Noreen had slept little during the night.  All through the weary hours of darkness she had tossed restlessly on her bed, tortured by thoughts that revolved in monotonous circles around Dermot.  What was she to believe of him?  What were the relations between him and her friend?  He had seemed very cold to Ida when they met and had avoided her all day.  And she did not appear to mind.  What had happened between them?  Had they quarrelled?  It did not disturb Ida’s rest, for the girl could hear her regular breathing all night long, the door between their rooms being open.  Was it possible that she and Dermot were acting indifference to deceive the people around them?

Only towards morning did Noreen fall into a troubled, broken sleep, and she dreamt that the man she loved was in great danger.  She woke up in a fright, then dozed again.  She was hollow-eyed and unrefreshed when a bare-footed native “boy” knocked at her door and left a tray with her chota hazri at it.  She could not eat, but she drank the tea thirstily.

Pleading fatigue she remained in her room all the morning and refused to go down to tiffin.  When the other guests were at lunch in the dining-hall a message was brought her that Chunerbutty begged to see her urgently.  She went down to the lounge, where he was waiting.  Struck by her want of colour, he enquired somewhat tenderly what ailed her.  She replied impatiently that she was only fatigued by the previous day’s journey, and asked rather crossly why he wanted to see her.

“I have something nice for you,” he said smiling.  “Something I was to give you.”

Glancing around to make sure that they were unobserved, he opened a sandalwood box that he held in his hand and took out a large, oval leather case, which he offered to her.

“What is this?” she asked in surprise.

“Open it and see,” he replied.

The girl did so unsuspectingly.  It was lined with blue velvet, and resting in it was a necklace of diamonds in quaint and massive gold setting, evidently the work of a native jeweller.  The stones, though badly cut, were very large and flashed and sparkled with coloured fires.  The ornament was evidently extremely valuable.  Noreen stared at it and then at Chunerbutty in surprise.

“What does this mean?” she demanded, an ominous ring in her voice.

“Just a little present to you from a friend,” replied the Hindu, evidently thinking that the girl was pleased with the magnificent gift.

“For me?  Are these stones real?” she asked quietly.

“Rather.  Why, that necklace must be worth thousands of pounds.  The fact is that it’s a little present from the Rajah, who admires you awfully.  He——­”

Noreen’s eyes blazed, and she was on the point of bursting into angry words; but, controlling herself with an effort, she thrust the case back into his hands and said coldly: 

“You know little of English women, Mr. Chunerbutty, if you think that they accept presents like that from strangers.  This may be the Rajah’s ignorance, but it looks more like insolence.”