"No, not in the least; they think it will pass quietly over the river bed, and this is the view of the pilgrims, who are furious because their ordinary route is forbidden."
"By Jove, and I don't wonder," said General Bothwell, combatively. "Instead of arranging for the outlet of the water, a telegraph line has been erected—no doubt at immense cost—to apprise people of the danger of a flood which may come in a month, a year—or never!" and he laughed derisively. "I think, whoever has hit on the telegraph as a means of dealing with an engineering difficulty, will look uncommonly foolish."
"I am the culprit," coolly confessed Gascoigne. "To divert the lake otherwise would cost two million of rupees; India is poor, and there is not time to erect masonry weirs, outfalls, and shoots."
"And so," said Sir Cupid, "you have resolved to let it slide? And you believe there will be a big flood?"
"Yes, I am sure of it," replied Gascoigne, with emphasis.
"How I should like to see it."
"I shall see it," announced Angel. "Philip has promised to take me with him."
"Much against his will," he supplemented, with a laugh.
"But I am going in spite of him," she answered, with a glance of gay defiance. "I was born in the Himalayas; I am a hill woman."
"Yes; that is certain," said Sir Capel, promptly.