As her head withdrew with a shrill call to the kitmatgah, Sir Colvin and Chantry entered from the verandah.
The Commissioner, with the sense of nakedness which men have felt so often since the days of Eve from following a woman's counsel, wished, on learning of Terrington's arrival, to confront him personally with the news of the Durbar. So after he had seated himself and listened to what could be told him on the prospects of supply, he put the question with an exaggerated imitation of his own bluffness.
"Well! I suppose you've heard of the Durbar?"
"I'm afraid, sir," said the other, "I've been too hungry to hear of anything but breakfast. It's to be cold chikor," he added, smiling, as Rose Chantry, followed by the kitmatgah, made a muslin whiteness in the mess room-door.
She heard the cheerful lie with a flash of admiration for the man who spoke it.
So many beaten men, she knew, would have jumped at the peevish chance to hit back, especially when the hard truth to hit with was in their hands.
"Well," continued Sir Colvin, saluting Mrs. Chantry and reseating himself, as the tray was laid before Terrington, "I decided, as no reply came to my last demand, some sort of move must be made at once, if we weren't to be boxed here all the winter. So, as there was no chance of ferreting the Khan out of that hole of his, we're going to talk him into reason over there."
Terrington, with his knife in the partridge, looked up and nodded.
"I suppose the plan's no more to your mind than ever?" queried the Commissioner.
"No, sir," said his military adviser. "I think it's even less."