“That’s that round-faced man who is regimental chaplain,” mused Chum. “He always puts me in mind of a cherub out for a holiday.”
The Churtons joined them in the church porch, Diana in a holland habit and white helmet, as near to khaki as might be. She annexed Ally with the boldness of a woman accustomed to stalk her game in the open, and Mrs. Lewin turned to the Major to mount her, in no wise disturbed. They sat on their ponies for a minute to allow the men to pass, before turning to the bridle path that made a short cut to Maitso, and as the Wessex swung past her, Chum looked along the road taken by the moving helmets, and saw a solitary horseman stopped in like manner to themselves.
“Gregory’s Powder!” said Diana over her shoulder to those behind her.
Besides the Churtons’ and the Lewins’ ponies, the road was blocked by Captain and Mrs. Gilderoy, an open cart belonging to the Denver girl, and several other people and their modes of conveyance. As he came full into a group that he knew, the Administrator per force stopped and touched his helmet to the party. He looked more at his ease in the saddle than in correct cloth at some Key’land function, as Mrs. Lewin had hitherto met him, though he rode with a loose-limbed carelessness that contrasted with the firm seats and carriage of the army men.
“How do you do, Mr. Gregory? Have you been to church in the open air?” Di Churton called across the last of the retreating khaki figures.
“I do not go to church, except officially,” said the Administrator, without any softening of the assertion. “It is getting hot for ladies to be in the saddle, isn’t it?”
“Well, you should order the services earlier,” retorted Mrs. Churton. “I suppose your authority might do something even in that particular—officially! We are taking possession of your Secretary and Mrs. Lewin, who are coming up to lunch with us.”
Something crossed the Administrator’s face—a gleam of satiric memory to which Chum had not the key. But as his eyes met hers, and he saluted again, she tried to hold them with an impersonal effort that had become habit to her.
“Where is Mr. Halton this morning?” was what she happened to say with a little smile, and she left her face, and her figure which was so at ease with her pony, to do the rest.
The gleam in Gregory’s eyes became a silent laugh. “I don’t know—I thought he was going to church,” he said drily; and then he made a passing remark to Miss Denver and Mrs. Gilderoy, and rode away as if he had done his duty.