?"
"I am thrilled. Go on!"
"Thereafter, the Rajput neither ate nor slept till he had devised a plan
for carrying her away; for what are laws to lovers? or bolts and bars?
Neither caste nor creed can hold a man back whose soul is on fire for a
woman." He paused to allow his words to take effect.
"How very romantic!" laughed Joyce, unmoved. "It is like a poem, as
unreal as it is picturesque!"
"Don't you believe a man's soul can be aflame with love and desire for a
woman?" he asked, picking up a stone idly and flinging it after a
disturbing crow.
"Books tell one so, but how am I to know?"
"It must have been proved to you times without number!--but I said you
were asleep!" he remarked with his inscrutable smile. "Know, then, that
men have cheerfully risked hell for a woman's favours. They have broken
every law for the transcendent bliss of lovers' kisses!--Anyhow, that's
not the story.
"To proceed: Poor old Ramjitsu was ready to dare or die for his Love, as
many another man has been since the world began, and will continue to be
while the world lasts. Every night, when darkness covered the land, and
the people within and without the palace slept, Ramjitsu Singh would
climb the wall by means of a stout bamboo, and clinging to the sill,
would wait for the gods to grant him the opportunity to plead his love.
"At last, one night, attracted by the silvery radiance of the moon, she
came to the grating to gaze without, and hearing a quivering sigh, she
turned and beheld her gallant lover. He looked like a god himself in the
bright moonlight, and the words of his mouth, uttered with breathless
passion, held her spellbound. With her flower-face pressed to the bars
she received his caresses."
"Oh, poor little thing!" cried Joyce, her breath hurried with sympathy.
"Did she love him, too?"
"She must have, in that moment, for nature at such times speaks loudly
to youth. Listening to his impassioned vows, she, who was of a different
religion, as apart from his as the East is from the West, was willing to
place her destiny in his hands. Human nature, you will see, is stronger
than caste or creed, and tradition is brought to naught by romance and
passion.
"One night, when all seemingly slept, Ramjitsu, who had from time to
time cautiously loosened the iron bars in their sockets, removed them
altogether and received in his arms the form he coveted. Conceive that
thrilling moment of ecstasy! Suddenly, however, a lightning stroke from
a sword descended upon the faithless one from within, and she was slain
in her lover's arms. The weight of her falling body, thus violently
flung forward, unbalanced the Rajput whose foothold at the best was
precarious, and together they were hurled to the paved court below,
Ramjitsu breaking his neck in the fall.
"So ended the love story of the Palace--a tragedy which has remained an
everlasting tribute to love, and serves as an example to the Indians of
a just vengeance on the unfaithful. The spies of the Nawab had betrayed
the young wife and her lover, and the husband had punished them both
with death."
"Just vengeance!" repeated Joyce scornfully. "A brutal murder, I call
it."
"The Mohammedans speak of it with pride."
Joyce brushed away the tears and laughed hysterically. "It is a horribly
tragic tale and I wish you had not told me of it, for the memory of it
will haunt me."
"Why do you mind?"
"I can't help feeling for that poor little prisoner who wanted to be
loved and was killed! They had probably married her off as a little
child to the Nawab whom she afterwards learned to hate."
"You wish she had escaped with the Rajput? That would have violated
every law of their religion and tradition." He watched her keenly.
She looked distressed. "Why are laws so hard and fast? These poor women!
Can they never choose for themselves who they will marry?"
"Never. Among Eastern races marriages are always arranged. So you don't
condemn the Rajput for wanting to steal her?"
"Oh, no. How could he help it?"
"Or her for wanting to run away with him?"
"Not for _wanting_ to run away. But laws have to be kept, I suppose, or
no homes would be safe. Individuals have to be sacrificed to
communities," she said thoughtfully. "Show me where it all happened."
He rose, and taking her by the hand, helped her to her feet, after which
they passed together through a gap in the wall which led to a room on
the ground floor from where a winding, brick stairway took them to the
apartments above. Each step had to be carefully negotiated because of
the mortar crumbling under foot, and the loosened bricks that threatened
an accident. Presently, they were in a narrow corridor into which slits
or loop-holes admitted the daylight. An arch at the far end from which
the door had long since vanished, introduced them to a series of
chambers, one leading into another. The walls were black with cobwebs
and the dust of ages, while the concrete flooring was strewn with the
_debris_ of fallen plaster. Heavy cracks in the roof let in shafts of
the fading daylight, and roots of weeds and pipal trees had penetrated
and hung below. On the whole it was anything but a desirable spot in
which to linger, but Joyce's desire to view the interior of the romantic
chamber had to be satisfied.
"This is supposed to be the room, and that the window. You can see the
holes in which the iron bars must at one time have been embedded. The
story goes on to tell of great calamities befalling the fortunes of the
Nawab; of battles fought in the neighbourhood between Hindus and
Mohammedans, and the immediate withdrawal of the Moslems to another part
of Bengal. Now let us get out. I am not at all sure the place is safe."
"Let me first take a souvenir!" she pleaded. An enamelled brick above
the arch had attracted her eye. Its design and colouring were still
fresh and clear despite the ages that had passed since it was fashioned.
"Look at it!" she coaxed. "Isn't it wonderful? You would think it had
come straight out of a jeweller's shop. How did they learn such work in
those far-off days?"
"Italian workmen were known to have been imported by wealthy princes for
the decoration of their temples and homes."
"Can't I have it?"
"Quite out of reach," he answered, stretching an arm upward.
"But I might try to punch it out with your knife, if you put me on your
shoulder."
Dalton was sure that no effort of hers would dislodge the brick;
moreover, he was doubtful of the wisdom of the experiment, considering
its position in the arch; but the blue eyes lifted to his were
undeniably bewitching, and the suggested method of the operation, too
much of a temptation to be resisted. He would let her try till she
admitted failure: the impulse to grant her the moon if she demanded it
was strong at the moment, so he gave her his knife and without much
effort hoisted her to his shoulder and allowed her to dig at will into
the arch. Her delicate fingers would soon tire of forcing the brick from
its solid bed. He, therefore, held her securely and closed his eyes not
to be blinded by the fine dust that showered over them both.
"Look out!" he warned her once, when the sound of falling mortar was
heavier than he had anticipated. "Don't bring the place about our ears."
"I don't want to be buried alive!" she replied. "It isn't as difficult
as I imagined. See, it is already loosening."
But he could not look up out of regard for his sight. For a moment he
had no actual concern with the work she was engaged upon, having allowed
himself to suffer distraction. With his arms about her, his face at her
waist, he was assailed with the temptation to bring matters between them
to a crisis. He was done with philandering and desired to end her folly
and his patience. What was easier than to draw her down to his breast
that he might cover her tempting lips with kisses? Though he was not in
love with Joyce after the manner of Ramjitsu, her mouth was alluringly
sweet, and her possible response to his passion would reward his daring.
There was the novelty, too, of acting the Prince Charming to her role of
Sleeping Beauty; for her woman's nature was asleep and waiting only to
be startled into comprehension. All the afternoon he had played with the
idea till his desire for possession had mastered prudence. What right
had she to imagine him a bloodless being, as passionless as a stone? He
was a man, and a very human one at that. He would prove that to her
without delay. What a fool he had been to have wasted so much time! He
would kiss her till he infected her with his passion; which would not be
difficult if she were like those of her sex who traded on a husband's
trust and confidence!
The glamour of the moment intoxicated his senses: contact with her
person, the perfume of her, her complete helplessness in that retired
spot, assisted to turn him temporarily insane.
Just as desire was about to master reason and self-restraint, a shriek
of terror from Joyce paralysed his nerves and suspended thought.
The arch, already heavily cracked and depending solely for stability
upon structural pressure, being further weakened by the dislodgment of
that particular brick, showed signs of collapsing.
On looking upward, Dalton saw their danger and had time only to spring
backward to a far corner of the room before the arch subsided, bringing
with it a portion of the roof. He stood stock still with Joyce clinging
to his neck, watching the building crashing about him. The shock and
vibration of the fall had brought about the collapse of precarious parts
of the ruined edifice, till, roar followed roar, and the air was thick
with dust.
Dalton momentarily expected the shaking floor to give way beneath their
feet, or the roof to descend upon them and bury them alive. It was
something to remember all his life: his impotence to help himself or his
companion in the midst of the calamity, while believing himself face to
face with the horror of a slow death by entombment.
After a while, when all was still and the dust began to settle, the
spectacle disclosed to view beggared description.
Tons of material lay between them and the stairs up which they had come;
the window was buried behind a dense mass of fallen bricks and mortar; a
great hole torn in the roof showed the sky overcast with clouds.
Possibly there would shortly be rain to add to their misfortune.
How was it possible to extricate themselves from their terrible
predicament? Dalton cast his eyes about him towards an inner chamber,
only to see that the roof there had also collapsed barricading the only
other outlet.
In the midst of his anxieties he had to soothe the girl's fears. Joyce
was shivering with terror and nearly speechless.
"Pull yourself together," he said shortly. "It is a devilish
catastrophe, but we must face it. Just as well we are not killed!" He
endeavoured to unclasp her clinging arms, but she only clung the closer.
"Oh, I am so frightened!--don't leave me!" she whimpered.
"I am not going to leave you," he said reassuringly, "but I must take a
good look around." Releasing the rug from beneath a weight of _debris_,
he induced her to sit down while he made a careful survey of the
conditions of their prison, for that it undoubtedly was. They were as
completely shut out from the outer world and as helpless as prisoners in
a dungeon. Both rooms were isolated from the rest of the building; both
were partially roofless and without means of exit.
Gad!--what a commotion there would be in the Station when it was
discovered that they had not returned! Dalton wished with all his heart
that he had left his car on the high road and not brought it into the
wood. Who would think of looking for it there?
He was partly comforted by the thought of the wheel-marks left in the
dust, but this source of hope was cut off when the rain began to descend
later in the night.
In the meantime he had to make the best of the situation and not allow
Mrs. Meredith to fret.
"You have to thank a special Providence interested in your fate that you
are not buried alive," he told her cheerfully.
"And so have you," she said solemnly.
"Providence doesn't usually bother much about me; relations have long
been strained. Possibly I have been preserved for your sake," he
laughed.
"How can you talk in that irreverent way!" she said reproachfully.
"Sorry, if it offends you."
But Joyce fell to weeping. Was it possible that they would ever be
found?--they would die of starvation--and what about her baby?
Dalton had much ado to allay all her fears. When it was discovered that
they were missing, did she suppose that a stone would be left unturned
to trace them? She was to cheer up and show how brave she could be.
"I am not like Honor Bright," she sobbed. "I cannot face such a horrible
prospect as a night spent in this ghastly place all among snakes and
creeping things!"
The mention of Honor seemed to silence the doctor completely. For some
time he was moody and depressed; Joyce was allowed to weep into her
hands till exhausted.
Only when it was getting dismally dark did he arouse himself from his
abstraction and take up again the task of cheering her.
"Can't we dig ourselves out?" Joyce asked before the darkness descended
wholly upon them.
"Without implements of any sort?" Even the knife was lost in the
confusion, and in any case it would have been utterly useless.
"Do you think they are sure to find us?"
"I am confident of it--in the morning. It will be too late and dark for
them to think of looking here tonight, but in the morning someone is
sure to find the car and discover our whereabouts."
"How hungry we shall be!" she sighed, and Dalton laughed.
"How thirsty we shall be, is more to the point!--Poor child!" taking her
hand in his and recalling how near he had been to madness. He was not
too far from it even now with her hand resting confidingly in his, and
the consciousness of their unique position.
"Anyhow, there is the sky and fresh air, and at least we are not quite
alone. I have you!" she said with dangerous flattery.
"Yes. You have me," he returned eagerly. "And I--have--_you_!"
"What about snakes?" she asked, casting her eyes about her fearfully.
"They are more upset than we. At any rate, I don't believe we'll be
troubled by snakes tonight. You will have to forget we are lost, so to
speak, and talk till you are tired, and then try to sleep."
"Sleep--here?"
"On the rug."
"I couldn't. It is so uncomfortable!"
In the growing darkness, he was again mastered by the evil thoughts
which had possessed him in the moments preceding the catastrophe. Their
isolation produced a host of ungoverned impulses. As the evening
advanced his manner changed, growing suggestive of possession; his
manner became more tender.
"You will always remember tonight!--there will never be another like it
in your life," he whispered, leaning towards her and stealing her hand.
"You have been horribly frightened, haven't you?"
"I am more hopeful now, thinking of the morning," she returned, her soft
breath on his cheek. "It is only the snakes I fear!"
Dalton drew her into his arms. "I shan't let you think of snakes, you
pretty little thing! At last I have you close. You have tantalised me
with your loveliness every day, till Fate has given you to me!" his lips
found hers and pressed them roughly. "Wake up, sleeping Princess! see,
this night is ours. Let me love you as I want to. Let me teach you how
to love!"
Joyce seemed paralysed in his arms. She lay as still as death under his
kisses as though mesmerised and dreaming. Emboldened by her silence
Dalton continued to caress her with increasing ardour, till Joyce,
coming suddenly to her senses, was seized with panic and horror.
"Who are you?" she cried in a frenzy of fear, struggling to escape. It
seemed she was entrapped by some human monster in the doctor's likeness,
against whom she was powerless to struggle.
"Why do you ask? You know me well--don't be foolish! Won't you let me
love you?"
"Love me?--like this?--Do you forget I am married?" she gasped, still
struggling to escape. "Let me go. I hate you for daring to touch me--to
kiss me. I hate you! How dare you do it!" Joyce had never known such
terrifying moments, even worse than when the building seemed falling
about her ears. The horrors of the night were multiplying a
thousandfold, now that the doctor had failed her and gone mad.
Dalton made several efforts to pacify her, thinking he had only to deal
with a phase of childishness, but found her unmistakably determined to
break away from him.
"Stop it, and listen to me," he said angrily. "You want it all your own
way, but it is my turn now. Why did you lead me on and tempt me, if you
meant to back out in the end? I could have kissed you twenty times, but
refrained for reasons you would not understand. Now when those reasons
are finally swept aside and I am ready to be your lover, you pretend to
be surprised."
"Surprised! I am horrified! I thought so well of you--I believed you
would respect me, not treat me as you might--Mrs. Fox for instance! Let
me go, you coward and bully!--I have trusted you and treated you as a
brother--for this?--you unspeakable cad!"
Dalton released her instantly, and she burst into tears, crying as
though her heart would break. "Honor warned me, but I would not listen!"
he heard her say amid her sobs.
"What did Honor warn you about?" he asked sternly.
"She said," Joyce sobbed, "to go 'easy with my favours'--that you were
'a man--like most----'"
"Did Honor say that? and why?"
"Because--she thought I was being foolish to--to become
so--friendly--with you--when I am a married woman. She was right! I have
been a fool!" A fresh outburst of weeping.
"Did she say that because of her contempt for me, or because you are a
wife?" he pressed.
"I--don't know. All I know is that she was right and I should have
listened to her warning; now I shall never, never respect myself again."
"I see no reason why you shouldn't," said Dalton, a sense of humour
overcoming his wrath. "You've done nothing but tell me in polite
language to go to the devil."
"You kissed me!"
"What of it? Many women in your position are kissed, and they are in no
wise cast down," he laughed sardonically.
"I feel degraded--I feel unfit to kiss my own, dear little baby again!"
"You should have thought of all that when you were so anxious to charm
me," he returned cruelly.
"You are a beast, and the most hateful man I know!" She made an attempt
in the gloom to crawl away to some distance from him and his rug, but he
ordered her to stay where she was, adding,
"I shan't trouble you again. You have nothing to fear from me."
"I don't want to share the same rug!--I wish I was a mile away!"
"The rug has done you no harm. If you prefer it, I'll shift off it. The
best thing you can do is to go to sleep."
"I couldn't with this sin on my conscience."
"What sin?" he asked repressing his impatience with difficulty.
"This sin against my husband."
"You have committed none. If my kissing you was a sin, mine is the
conscience to be troubled; but it was slain quite a long time ago," he
added with a short laugh.
"I am not joking," she said angrily. "How do you suppose I can face my
husband knowing that I have behaved so as to make another man kiss me?"
What a child she seemed!
There was no doubting her distress, and Dalton exhausted every argument
in his attempt to understand her attitude of mind. "What do you want me
to do?" he asked finally. "If an apology is of any use, I apologise
humbly for behaving as I did. I grant you, I am a perfect specimen of a
cad. If it will do you any good, tell your husband all about it when you
get back, and send him round to give me a horse-whipping. I promise I
shall not injure a hair of his head."
"He is much more likely to shoot you."
"Even so. He is perfectly welcome to. I am not in love with my life.
Only let him do it by stealth so that they don't hang him afterwards."
Joyce cried again hopelessly, till Dalton felt himself a sort of
criminal.
"Please don't! I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have upset you so. I
had no idea you would take it like this. There are so many women
who----"
"Like Mrs. Fox?" she interrupted scornfully.
"Perhaps. I don't know much of Mrs. Fox. She doesn't appeal to me."
"You couldn't offer me a worse insult than to think that I might be like
her!"
"I am sorry. Forgive me, will you?"
"I cannot forgive myself for my blindness and folly!"
Joyce spoke as though she were shivering, and Dalton was stricken with
concern. "You are cold?" he asked anxiously.
Her teeth chattered. In December the nights in Bengal are often bitter,
and Joyce had left her driving cloak in the car. Dalton immediately
divested himself of his coat and made her wear it. His manner having
returned to the professional, she was no longer afraid of him, so obeyed
meekly.
"Now the rug," said he. And she was wrapped to her ears in the rug,
after which he left her to herself for the night. Both listened to the
patter of the rain as it fell on the _debris_ around them, and,
eventually overcome with fatigue, Joyce dropped off to sleep.