"Not half as much as you in a wet tent," cried Angela.
"Oh, I'm all right. To-morrow," addressing himself to Mrs. Flant, "I will do my best to get you on down to Khartgodam."
"You are so anxious to be rid of us," cried Miss Ball, coquettish, in Angel's charming tea-jacket with its faint perfume of lilac.
"Oh, no, not at all, but my cousin is most anxious to get down to Mrs. Gordon."
"Oh, do you know Mrs. Gordon?"
"She has known her since she was a child," replied Major Gascoigne. Angel sat by and marvelled. "I will accompany you myself, and put you across the bad bits. But I cannot get leave—in fact, I would not take it, the district is in such an awful condition, and I shall be obliged if you will take charge of my cousin, and hand her over to Mrs. Gordon."
"Oh, we shall be only too delighted," said Mrs. Flant. "It will be so nice all travelling together. It was quite providential our finding the bungalow."
"For me also," he replied. "I was just wondering how Angel really was to travel, and your turning up here is a piece of wonderful good luck."
Angel opened her eyes to their widest extent. Was her guardian an accomplished hypocrite? His countenance, when he had descried those two white faces peering in at the window, had expressed amazement, horror, and disgust.