fame for whom a wife might do so much. I looked at Berengaria and almost envied her. She was so strong, so vigorous, so full of energy. What did she not represent to John? What would he be without her? I think Berengaria felt my unspoken sympathy. She grew confidential.
'John is so unambitious,' she said with a sigh. 'He's perfectly content with what he is, and that's fatal. Contentment may be a great gain in one way, but it's absolutely fatal in a service like ours. You must push. It's vulgar, it's deteriorating, it's horrible, but it must be done. If you don't do it you get left. If it had not been for me I really don't know what would have happened to John. He would have been left stuck away in some dreadful station where only two sorts of people congregate—those who are sent there in disgrace and those who are too content or too apathetic to worry Government to transfer them.'
Just then John strolled up and joined us.
'Any news of the train?' asked Berengaria.
'None,' said John, in his cheerful, absent-minded way. 'Not left Mandalghur yet.' He stood and beamed upon us for a moment, pipe in hand, and then passed on.
'There,' said Berengaria smilingly, with a little helpless gesture of her hands, 'what would have become of a man like that without me? He's perfectly content to go on walking that platform until the train comes. He's not a bit impatient. Fortunately that train will come some time or other, but it isn't always the same with promotion if you
