An appeal to Honor would be worse than useless. Honor was so stupid about such things. Her one idea would be immediate confession. A hazy notion haunted Evelyn that people who were in straits borrowed money from somewhere, or some one. But her knowledge of this mysterious transaction went no further; and even she was able to perceive that from so nebulous a starting-point no definite advance could be made.

She had also heard of women selling their jewels, and wondered vaguely who were the convenient people who bought them; though this alternative did not commend itself to her in any case.

Yet by some means the money must be found. Her earliest creditors were beginning to a.s.sert themselves; to thank her in advance for sums which she saw no hope of sending them; and, worse than all, she lived in daily dread lest any of them should be inspired to apply to Theo himself. Look where she would a blank wall confronted her; and in the midst of the blankness she sat, a dainty, dejected figure, with her pitiless pile of bills.

"Krizney, Miss Sahib, _argya_."[19]

[19] Has come.

The kitmutgar's voice jerked her back to the necessities of the moment.

Well, mercifully, Honor was out. It would be a comfort to see any one, and get away from her own thoughts. Also she could explain about the dinner; and, hastily gathering up her papers, she sent out the customary "salaam."

"Oh, Mrs Desmond, I _do_ hope I am not disturbing you." Miss Kresney came forward with a rather too effusive warmth of manner. "But you forgot to mention if you dine at a quarter to eight or a quarter past; and I was not certain if you meant us to dress or not."

Miss Kresney would probably have been amazed could she have seen these two Englishwomen dining together.

"Why, yes," Evelyn answered simply, "we always dress in the evening, Honor and I. But--please don't think me very rude--I'm afraid I must ask you and your brother to put off coming till--some other night. I was just going to send you a note; because Honor is--not at all well.

She has been out in the sun all day, and her head is bad. She must keep quiet to-night. You see, don't you, that I can't help it? It isn't my fault."

Linda Kresney's face had fallen very blank; but she pulled herself together, and called up a cold little smile.

"Of course not, Mrs Desmond. How could I think it is _your_ fault, when you have always been so veree kind to us? We often say it is a pity every one is not so kind as you are. I am sorry Miss Meredith is not well." An acid note invaded her voice. She had her own suspicions of Honor, as being too obviously Captain Desmond's friend. "My brother will be terribly disappointed. No doubt we can come some day veree soon instead."

But Evelyn was too self-absorbed to detect the obvious hint.

"Yes--I hope so," she agreed, without enthusiasm; then, seeing puzzled dissatisfaction in Linda Kresney's eyes, made haste to add: "Perhaps you'll stay a little now, as you are not coming to-night. It's quite early still, and I'm all alone."

Miss Kresney sat down with unconcealed alacrity, and Evelyn followed her example, laying her hand on the tell-tale papers. The trouble of her mind showed so clearly in her eyes and lips, that the girl, who had begun to grow really fond of her, was emboldened to risk a vague proffer of sympathy. She had never as yet found the opportunity her brother so desired of making herself useful; and she was quick-witted enough to perceive that Fate might be favouring her at last.

"I am afraid you have been worried about something, Mrs Desmond," she began warily. "Perhaps after all I had better not stay here, bothering you to make talk. Unless perhaps--I can help you in any way. I should be very glad to, if you will not think me officious to say so. I cannot bear to see you look so unhappee. It is not bad news from Kohat, I hope?"

Evelyn's smile was a very misty affair.

"Oh, no--it's not that," she said, and broke off short.

Miss Kresney waited for more--her face and figure one fervent note of interrogation. She had tact enough to realise that she could not press verbal inquiry further.

But her air of interested expectation was not lost on Evelyn Desmond.

A pressing need was urging her to unburden her mind through the comforting channels of speech. Cut off, by her own act, from the two strong natures on whom she leaned for sympathy and help, there remained only this girl, who would certainly give her the one, and might possibly give her the other, in the form of practical information. It was this last thought that turned the scale in Miss Kresney's favour; and Evelyn spoke.

"I think it's very nice of you to mind that I am unhappy, and to want to help me. But I don't know whether you can; because it's--it's about money."

The merest shadow of astonishment flittered across Miss Kresney's face. But she said no word, and Evelyn went on--her nervousness giving way rapidly before the relief of speech.

"I have a whole heap of bills here, for dresses and things, that I simply can't pay for out of my allowance. It's not because my husband doesn't give me enough," she added, with a pathetic flash of loyalty.

"He gives me all he can possibly spare. But I'm stupid and unpractical. I just order clothes when I want them, and never think about the price till the bill comes in, and then it's too late! My mother did it all before I married. I wish to goodness she had taught me to manage for myself; but it's no use thinking of that now. The question is--where can I get money to pay these bills without troubling my husband about them. I must find some way to do it, only--I don't the least know how. Aren't there natives out here who buy people's jewels, or--or lend them money when they want it in a hurry? I thought--perhaps--you might know whether I could manage to do it--up here?"

The surprise in Miss Kresney's face deepened to alarm.

"Oh, but indeed, Mrs Desmond, you cannot do anything like that. The native money-lenders are veree bad people to deal with; and they ask such big interest, that if you once start with them it is almost impossible to get free again. You say you are inexperienced about money, and that would make it far worse. You cannot do anything of that kind--reallee."

Evelyn rose in an access of helpless impatience.

"But if I can't do that, what _can_ I do?" she cried. "I've got to do _some_thing--somehow, don't you see? Some of them are beginning to bother me already, and--it frightens me."

A long silence followed upon her simple, impa.s.sioned statement of the case. Miss Kresney was meditating a startling possibility.

"There is only one thing that I can suggest," she ventured at length, "and that is I could lend you some money myself. I haven't a great deal. But if three hundred rupees would help you to settle some of the bills, I would feel only too proud if you would take it. There will be no interest to pay; and you could let me have it back in small sums just whenever you could manage it."

With a gasp of incredulity Evelyn sank back into her chair.

"D'you _mean_ that?"

"Of course I do."

"Oh, Miss Kresney, I don't know why you should be so kind to me! How can I take such a lot of money--from you?"

"Why not, if I am glad to give it?"

Indeed the sum seemed to her an inconsiderable trifle beside the certainty of Owen's praise, of Owen's entire satisfaction.

For a clear three minutes Evelyn Desmond sat silent, irresolute; her mind a formless whirl of eagerness and uncertainty, hope and fear. The novelty of the transaction rather than any glimmering of the complications it might engender held her trembling on the brink; and Miss Kresney awaited her decision with downcast eyes, her fingers mechanically plaiting and unplaiting the silken fringe of the table-cloth.

Sounds crept in from without and peopled the waiting stillness. Evelyn Desmond had no faintest forewarning of the grave issues that hung upon her answer, yet she was unaccountably afraid. Her driven heart cried out for the support of her husband's presence; and her voice, when words came at last, was pitifully unsteady.

"It is so difficult not to say Yes."

"Why will you not say it, then? And it would all be comfortably settled."

"Would it? I don't seem able to believe that. Only if I _do_ say Yes, you must promise not to tell--your brother."

"I am afraid that would not be possible. How could I arrange such a thing without letting my brother know about it?"

"Then I can't take the money."

Evelyn's voice was desperate but determined. Some spark of intuition enabled her to see that any intrusion of Kresney set the matter beyond the pale of possible things; and nothing remained for Linda but compromise or retreat.

She unhesitatingly chose the former. A few rea.s.suring words would cost little to utter; and if circ.u.mstances should demand a convenient forgetfulness, none but herself need ever be aware of the fact. She leaned across the table, and her tone was a triumph of open-hearted sympathy.

"Mrs Desmond, you know quite well that I cannot leave you unhappy like this. If you are so determined that my brother must not know, I think I could manage without his help. Come to the Hotel to-morrow at half-past ten, and we will send off three hundred rupees to those who are troubling you most for payment."

Miss Kresney was as good as her word. She drew three hundred rupees in notes from her own small bank account, and herself went with Evelyn to the post-office whence they were safely despatched to Simla.

Some three evenings later, Owen Kresney bade his sister good-night with a quite phenomenal display of affection.

"You're a regular little trump, Linda!" he declared. "I never gave you credit for so much good sense. By Jove! I'd give a month's pay for a sight of Desmond's face if he ever finds _this_ out! I expect he stints that poor little woman and splashes all the money on polo ponies. Glad you were able to help her; and whatever you do, don't let her pay you back too soon. If you're short of cash, you've only to ask me."