Boulte, for Kurrell did not appear,
and the new life that she, in the five minutes' madness of the previous
evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed to be no
nearer.
Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the veranda,
and went out. The morning wore through, and at midday the tension became
unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished her crying in the
night, and now she did not want to be left alone. Perhaps the Vansuythen woman
would talk to her; and, since talking opens the heart, perhaps there might be
some comfort to be found in her company. She was the only other woman in the
Station.
In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in upon
every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked
across to the Vansuythens's house to borrow last week's Queen. The two
compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed through the
gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back. As she passed
through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that cloaked the
drawing-room door, her husband's voice, saying--"But on my Honor! On my Soul
and Honor, I tell you she doesn't care for me.
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