Naturally this triple life left its mark on Sophy, though she kept her miseries and responsibilities to herself.  Mrs. Gregory and other friends put their heads together and decided that she looked ill and careworn; and the ever-active Fuchsia laid certain information before Shafto, with the result that the following day he arrived at “Heidelberg” to make a formal call.  Of late he found that he could never have a word with Miss Leigh; she rarely rode in the morning and was seldom to be seen at the Gymkhana, and so he, as Fuchsia had suggested, “bearded the lioness in her den”—­that is, he called at “Heidelberg” between the orthodox hours of four and five.

“This is very formal,” exclaimed Sophy, as he entered the somewhat dusky drawing-room; “visiting hour and visiting card complete.  What does it mean?”

“It merely means that I wish to see you,” replied Shafto; “I can never get a look in elsewhere.  One would almost think that you avoided me and wanted to cut me.”

“What a ridiculous idea!” she exclaimed, sitting down and motioning him to a chair.

“Well, it does seem ridiculous that we see so very little of you.  I hope you are not ill?”

“No, indeed, why should I be ill?  Do I look like an invalid?”

“Since you ask me, I don’t think you seem particularly fit.  How is Mrs. Krauss?”

“Oh, much the same.  Sometimes she is able to be out in the car and sits in the veranda; other days she cannot appear at all.”

“And you and Herr Krauss are tete-a-tete!  How do you get on together?”

“Oh, pretty well.  I only see him at breakfast and dinner, and we talk about food and cooking and the servants.  It’s all right when he is alone, but when he brings friends to dinner it is rather disagreeable.  I understand German now and am able to make out the hateful things they say about us as a nation.  Naturally I stick up for my own country.  I talk to them in English—­they gabble to me in German, and we make an awful clatter.  Herr Krauss looks on, or joins in, and roars and bangs the table.  I am fighting one to five, and with my back to the wall!  They are full of facts that I cannot dispute—­not being posted up in statistics.  When I attempt to bring forward our side they interrupt and shout me down.  Now we have declared open war.  Last night I got up and left them in possession of the field, and I have told Herr Krauss that the next time he has a session I prefer to dine alone.  He treats it as a splendid joke and says I am a silly, ignorant Backfisch.”

“Of course, a lot of it is trade envy,” said Shafto; “but the Germans, to give them their due, are energetic, thrifty and pushing, and are taking places in the sun all over the world.  Have you heard from Mrs. Milward lately?”

“No, not for some weeks; she writes such amusing letters.”

“So I should imagine.  She has a wonderfully elastic mind, and says and does the very first thing that comes into her head.  Do you remember one day on the Blankshire when, half in joke, she said that we were two young lambs about to be turned out in strange and unknown pastures, and if one of us got into any difficulty the other was bound to help?”