months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills and many other
things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. Boulte that
her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in the old
days when Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of the
allegiance.

'The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,' Mrs. Boulte said to
herself; and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the
face of the over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in
Kashima is as fortunate as Love because there is nothing to
weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. Boulte had never breathed
her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not certain; and her
nature led her to be very certain before she took steps in any
direction. That is why she behaved as she did.

Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the
door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs.
Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of
civilisation even in Kashima.

'Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, 'do you care for me?'

'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. 'Can you ask it?'

'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. 'Do you care for me?'

Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. 'Do
you want an honest answer?'

'Ye-es, I've asked for it.'