“Somewhere on the side of the mountain. I don’t know the localities here yet,” replied Vivien, with perfect ease. She had been about to say, “at the markhôr cave,” but remembering Campian’s hint, refrained. “He had been out after markhôr, with that nice-looking old forester of Mr Upward’s, and was on his way back.”
“Did he get any shots?”
“One, and missed it. He was quite unconcerned about it though, and didn’t go out of his way to invent half a hundred excuses for having missed it.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the colonel. “So many of these young fellows—and old ones too—are always full of reasons of that kind. A stone slipped from under their foot, or the shikari sneezed, or something. There is something I rather like about that man. Who is he? Do you know anything about him?”
This was shooting the bolt home with a vengeance. But Vivien’s self-possession was equal to the strain.
“Isn’t there a family of that name in Brackenshire?” she asked carelessly.
“I believe there is. Yes, very likely. I thought we might ask him to come and stay a week or so when he has done with the Upwards, or even before. What do you think about it, Vivien?”
“Wouldn’t he find it desperately slow here, Uncle Edward?” she said, as serenely as before.
“Perhaps; I don’t know. If he did, he could always take himself off again. And now, if you’ll excuse me, dear, I’ll do likewise, for that confounded Levy sowar will be here directly for the dâk, and I’ve got a whole pile of letters to write. It’s mail day, too.”
Left to herself, Vivien moved about the room arranging here, dusting a little there. No flowers were obtainable in this arid region of rocks, save a few wild ones, but even of these she had made the best; and what with little touches of feminine tastefulness in the arrangement of the rooms, the old forest bungalow, rough and racketty, and hardly better than a mere rest-house, stood quite transformed. Then, passing into her own room, she shut the door, and sat down to think.