CHAPTER XIX
“YES—OR NO?”
Two days after the ball, Captain Falkland called at No. 30 and left my fan with a nice little note, and I must admit that I was sincerely sorry to have missed him.
We were now beginning to make a certain amount of preparation for a move; the regiment had been three years in Secunderabad and was due to go to England by the season’s reliefs. Many people were sending round their auction lists, their dirzees were contriving warm clothes suitable for an English winter, horses and traps had been bespoke, and most of the polo ponies were already sold.
“There is no use,” said the colonel (who always gripped time by the forelock), “in leaving everything to the last moment, and we shall probably find ourselves on the high seas some time in February.”
I confess that I could not endure this prospect, although I prudently kept my own counsel. Already I had learnt that it is unpardonable to announce that you are not delighted to go back to England, but would much prefer to remain in India. With respect to this guilty secret Mrs. Lakin and I were of one mind. I should mention that after all I had only enjoyed the best of India, and I loved the country; I had never experienced a hot season, and had only seen the bright side of life—beautiful Silliram, imposing Hyderabad, the dignified noblemen of the Nizam’s Court, and the warm-hearted Anglo-Indian community.
At this time—which was shortly before Christmas—Ronnie was unusually busy. He rarely had a spare hour to ride with me of a morning, or to drive me down to the tennis courts. The colonel was “so beastly fussy,” he said, and there was such a lot to do when a regiment was under orders for home. Ronnie was often late for dinner, as he would gallop down to the club for a game of rackets or billiards—“something to work off orderly room and red tape”—and there he often forgot both time—and me!
One evening I was sitting in the drawing-room, patiently awaiting his return, when I heard someone ride up, and called out: “Oh, Ronnie, I’m afraid your dinner is a cinder!”
As there was no reply I looked over my shoulder and, to my amazement, beheld Captain Falkland standing in the doorway. It was after eight o’clock. What could have brought him? Perhaps he had come to break the news of an accident to my brother—who rode and drove at headlong speed.
“Has anything happened?” I asked, springing to my feet.
“Nothing to anyone that concerns you,” he answered; “only to me.”