and little friendliness, except from very few. I believe he was never
happy. I believe--it killed him. I was cherishing a hope that, now,
things might be better. But I am beginning to see--I may be wrong. Safer
to see it in time----"

Roy looked genuinely distressed. "Poor old Dyán. Perhaps you're right. I
don't know much about British India. But it does seem hard lines--and
bad policy--to choke off men like you."

"Yes. They might consider _that_ more, if they heard some of our
fire-eaters. One was at me last week. He gave the British ten years to
survive. Said their lot could raise a revolution to-morrow if they had
money--a trifle of five millions! He was swearing the Indian princes are
not loyal, in spite of talk and subscriptions; that the Army will join
whichever side gives best pay. We who _are_ loyal need _some_
encouragement--some recognition. We are only human----!"

"Rather. But _you_ won't go back on our little show, old chap. Just when
I'm dead keen--laying my plans for India----"

He took hold of Dyán's upper arm and gave it a friendly shake.

"No, I'll stick to that. But are you sure you can work it--with your
people? If _you_ back out, I swear, by the sin of the sack of Chitor,
I'll join the beastly crowd who are learning to make bombs in Berlin."

At that--the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of a Rajput--Roy
looked startled. Then he laughed.

"'Commem' seems to have disagreed with you all round! But I won't be