Entering his room he pulled on his slippers, filled his pipe with tobacco from a lime-dried bottle and sat down at his one rickety table at the window. Then he took out of his pocket and laid before him a manuscript book filled with notes on the frontier dialects taken at the lesson with Colonel Dermot from which he had just come. He opened it mechanically but did not even glance at it. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Months had elapsed since the day on which he had seen his first tiger killed. Not long afterwards the Rains had come to put a stop to descents into the jungle. But his interest in the preparation for his new work compensated him for the imprisonment within walls by the terrible tropical storms and the never-ceasing downpour. He had flung himself enthusiastically into the study of the frontier languages, of which Colonel Dermot proved to be a painstaking and able teacher. Miss Benson, who had returned to Ranga Duar and remained there longer than she had originally intended, owing to fever contracted in the jungle, joined him in these studies and astonished her fellow-pupil by her aptitude and quickness of apprehension. But her presence proved disastrous to him. Thrown constantly together as they were, spending hours every day side by side, the subaltern realised to his dismay that he was falling in love with the girl.
It would have been strange had it been otherwise so pretty and attractive was she. Often Mrs. Dermot, peeping into her husband's office and seeing the dark and the fair head bent close together over a book, smiled to herself, well-pleased at the thought of her favourites being mutually attracted. To her husband the thought never occurred. Men are very dull in these matters.
But to Wargrave the realisation of the truth was unbearable. He was pledged to another woman, whose heart he had won even if unconsciously, who was willing for love of him to give up everything and face the world's censure and scorn. He could not play her false. He had given her his word. He could not now be disloyal to her without utterly wrecking all her chances of happiness in life and dishonouring himself for ever in his own eyes. Muriel Benson had left the station ten days ago to rejoin her father; and Wargrave had instantly felt that he dared not see her again until he was irrevocably and openly bound to Violet. So he had written to her on the morrow of the girl's departure and, without giving her the real reason for his action, begged her to come to him at once, enclosing, as he was now able to do, a cheque for her expenses. It seemed to him that only by her presence could he be saved from being a traitor to his word.