"Have your orders come?" she asked anxiously.
"No, but I expect them hourly. It is too late for you to be out this hot morning, and high time you were up in the hills."
"Yes, in Garhwal—remember your promise, Phil."
"You may follow later, but I could not possibly take you now."
"Why not?"
"I shall have to make arrangements, and put up some kind of a house. Angel, I warn you most solemnly that the life will be monotonous; you won't like it—you have evolved an elysium out of your imagination. The reality is—Tartar faces, Tartar fare, forbidding, barren mountains, and a distinct flavour of central Asian squalor."
"So much the better," she answered recklessly. "I want to break new ground, and explore a land beyond curling-pins and fashions; I am longing for a change."
"That you may certainly reckon on."
"I don't want a pretty hill station, with bands, and garden parties, and three posts a day. I wish to get away from every one, among the wild, bare mountains, catch the spirit of your work, and perhaps overtake an adventure."
"Or be overtaken by one, in the shape of a bear or a landslip. Well, I suppose you must have your way. I have arranged to rent Rockstone, the Warings' house at the Chotah Bilat—you know it. It is very pretty and secluded, sufficiently aloof from the madding crowd, and close to the Colliers, who will look after you. By the end of May I shall either come and fetch you or send a strong escort to bring you into Garhwal. How will that suit you, Mrs. G.?"