“You’re spilling the milk,” said the interfering Angel. “Shall I help you?”
“No, thank you,” she replied tartly.
“This tea is delicious,” said Angel, unabashed, as he took his cup. He had come to perform a duty, and he was going through with it. “You won’t get afternoon tea on the Sangar River, Jimmy. I know because I have been there, and I wouldn’t go again, not even if they made me governor of the province.”
“Why?” she asked, with a futile attempt to appear indifferent.
“Please take no notice of Angel, Miss Kent,” implored Jimmy, and added malevolently, “Angel is a big game shot, you know, and he is anxious to impress you with the extent and dangers of his travels.”
“That is so,” agreed Angel contentedly, “but all the same, Miss Kent, I must stand by what I said in regard to the ‘Frongo.’ It’s a deadly country, full of fever. I’ve known chaps to complain of a headache at four o’clock and be dead by ten, and Jimmy knows it too.”
“You are very depressing to-day, Mr. Angel,” said the girl. She felt unaccountably shaky, and tried to tell herself that it was because she had not recovered from the effects of her recent exciting experiences.
“I was with a party once on the Sangar River,” Angel said, cocking a reflective eye at the ceiling. “We were looking for elephants, too, a terribly dangerous business. I’ve known a bull elephant charge a hunter and——”
“Angel!” stormed Jimmy, “will you be kind enough to reserve your reminiscences for another occasion?”
Angel rose and put down his teacup sadly.