“No,” he answered.  But she would not listen.

“Everything you asked for,” she said and she added hurriedly, “Do you still collect miniatures?  No time for that now I suppose.”  Once more Ballantyne’s voice called to them from the camp-fire.

“You must go.”

Thresk looked through the opening of the tent.  Ballantyne had turned and was coming back towards them.

“I’ll write to you from Bombay,” he said, and utter disbelief showed in her face and sounded in her laugh.

“That letter will never reach me,” she said lightly, and she went up to the door of the tent.  Thresk had a moment whilst her back was turned and he used it.  He took his pipe out of his pocket and placed it silently and quickly on the table.  He wanted a word with her when Ballantyne was out of the way and she was not upon her guard to fence him off.  The pipe might be his friend and give it him.  He went up to Stella at the tent-door and Ballantyne, who was half-way between the camp-fire and the tent, stopped when he caught sight of him.

“That’s right,” he said.  “You ought to be going;” and he turned again towards the camel.  Thus for another moment they were alone together, but it was Stella who seized it.

“There go!” she said.  “You must go,” and in the same breath she added: 

“Married yet?”

“No,” answered Thresk.

“Still too busy getting on?”

“That’s not the reason”—­and he lowered his voice to a whisper—­“Stella.”

Again she laughed in frank and utter disbelief.

“Nor is Stella.  That’s mere politeness and good manners.  We must show the dear creatures the great part they play in our lives.”  And upon that all her fortitude suddenly deserted her.  She had played her part so far, she could play it no longer.  An extraordinary change came over her face.  The smiles, the laughter slipped from it like a loosened mask.  Thresk saw such an agony of weariness and hopeless longing in her eyes as he had never seen even with his experience in the Courts of Law.  She drew back into the shadow of the tent.

“In thirteen days you’ll be steaming up the Channel,” she whispered, and with a sob she covered her face with her hands.  Thresk saw the tears trickle between her fingers.

Ballantyne at the fire was looking back towards the tent.  Thresk hurried out to him.  The camel was crouching close to the fire saddled and ready.

“You have time,” said Ballantyne.  “The train’s not in yet,” and Thresk walked to the side of the camel, where a couple of steps had been placed for him to mount.  He had a foot on the step when he suddenly clapped his hand to his pocket.

“I’ve left my pipe,” he cried, “and I’ve a night’s journey in front of me.  I won’t be a second.”

He ran back with all his speed to the tent.  The hangings at the door were closed.  He tore them aside and rushed in.

“Stella!” he said in a whisper, and then he stopped in amazement.  He had left her on the very extremity of distress.  He found her, though to be sure the stains of her tears were still visible upon her face, busy with one of the evening preparations natural in a camp-life—­quietly, energetically busy.  She looked up once when he raised the hanging over the door, but she dropped her eyes the next instant to her work.