Colonel Bradlaw came up and joined them, and after a little the Rajah also. He stationed himself beside Olga, and began to talk in his smooth way of all the wonders in the district she had yet to see.

She wished he would not take the trouble to be gracious to her, but he was always gracious to European ladies and there was no escape. The British polish over the Oriental suavity seemed to her a decidedly incongruous mixture. She infinitely preferred the purely Oriental.

"My _shikari_ has told me of a man-eater at Khantali," he said presently. "You have not seen a tiger-hunt yet? I must arrange an expedition, and you and Captain Ratcliffe will join?"

Olga explained that she had never done any shooting.

"But you will like to look on," he said.

She hesitated. "I am afraid," she said, after a moment, "I don't like seeing things killed."

"No?" said the Rajah politely.

She wondered if the dusky eyes veiled contempt, and felt a little uncomfortable in consequence of the wonder.

"You have never killed--anything?" he asked, in a tone of courteous interest.

"Nothing bigger than a beetle," said Olga.

"Really!" said the Rajah.

This time she was sure he was feeling bored, and she began to wish that Noel would reappear and lighten the atmosphere.

As if in answer to the wish, there came the sudden tinkle of a stringed instrument in one of the marble recesses behind them, and almost immediately a man's voice, very soft and musical, began to sing:

"O, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.

Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'."

The voice ceased; the banjo thrummed on. Olga's hands were fast gripped upon the marble lattice-work. She stood tense, with white face upraised.

The Rajah was wholly forgotten by her, and he stepped silently away to join another of his guests. The new English girl presented an enigma to him, but it was one in which he did not take much interest. All her fairness notwithstanding, she was not even pretty, according to his standard, and he had seen a good many pretty women.

Again through the dimness the clear voice came. It held a hint--a very carefully restrained hint--of pa.s.sion.

"Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."

The song was ended; the banjo throbbed itself into silence. Olga's hands went up to her face. She wanted to keep the silence, to hold it fast, while she chased down that elusive phantom that dodged her memory.

Ah! A voice beside her, Nick's arm through hers! She raised her face.

The phantom had fled.

"After that serenade, I move that we take our departure," said Nick.

"The youngster has a decent voice, so far as my poor judgment goes. Are you ready?"

Yes, she was ready. She longed to be gone, to get away from the careless, chattering crowd, to work out her problem in solitude and silence.

With scarcely a word she went with him, and they made their farewells together.

At the last moment Noel, his eyes very bright and coaxingly friendly, caught her hand and boldly held it.

"Did you catch it?" he asked.

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Catch what?"

He laughed. The pressure of his fingers was intimately close. "That glimpse I promised you," he said.

"Ah!" Understanding dawned in Olga's eyes, and in the same instant she removed her hand. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. I was thinking of something else. Good-bye!"

"Oh, I say!" protested Noel, actually crest-fallen for once.

Nick swallowed a chuckle, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-night, minstrel boy! Mind you bring the harp along to my Christmas picnic! We are not all so unappreciative as Olga."

Noel looked for a second as if he were on the verge of losing his temper, but the next he changed his mind and laughed.

"You bet I will, old chap!" he said, and wrung Nick's hand with cordiality.

Nick's chuckle became audible as they drove away. "He can't accuse you of encouraging him anyhow, Olga _mia_," he remarked. "If you keep it up at this pace, you'll soon choke him off."

Olga's answer was to draw very close to him, and to utter a great sigh.

"Wherefore?" whispered Nick.

She was silent for a moment, then: "I sometimes wish you were the only man in the world, Nick," she said, with quivering emphasis.

"Gracious heaven!" said Nick. "Don't make me giddy!"

She laughed a little, but there was a sound of tears behind. "Men are so silly," she said.

"Abject fools!" said Nick. "There's never more than one worth crying about."

"What do you mean, Nick?"

"Nothing--nothing!" said Nick. "I was just demonstrating my foolishness, that's all."

Whereat she laughed again in a somewhat doubtful key, and asked no more.

CHAPTER V

THE EVERLASTING CHAIN

It was a very thoughtful face that met Nick at the breakfast table on the following morning. But Nick's greeting was as airy as usual. He made no comments and asked no questions.

The day was Sunday, a perfect day of Indian winter, cloudless and serene. The tamarisks in the compound waved their pink spikes to the sun, and in the palm-trees behind them bright-eyed squirrels dodged and flirted. A line of cypresses bounded the garden, and the sky against which they stood was an ardent blue.