“Why it’s Elvesdon and—Prior,” said Thornhill, lowering the glasses. “And they’ve both brought guns. You didn’t send word, did you, that you were plotting this hunt?”
“No, and it’s a beastly bore they’ve turned up just now,” she answered pettishly. “Now I can’t take my gun.”
“Why not?”
“You know I never shoot when there’s a crowd.”
“Oh well. We know Elvesdon well enough by this time, and Prior’s only a young ’un. I wouldn’t let that count.”
Edala did not want much persuading.
“We had better make a whole day of it then,” she said. “I’ll tell Ramasam to put up lunch, and it had better be taken down to Bees’ Nest Kloof by one o’clock.”
“All right, dear. Do that,” said Thornhill rising.
By this time the new arrivals were riding up to the open space in front of the stables; the dogs squirming and leaping around them and uttering a perfectly frantic clamour. But it was an amicable riot this time, for the guns carried by the two officials told those intelligent quadrupeds that sport was afoot, wherefore they were simply beside themselves with delight.
“Well, Elvesdon, how are you—how are you. Prior?” said Thornhill, meeting the pair as they dismounted. “Why this is a case of the veriest telepathy. Edala had just suggested we should show Miss Carden some sport in the kloofs, and here you turn up, just in the very nick of time.”