That 'we,' and a possessive glance—the merest—at her lover, brought down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations. Every one had foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to know....
After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, "I say, I can't stand any more. And it's high time I was off."
"Poor dear! 'When duty calls...?'" Her cool tone was not unsympathetic. "I'll let you off the rest."
She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in the darkness under the portico.
"I shall dream to-night, Roy," she said gravely. "And we may not even see the Pater. He's taken up his abode in the Telegraph Office. Mother will want to bolt. I can see it in her eye!"
"Well, she's right. You ought all to be cleared out of this, instanter."
"Are you—so keen?"
"Of course not." His tone was more impatient than loverly. "I'm only keen to feel—you're safe."
"Oh—safe!" she sighed. "Is one—anywhere—ever?"
"No," he countered with unexpected vigour, "or life wouldn't be worth living. There are degrees of unsafeness, that's all. It's natural—isn't it, darling?—I should want to feel you're out of reach of that crowd. If it had pushed on here, and to Government House, Amritsar doings would have been thrown into the shade."