obvious. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should
evade all approach to intimacy. They were comrades--just comrades.

Everyone in the station wanted to know Merryon's bride. People had begun
by being distant, but that phase was long past. Puck Merryon had stormed
the citadel within a fortnight of her arrival, no one quite knew how.
Everyone knew her now. She went everywhere, though never without her
husband, who found himself dragged into gaieties for which he had scant
liking, and sought after by people who had never seemed aware of him
before. She had, in short, become the rage, and so gaily did she revel
in her triumph that he could not bring himself to deny her the fruits
thereof.

On that particular morning in March he had gone to an early parade
without seeing her, for there had been a regimental ball the night
before, and she had danced every dance. Dancing seemed her one passion,
and to Merryon, who did not dance, the ball had been an unmitigated
weariness. He had at last, in sheer boredom, joined a party of
bridge-players, with the result that he had not seen much of his young
wife throughout the evening.

Returning from the parade-ground, he wondered if he would find her up,
and then caught sight of her waving away the marauders in scanty attire
on the veranda.

He called a greeting to her, and she instantly vanished into her room.
He made his way to the table set in the shade of the cluster-roses, and
sat down to await her.

She remained invisible, but her voice at once accosted him.