In the isolation of that solitary
spot on the face of the giant mountains, Kevin Dermot and Noreen Daleham
drew nearer to each other in their few days together there than they ever
would have done in as many months of London life. As they climbed the hills
or sat side by side on the Mess verandah and looked down on the leagues of
forest and plain spread out like a map at their feet, they were apt to
forget that they were not alone in the world.
The more Dermot saw of Noreen, the more he was attracted by her naturalness
and her unconscious charm of manner. He liked her bright and happy
disposition, full of the joy of living. On her side Noreen at first hardly
recognised the quiet-mannered, courteous man that she had first known in
the smart, keen, and intelligent soldier such as she found Dermot to be in
his own surroundings. Yet she was glad to have seen him in his little world
and delighted to watch him with his Indian officers and sepoys, whose
liking and respect for him were so evident.
When she was alone her thoughts were all of him. As she lay at night
half-dreaming on his little camp-bed in his bare room she wondered what
his life had been. And, to a woman, the inevitable question arose in her
mind: Had he ever loved or was he now in love with someone? It seemed to
her that any woman should be proud to win the love of such a man.
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