"Indeed!" murmured Philip, inwardly apprehensive. The Charitable Relief Fund Committee sometimes added heavily to his work and responsibilities, admirable though its purpose, welcome though its help.
"Yes, I've been hoping all day to get hold of you, but you were always somewhere else."
"Please come in." He glanced around dubiously, for the interior of the tent seemed hardly fit for the reception of a lady; files and papers heaped on the table, on the chairs, even on the floor; dust, cigarette ends, everywhere; camp equipage, boxes, books and boots, in a hopeless jumble.
"I'm afraid it's all very untidy," he added as he cleared a seat.
The brisk, high voice responded: "What does it matter! Who can hope to be tidy in these horrible circumstances. I feel very untidy myself."
She did not look it, whatever she felt. Here was no typical Zenana Mission female, but a long-limbed, well-built girl, garbed in a neat holland frock, brown shoes, wash-leather gloves, and an obviously English felt hat, bound with a blue puggaree, that proclaimed itself "Indispensable for travel in the East." All very plain and serviceable, but to an experienced eye undoubtedly expensive.
To Flint's astonishment she took off her hat, carelessly, as any man might have done, and dropped it beside her chair. He saw that her hair was cropped short, a thick mop of curling, fox-coloured hair; that her eyes, clear and shining, were grey (and truculent), that her freckled irregular nose and rather large mouth had a certain charm. He felt faintly scandalised when she proceeded to help herself calmly to a cigarette from his box, lighting it with an accustomed air. Smoking among ladies was not general in India at that period. Seated, she crossed her legs, showing slim ankles and neatly-turned calves in brown stockings.
"Well," she began, "I thought someone ought to come and tell you that a lot of people have bolted from the relief works."
"Yes, I know——"