She watched the pageantry of the great Indian Administration dissolve, and was blind to its glitter and conscious only of its ruthlessness.

For ruthless she found it to-night.

She had been face to face with a victim of the system--a youth broken by it, needlessly broken, and as helpless to recover from his hurt as a wounded animal.

The harm had been done no doubt with the very best intention, but the harm had been done.

She was conscious of her own share in the blame and she drove miserably home, with the picture of Shere Ali's face as she had last seen it to bear her company, and with his cry, that he had no place anywhere at all, sounding in her ears.
When she reached the privacy of her own tent, and had dismissed her maid, she unlocked one of her trunks and took out from it her jewel case.