"Thank you, sir. I'd no notion——" Roy murmured, overwhelmed, as Elton—seeing Miss Garten stranded—moved dutifully to her rescue.
Miss Arden glanced again at Roy. "Are you inclining that way?"
The question took him aback.
"Me? No. Of course I'd love it—for some things."
"You're well out of it, in my opinion. It'll soon be no country for a white man. He's already little more than a futile superfluity——"
"On the contrary," Roy struck in warmly, "the Englishman—of the rightest sort, is more than ever needed in India to-day."
Her slight shrug conceded the point. "I never argue! And if you start on that subject—I'm nowhere! You can save it all up for the Pater. He's rather a dear—don't you think?"
"He's splendid."
Her smile had its caressing quality. "That's the last adjective any one else would apply to him! But it's true. There's a fine streak in him—very carefully hidden away. People don't see it, because he's shy and clumsy and hasn't an ounce of push. But he understands the natives. Loves them. Goodness knows why. And he's got the right touch. I could tell you a tale——"
"Do!" he urged. "Tales are my pet weakness."