“You never did say that. You never called me anything—until—”
“Likely. It’s a little way I have. I say—It’s rather fun chikór shooting in the early morning. What?”
“That means, I suppose, that you’re tired of talking, and would like to go on.” And she rose from her seat.
“Not at all. Sit down again. That’s right. For present purposes it means that you won’t go out with me any more like this of a morning after those two Johnnies come.”
“You won’t want me then. You can all go out together. I should only be in the way.”
“That remark would afford nine-tenths of the British Army the opportunity of retorting, ‘You could never be that.’ I, however, will be brutally singular. Very probably you would be in the way—”
“Thanks.”
“If we all went out together—I was going to say when you interrupted me.”
A touch on the arm interrupted hint. It came from Bhallu Khan, who, having concluded his devotions was standing at Campian’s side, making vehement gesticulations of warning and silence.
“Eh—what is it?” whispered Campian, looking eagerly in the direction pointed at by the other.