He had encouraged--nay, forced--her intimacy
with Nicholson. With what purpose? He himself hardly knew. Perhaps
somewhere at the bottom of him he was beginning to dread the honesty
of her character as an unspoken reproach. If she were less perfect in
her conduct, his own life would have seemed less blamable. Or perhaps
his motives had been more generous. He knew he had nothing to give
her--and Nicholson was a good fellow. At any rate, it was a mistake to
have betrayed even a moment's irritation. She had shrunk back from
him, but he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her. "There! Of
course I am not angry. You've lost me a few hundreds, but you're worth
it, and I dare say it was all for the best. Run and write a note to
the Colonel and say we are coming, there's a good little woman!"
Lois turned wearily away. He had not understood her. She considered
him more than she had considered Nicholson. She had wanted to save
him from what she felt was a mean and treacherous step. But he had not
been able to understand. Nor could she have explained. Between certain
characters all real communication is an impossibility, and words no
more than sounds.
CHAPTER II
CATASTROPHE
The tea-room, usually the most animated portion of the Marut
club-house, had lost its cheerful appearance. The comfortable chairs
had been cleared on one side and replaced by a long green baize table
littered with papers; the doors leading on to the verandah were
closed, and a stifling atmosphere bore down upon the five occupants
who were ranged about the table in various attitudes of listless
exhaustion.
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