She gazed at her stolid companion with envy.

"You have spoken to him?
And he to you?
When ?" "A year ago, at Suakin.

Else why should I be here ?" The question came as a shock to Ethne.

She did not guess the correct answer; she was not, indeed, sufficiently mistress of herself to speculate upon any answer, but she dreaded it, whatever it might be.
"Yes," she said slowly, and almost reluctantly.

"After all, why are you here ?" Willoughby took a letter-case from his breast, opened it with deliberation, and shook out from one of its pockets into the palm of his hand a tiny, soiled, white feather.