But neither of them looked one inch deeper than the surface, nor supposed that their presence betokened anything but the prince's unreachable ambition.

Neither of them thought for an instant that the day could possibly have come when Britain would be unable to protect a woman of its own race, or when a native--however powerful--would dare to do more than threaten.
Joanna disappeared, and that led to a chain of thought which was not creditable to any one concerned.

They reasoned this way: Rosemary had seen Mahommed Gunga hold out a handful of gold coins for the old woman's eyes to glitter at, therefore it was fair to presume that he had promised her a reward for bringing word to the man whom, it was now known, he had left behind.

She had brought word to him and had disappeared.

What more obvious than to reason that the man had gladly paid her, and had just as gladly ridden off, rejoicing at the thought that he could escape doing service?
"So much," they argued, "for native constancy! So much for Mahommed Gunga's boast that he knew of men who could be trusted! And so much for Joanna's gratitude!" The old woman had been saved by Rosemary McClean from the long-drawn-out hell that is the life portion of most Indian widows, even of low caste; she had had little to do, ever, beyond snooze in the shade and eat, and run sometimes behind the pony--a task which came as easily to her as did the other less active parts of her employment.