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Not healthy. Always looks as though she’s seeing things other people don’t see. But she’s got a lot of character. She makes herself felt, as you might say.”
    â€œThat’s very true, Barrett,” said Lady Tressilian. “Yes, that’s very true.”
    â€œAnd she’s not the kind you forget easily, either. I’ve often wondered if Mr. Nevile thinks about her sometimes. The new Mrs. Strange is very handsome—very handsome indeed—but Miss Audrey is the kind you remember when she isn’t there.”
    Lady Tressilian said with a sudden chuckle:
    â€œNevile’s a fool to want to bring those two women together. He’s the one who’ll be sorry for it!”
    May 29th
    Thomas Royde, pipe in mouth, was surveying the progress of his packing with which the deft-fingered Malayan No. 1 boy was busy. Occasionally his glance shifted to the view over the plantations. For some six months he would not see that view which had been so familiar for the past seven years.
    It would be queer to be in England again.
    Allen Drake, his partner, looked in.
    â€œHullo, Thomas, how goes it?”
    â€œAll set now.”
    â€œCome and have a drink, you lucky devil. I’m consumed with envy.”
    Thomas Royde moved slowly out of the bedroom and joined his friend. He did not speak, for Thomas Royde was a man singularly economical of words. His friends had learned to gauge his reactions correctly from the quality of his silences.
    A rather thickset figure, with a straight solemn face and observant thoughtful eyes, he walked a little sideways, crablike. This, the result of being jammed in a door during an earthquake, had contributed toward his nickname of the Hermit Crab. It had left his right arm and shoulder partially helpless which, added to an artificial stiffness of gait, often led people to think he was feeling shy and awkward when in reality he seldom felt anything of the kind.
    Allen Drake mixed the drinks.
    â€œWell,” he said. “Good hunting!”
    Royde said something that sounded like “Ah hum.”
    Drake looked at him curiously.
    â€œPhlegmatic as ever,” he remarked. “Don’t know how you manage it. How long is it since you went home?”
    â€œSeven years—nearer eight.”
    â€œIt’s a long time. Wonder you haven’t gone completely native.”
    â€œPerhaps I have.”
    â€œYou always did belong to Our Dumb Friends rather than to the human race! Planned out your leave?”
    â€œWell—yes—partly.”
    The bronze impassive face took a sudden and a deeper brick red tinge.
    Allen Drake said with lively astonishment:
    â€œI believe there’s a girl! Damn it all, you are blushing!”
    Thomas Royde said rather huskily: “Don’t be a fool!”
    And he drew very hard on his ancient pipe.
    He broke all previous records by continuing the conversation himself.
    â€œDare say,” he said, “I shall find things a bit changed.”
    Allen Drake said curiously:
    â€œI’ve always wondered why you chucked going home last time. Right at the last minute, too.”
    Royde shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œThought that shooting trip might be interesting. Bad news from home about then.”
    â€œOf course. I forgot. Your brother was killed—in that motoring accident.”
    Thomas Royde nodded.
    Drake reflected that, all the same, it seemed a curious reason for putting off a journey home. There was a mother—he believed a sister also. Surely at such a time—then he remembered something.Thomas had cancelled his passage before the news of his brother’s death arrived.
    Allen looked at his friend curiously. Dark horse, old Thomas!
    After a lapse of three years he could ask:
    â€œYou and your brother great pals?”
    â€œAdrian and I? Not particularly. Each of us always went his own way. He was a barrister.”
    â€œYes,” thought Drake, “a very different