Oh, and old
brandy--the very old. Nothing of the sort to be had in India. The climate
kills it. He stood very close to her as he spoke. When he remembered the
brandy he put his hand on her shoulder, and finding it there, kept it so.
Minnie presently went out of the room upon affairs; and then he looked
into her face and said in a new tone, "How are you, Sancie?" He let his
hand slide down, encircled her waist lightly with his arm. She gave him
her grey eyes and a slow, patient smile. "I am quite well," she said. "Are
you?" Ingram, watching her still, seemed disconcerted, as if he wanted to
say or do more, but couldn't, for some reason. What he did was to remove
his hand quickly and thrust it into his trouser pocket. It might have been
suddenly stung, judging from his way of whipping it away. "Oh, I'm all
right, of course. I must go and dress, I suppose." A year is a long time
for an absence. In the doorway he stopped and looked back, a last look.
"Supper in my room, you know. We'll talk." She held to her mysteries, and
he went.
Dinner passed gaily, Miss Percival away. Ingram was loquacious, though
rather caustic; Chevenix a good foil, easy-tempered, always at a run, a
very fair marksman for all his random shooting.
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