"Yes," he said, in reply to Mrs. Agar's question, "I am just back from
India."

It happened that these two were left almost beyond earshot at the far end
of the room. The old people, among whom was Mrs. Agar's husband, were
settling down to a game of whist. Mrs. Agar was leaning forward with
considerable interest. This was not a mere passing curiosity to hear
further of a country and of an event which have not lost their glamour
yet.

The very word "India" had stirred something up within her heart of the
presence of which she had been unsuspicious. She was as one who, having a
closed room in her life, and thinking the door thereof securely barred,
suddenly finds herself within that room.

"Whereabouts in India were you?" she asked, with a sudden dryness of the
lips.

"Oh--I was north of Delhi."

"North of Delhi--oh, yes."

She moistened her lips, with a strange, sidelong glance round the room,
as if she were preparing to jump from a height.

"And--and I suppose you saw a great deal of the Mutiny?"

Even then--after many months, in a drawing-room in peaceful Clapham--the
young man's eyes hardened.