Crocker grinned.
“He's a Pharisee, too,” thought Shelton, “without a Pharisee's pride. Queer thing that!”
After walking some distance, as if thinking deeply, Crocker chuckled out:
“You 're not consistent; you ought to be in favour of giving up India.”
Shelton smiled uneasily.
“Why should n't we fill our pockets? I only object to the humbug that we talk.”
The Indian civilian put his hand shyly through his arm.
“If I thought like you,” he said, “I could n't stay another day in India.”
And to this Shelton made no reply.
The wind had now begun to drop, and something of the morning's magic was stealing again upon the moor. They were nearing the outskirt fields of cultivation. It was past five when, dropping from the level of the tors, they came into the sunny vale of Monkland.