Adroitly he detached her from the crowd that had already begun to disperse in groups and pairs. As Stella and Sir George moved off together Maud and her husband went by; Dick Matthews had arrived at Surima the previous evening, and Bobbie Nash, as some wag had remarked, was nursing his nose in the background for the time being; the only individual, perhaps, who was not altogether enjoying the picnic.
"Don't attempt to follow us!" called Maud as she passed Stella and the General, and she looked back at them over her shoulder, pulled down her mouth, cast up her eyes, then tucked her arm into Dick's and stepped out beside him with an air of exaggerated virtue.
"Little cat!" exclaimed the General, highly entertained with her antics, "as if we should want to follow them!" He glanced about, scanning various directions in which they might hope to find privacy; and presently they were climbing the slope of the mountain above the waterfall to seat themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree screened by a tangle of ferns, saplings, feathery bamboos, beneath the shade of the oaks that rose densely behind them.
Sir George took out his cigarette case. "Well," he said with a resigned sigh, "it's sad to think we shall all be scattered during the next ten days. I wonder when and where you and I will meet again!"
"Goodness knows!" Privately Stella did not particularly care. "Don't let us look forward."
Yet his words gave her a sense of depression after all the gaiety and the glamour of the picnic luncheon and the surface excitement of the tournament. She was tired, conscious of reaction; her spirits fell. She would have preferred to sit silent, listening to the music of the waterfall, the cheerful chirrup of the crickets, to be soothed by the scenery and the soft evening sunshine, the peace and the remoteness of the surroundings.
"Not look forward to our meeting again?" Reproachful astonishment was in the General's tone as he leaned forward to look into her eyes. "Do you mean to forget me, little girl?"
She was aware of a certain magic in his bold, strong face, in his maturity, and experience of women and of the world. Stella felt helpless, ensnared, yet the ensnarement was enticing, held a baleful fascination. So often during these months at Surima she had felt it, felt at the same time that it meant nothing serious; it was just a game, but a game that Sir George knew so much better than she did how to play without fear of disastrous result. More than once had he led her, as it were, to the edge of the volcano; just a peep over and a timely withdrawal into safety.
"Why don't you answer?" he laid his hand on hers; she moved her hand quickly, yet, as before, not altogether unwilling to dally with the moment that held a little thrill of excitement.