Thresk hardly knew her, he had to tell himself again and again that this was the Stella Ballantyne whom he had known here and in India.

She was not the girl who had ridden with him upon the downs and made one month of his life very memorable and one day a shameful recollection.

Nor was she the stricken creature of the tent in Chitipur.

She was a woman sure of her resources, radiant in her beauty, confident that what she wore was her colour and gave her her value.

Yet her trouble was greater than Thresk's, and many a time during the course of that dinner, when she felt his eyes resting upon her, her heart sank in fear.