Father Ninian frowned, and deliberately put on the gold pince-nez which always hung around his neck. He seldom used it, however, being, he would say playfully, in his native Scotch, too "well acquaint" with Eshwara and all in it to need such help after fifty years experience. So it had come to be an unfailing sign that he was face to face with something unexpected, something new. Naturally, therefore, it changed the character of his face, bringing back to it a strange look of youth; of hope and energy--the look of choice which age has not.
"Roshan Khân," he echoed, "why comes he here?" Then in sudden recollection he turned to Vincent Dering. "Of course, he comes with you. I knew he was in your regiment, but I did not think."
Captain Dering put down the child gently. "Is there any reason, sir," he asked decisively, "why he should not be here? If so--"
Father Ninian took off his eye-glasses slowly. He was back on familiar ground. "No!" he said, with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders; "none. He is welcome to come if he likes. He is a fine soldier, Captain Dering, and a good fencer."
"The best I have ever come across," put in Lance Carlyon.
Father Ninian laughed, a satisfied, vainglorious little laugh, and bowed, with his hand on his heart, in foreign fashion. It seemed almost as if something had brought back the manners of a different life.
"His master thanks you," he said gaily. "I taught him; but as Esmond said of the botte de Jesuit--not all. We craftsmen keep something up our sleeve for our own use!"
Lance Carlyon's face grew eager. He had heard of Father Ninian's art with the foils, and took his opportunity. "That's what Roshan does to me. I took lessons from him, but he licks my head off with tricks. Perhaps some day, sir--"
Father Ninian's right hand and wrist, despite their age, flourished themselves with marvellous suppleness. "Of a surety! Of a surety," he interrupted, still in that gay, almost reckless voice, "and I will teach you 'L'Addio del Marito.' I never taught that to Roshan--it does not do for savage natures."
"The husband's good-by! What a funny name," echoed Laila, curiously. "Why is it called that, guardian?"