"Have you heard, Captain Terrington?" cried the girl gaily. "There's to be a Durbar after all! So you were wrong. It's to be in the Palace too, that you were so set against, and Lewis and Mr. Langford are going with Sir Colvin, and just the littlest guard of honour for the look of the thing. Sir Colvin says the great thing with these sort of people is to show you're not afraid, and I'm perfectly certain he's right."  
She sat upon the table, all in white; her hat slung upon her arm, her feet swinging to and fro amid the muslin fulness of her skirt, pointing her remarks with the tips of their gilded slippers.
 
The man who had just entered the bungalow in khaki riding kit stood a straight six feet. His face, strong and silent, was as brown as his jacket, and his spare figure had an air of tempered energy. The only break in its entire brownness was the faded strip of ribands on his left breast. At the sight of Mrs. Chantry he had checked the stride with which he entered, lifted his helmet, and pushed back from his forehead its damp brown lock of hair.
 
As he stood staring at her with a frown, she set her wrists on the edge of the table, and rocked her body gently in time with her feet.
 
"Well!" she exclaimed with a laugh as he stopped before her; "what did I tell you? I said if you'd only leave Sar for a week I'd get the Durbar, and I've got it in three days!"
 
She ceased her swinging, and looked up at him with an excited triumph in her eyes. "Well?" she repeated provocatively, leaning back and putting the tip of a tiny tongue between her lips.
 
He drew a wicker chair from the wall and threw himself into it with a sigh.
 
"I only hope it isn't true," he said.
 
She leaned forward over the table, gripping its edge, her face thrust out, like a figure on a ship's prow.
 
"Honest Injun!" she cried, sparkling. "Every word. Durbar to-morrow. Khan's guard and tom-toms round at eleven, and off we march at noon. Oh! don't you wish you were going?"
 
"Not at all," he said drily. "I've never wished to die like a trapped mouse."
 
She drew herself up resentfully.
 
"How dare you say that," she cried; "when you know Lewis will be there!"
 
"All right," he said, too tired to argue; "I'll try to see its good points. How did this happen?"
 
She was a flouting pouting bird again at once.
 
"I did it," she declared.
 
"Oh, did you," he replied without conviction. "When?"
 
"The moment you started foraging. You're the only man in Sar who doesn't care a da—— a fig for what I think, so I had to wait till you were gone. The others!"
 
She gave a shrug to her pretty shoulders.
 
"Well?" enquired Terrington.
 
"Well, a woman's only got to let a man see she thinks he's afraid of anything to put him at it. I let 'em all see," she said, smiling.
 
He looked at her hard.
 
"You think I couldn't?" she challenged.
 
"I've never thought of anything you couldn't," he said simply.
 
She looked at him, laughing softly. Then, raising herself on her wrists, poised her dainty figure above the table, letting it swing between her arms, while she met with the fluttering twist of a smile the intent displeasure in his eyes.
 
"What did you do it for?" he asked.
 
She pushed herself back along the polished table till her knees and knuckles were side by side.
 
"What does a woman ever do anything for?" she retorted, leaning over her perch with her elbows upon her knees. "To show she can," she added, as he offered no solution. "I was going to let you see you weren't the king of Sar."
 
"Good God," he groaned in weary bewilderment. "Where's Sir Colvin?"
 
She shook her head slowly, smiling, from side to side.
 
"Don' know, don' know, don' know!" she babbled. "What did you get?"
 
He took no notice of the question.
 
"And your husband?" he said.
 
"Lewis is with Sir Colvin. May be anywhere. Probably messing up my room. They're preparing for the Durbar," she drawled with soft malice.
 
His preoccupation paid no heed to it; and she went on:
 
"It's wonderful the hours we do things at here. Just decent breakfast-time and we've had half a day. When did your Majesty breakfast?" she asked.
 
"Some time yesterday," he said indifferently. "Has Gale written?"
 
But she was on her feet at once.
 
"Oh, I say!" she cried. "How horrid of you not to tell me!"
 
The tatties on the anteroom entrance had closed behind her, like reeds behind a snowy pheasant, ere she finished speaking, and Terrington could hear the "Kitmatgar, O Kitmatgar!" of her lifted childish voice ring along the empty mess-room.