She coloured a little. "Do you really like seeing things die?"
"Oh, that!" said Noel. "You're squeamish, are you? No, I'm never taken that way myself. That is in great part why I came here. I hoped—everyone thought—there was going to be some sort of shindy. But—I suppose it's the result of your clever little uncle's tactics—it seems to have fizzled out. Very satisfactory for him no doubt, but rather rough luck on us."
"Was there really any danger?" Olga asked.
"Oh, rather! The city was simply swarming with budmashes, and it was said that the priests had begun to preach a jehad against the British raj. Then there was a bomb found on the parade-ground one night, close under the fort. It would have blown a good many of us sky-high if it had exploded, and damaged the fort as well. Badgers was quite indignant. You see the fort has just been painted and generally smartened up in anticipation of General Bassett coming this way. He is expected on a tour of inspection in a few weeks, and we naturally want to look our best when the officer commanding the district is around. Hence the righteous wrath of Badgers!"
"I never heard of all this," said Olga, from whose ears the seething unrest of the State had been studiously kept by Nick.
"No?" said Noel. "Well, there's no chance now of any fun here. I'm pinning all my hopes on the possibility of a shine on the Frontier."
Olga looked at his brown, alert face with its restless Irish eyes, and understood. "You never think of the horrid part, do you?" she said.
He laughed, and flicked his whip at a wizened monkey-face that peered at them round the bole of a tree. "What do you mean by the horrid part?"
She hesitated.
He turned his gay face to her. "Do you mean the hardships or the actual fighting?"