As he grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes
for an instant and looked at all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major
Vansuythen would never know anything. He was to be the outsider in that happy
family whose cage was the Dosehri hills.
"You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell," said the Major,
truthfully. "Pass me that banjo."
And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima went
to dinner.
* * * * *
That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima--the life that Mrs. Boulte
made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight.
Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since be insists upon keeping up
a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her vow of not
speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity preserve the
semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to keep alive the flame
of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, as it awakens the same passions
in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs. Vansuythen because she has taken
Ted from her, and, in some curious fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen-
-and here the wife's eyes see far more clearly than the husband's--detests
Ted. And Ted--that gallant captain and honorable man--knows now that it is
possible to hate a woman once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her
forever with blows.
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