“Well, even if I did and, mind you, I’m not saying that I do, it is no worse for my health than dancing all night, is it?  I’m very fond of Aunt Flora, and I’d do more than that for her.”

“She has added years to your life; the gay flitting-about Sophy, with her pretty kittenish ways and harmless claws, has been thrust in a sack—­and drowned!”

“Well, I do think you might have given her Christian burial,” protested Sophy with a laugh.

“Christian burial brings me to the Marriage Service.  What do you think—­that great stupid Irishman, has at last blundered out a proposal, and in me,” rising and making a curtsey, “you behold the future Mrs. Patrick FitzGerald.”

“Oh, Fuchsia!” jumping up to embrace her, “I do congratulate you, and I do hope you will be very happy.”

“Yes, I believe we shall.  I have money and he——­” she hesitated, and Sophy added: 

“Has a warm, kind heart.”

“Oh, well, I was about to say looks, but I’ll throw in the heart as well!  Next week I am going up to Calcutta to see about the trousseau and business.  I’m real sorry to be the means of smashing up the Chummery Quartette.”

“And when does the blow fall?”

“Not for some time; Patsy has asked for a long day.”

“Fuchsia!”

“Well, no, it’s not that; but he’s obliged to finish some inspections.  He really is fond of me—­I dare say he’s not as fond of me as Shafto is of someone!  But his is a more serious, rigid character.  If someone would smile, he would melt like a shovelful of snow on a coal fire!”

“My dear Fuchsia, do give your imagination a rest.”

“Maybe you are right, and my tongue, too.  I’ve only just one thing more to say,” she paused and walked into the veranda in silence.

In silence Sophy followed her down to the car and, as she tucked in the knee-sheet, she raised her eyes and asked: 

“What is this wonderful last word?”

“That I think ‘Sophy Shafto’ would be a nice easy name to say.”

In another second Fuchsia’s car had panted away and nothing remained of her visit but a cloud of red dust.

CHAPTER XXXIII

SOPHY

Sophy had a difficult part to act—­in fact no less than three separate roles:  one with her aunt, one with Herr Krauss, and a third in public.  Those who saw Miss Leigh dancing and playing tennis at the Gymkhana, little guessed how she spent the remainder of the day, soothing and interesting a fretful invalid, or sitting up half the night on duty—­and on guard.  Herr Krauss was frequently from home, being incessantly engaged in winding up his affairs.  Business took him one week to Moulmein, the next to Calcutta.  This fat, elderly man displayed a sort of volcanic energy; he lived in a fever of repressed excitement and scarcely gave himself time to gobble his huge meals.  Numbers of people—­principally natives—­pressed for interviews; one or two arrived in fine motor-cars; evidently it was not a European business that appeared to absorb all his time and faculties.  However, whatever its nationality, Herr Krauss was happy and exultant; there was an expression of assured triumph upon his frog-like visage.