"I forgot you couldn't know my name," said the girl frankly, when a rapid scrutiny had shown that none were addressed to her. "I'm Belle Stuart; my father lives at Faizapore."
"Not Colonel Stuart of the Commissariat?"
"Yes! Do you know him?"
A radiant smile lit up her face with such a curve of red lips, and flash of white teeth, that the spectator might well have been infected by its wholesome sweetness into an answering look. Major Marsden's eyes, however, only narrowed with perplexed enquiry as he said bluntly, "Yes, slightly."
"Then perhaps father sent you to fetch me?"
This time he relaxed; confidence is catching. "I'm afraid not; but possibly if he had known I was to be here he might. At all events I can make myself useful."
"How?"
"I can get you a gharri--that is a carriage--and start you for Faizapore. It is sixty miles from here as you know."
She bent down to pick up her rugs. "I did not know. You see I expected father."
Philip Marsden felt impelled to consolation. "He has been delayed. Most likely there has been"--in his haste to put forward a solid excuse he was just about to say "an accident," but floundered instead into a bald "something to detain him."