She was a charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and
she charmed every one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of
this, since Fate is so perverse, she cared only for one man, and he
was Major Vansuythen. Had she been plain or stupid, this matter
would have been intelligible to Kashima. But she was a fair
woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour of a lake just before
the light of the sun touches it. No man who had seen those eyes
could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was to look
upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was 'not
bad-looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.' And yet her
gravity was natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely went
through life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected
while the men fell down and worshipped.

She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to
Kashima; but Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs.
Boulte does not drop in to afternoon tea at least three times a
week. 'When there are only two women in one Station, they ought
to see a great deal of each other,' says Major Vansuythen.

Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those
far-away places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had
discovered that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for
him and you dare not blame them. Kashima was as out of the
world as Heaven or the Other Place, and the Dosehri hills kept
their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in
camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy man, and
neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They had all Kashima
and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima was the
Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his