Within doors, the atmosphere was electrical with excitement and uncertainty.  Orders had been received that, in case of matters taking a serious turn, the hundred or so of English women and children gathered at the Club would be removed under escort to Government House.  No one was dancing.  Every one was talking.  The wildest rumours were current.

At a crisis the curtains of convention are rent and the inner self peers through, sometimes revealing the face of a stranger.  While the imposing Mrs Elton quivered inwardly, Mrs Ranyard—­for all her ‘creeps’ and her fluffiness—­knew no flicker of fear.  In any case, there were few who would confess to it, though it gnawed at their vitals; and Roy’s quick eye noted that, among the women, as a whole, the light-hearted courage of Anglo-India prevailed.  It gave him a sharp inner tweak to look at them all and remember that nightmare of seething, yelling rebels at Anarkalli.  He wished to God Rose had not seen it too.  It was the kind of thing that would stick in the memory.

On their appearance in the Hall, Mrs Elton deserted a voluble group and bore down upon them, flustered and perspiring.

“My darling girl—­thank God!  I’ve been in a fever!” she cried, and would have engulfed her stately daughter before them all, but that Rose put out a deterring hand.

“I was afraid you’d be upset—­so we hurried,” she said serenely; not the Rose of Anarkalli, by any means.  “But we were all right along the Mozung road.”

That ‘we,’ and a possessive glance—­the merest—­at her lover, brought down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations.  Every one had foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to know....

After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, “I say, I can’t stand any more.  And it’s high time I was off.”

“Poor dear!  ‘When duty calls...?’” Her cool tone was not unsympathetic.  “I’ll let you off the rest.”

She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in the darkness under the portico.

“I shall dream to-night, Roy,” she said gravely.  “And we may not even see the Pater.  He’s taken up his abode in the Telegraph Office.  Mother will want to bolt.  I can see it in her eye!”

“Well, she’s right.  You ought all to be cleared out of this, instanter.”

“Are you—­so keen?”

“Of course not.”  His tone was more impatient than loverly.  “I’m only keen to feel—­you’re safe.”

“Oh—­safe!” she sighed. “Is one—­anywhere—­ever?”

“No,” he countered with unexpected vigour, “or life wouldn’t be worth living.  There are degrees of unsafeness, that’s all.  It’s natural—­isn’t it, darling?—­I should want to feel you’re out of reach of that crowd.  If it had pushed on here, and to Government House, Amritsar doings would have been thrown into the shade.”

She shivered.  “It’s horrible—­incredible!  I suppose one has to be a lifelong Anglo-Indian to realise quite how incredible it feels—­to us.”