She could not have said what moved her to this unwonted self-assertion.  Had Lady Bassett required her to see Nick she would probably have refused to do so, and listlessly dismissed the matter from her mind.  But there was that in Lady Bassett’s manner which roused her antagonism almost instinctively.  But vaguely understanding, she yet resented the soft-spoken words.  Moreover, a certain perversity, born of her weakness, urged her.  What right had Lady Bassett to deny her to any one?

“When is he coming?” she asked.  “I will see him when he comes.”

Lady Bassett yielded the point at once with the faintest possible shrug.  “As you wish, dear child, of course; but I do beg of you to be prudent.  He speaks of coming this afternoon.  But would you not like him to postpone his visit till I can be with you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Muriel said, with absolute simplicity.

“Ah, well!” Lady Bassett spoke in the tone of one repudiating all responsibility.  She bent over the girl with a slightly wry smile, and kissed her forehead.  “Good-bye, dearest!  I shouldn’t encourage him to stay long, if I were you.  And I think you would be wise to call him Captain Ratcliffe now that you are living a civilised life once more.”

Muriel turned her face aside with a species of bored patience that could scarcely be termed tolerance.  She did not understand these veiled warnings, and she cared too little for Lady Bassett and her opinions to trouble herself about them.  She had never liked her, though she knew that her father had conscientiously tried to do so for the sake of his friend, Sir Reginald.

As Lady Bassett went away she rubbed the place on her forehead which her cold lips had touched.  “If she only knew how I hate being kissed!” she murmured to herself.

And then with an effort she rose and moved wearily across the room to ring the bell.  Since by some unaccountable impulse she had decided to see Nick, it might be advisable, she reflected, to give her own orders regarding his visit.

Having done so, she lay down again.  But she did not sleep.  Sleep was an elusive spirit in those days.  It sometimes seemed to her that she was too worn out mentally and physically ever to rest naturally again.

Nearly an hour passed away while she lay almost unconsciously listening.  And then suddenly, with a sense of having experienced it all long before, there came to her the sound of careless footsteps and of a voice that hummed.

It went through her heart like a sword-thrust as she called to mind that last night at Fort Wara when she had clung to her father for the last time, and had heard him bid her good-bye—­till they should meet again.

With a choked sensation she rose, and stood steadying herself by the back of the sofa.  Could she go through this interview?  Could she bear it?  Her heart was beating in heavy, sickening throbs.  For an instant she almost thought of escaping and sending word that she was not equal to seeing any one, as Lady Bassett had already intimated.  But even as the impulse flashed through her brain, she realised that it was too late.  The shadow of the native servant had already darkened the window, and she knew that Nick was just behind him on the verandah.  With a great, sobbing gasp, she turned herself to meet him.