"Theo!" Instant reproach clouded the April brightness of her face. "How horrid you are! I thought you liked to have me here as long as possible."
He laughed outright at that. He was apt to find her unreasonableness more charming than irritating.
"Surely, little woman, that goes without saying. But if the heat is troubling you, and headaches, I like better to have you where you can be rid of both; and as the notion seems to please you, we'll consider the matter settled."
Between nine and ten that evening, when the three were sitting together in the drawing-room, the outer stillness was broken by a sound of many footsteps and voices rapidly nearing the house. No native crowd this time. The steps and voices were unmistakably English; and Desmond rose hastily.
"This must be Rajinder Singh's doing! It looks as if they meant to overwhelm us in force."
Evelyn had risen also, with a slight frown between her brows.
"Can't I go to bed before they come, Theo? I'm very tired, and they're sure to make a dreadful noise."
"I'm afraid that won't do at all," he said decisively, a rare note of reproof in his tone. "They probably won't stop long, and you must please stay up till they go."
As he spoke, Harry Denvil in white Mess uniform, scarlet kummerband, and jingling spurs, plunged into the room.