"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.
"Yes, I saw a good deal," he answered.
Mrs. Agar leant back in her chair, drawing her handkerchief through her
fingers with jerky, unnatural movements.
"And did you lose many friends?" she asked.
"Yes," answered the young fellow, "in one way and another."
"How? What do you mean?" She had a way of leaning forward and listening
when spoken to, which passed very well for sympathy.
"Well, a time like the Mutiny brings out all that is in a man, you
know. And some men had less in them than one might have thought, while
others--quiet-going fellows--seemed to wake up.
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