The girl drew a quick breath.
'Gallant, damme! By Jove! By gad! Yes, gallant, by George!' exclaimed the soldierly man.
The girl seemed to wake from a reverie.
'Uncle Henry, this is Mr Rodman. Mr Rodman, my guardian, Colonel Carteret.'
'Proud to meet you, sir,' said the colonel, his honest blue eyes glowing as he fingered his short crisp moustache. 'As fine a thing as I ever heard of, damme!'
'Yes, you are brave—brave,' the girl whispered.
'I am wet—wet,' said James, and went upstairs to change his clothes.
When he came down for lunch, he found to his relief that the girl had decided not to join them, and Colonel Carteret was silent and preoccupied. James, exerting himself in his capacity of host, tried him with the weather, golf, India, the Government, the high cost of living, first-class cricket, the modern dancing craze, and murderers he had met, but the other still preserved that strange, absent-minded silence. It was only when the meal was concluded and James had produced cigarettes that he came abruptly out of his trance.
'Rodman,' he said, 'I should like to speak to you.'