G. That's another thing I am afraid of. D'you s'pose they know?
M. Let's hope not; but they're deadly quick to spot skrim—little things of that kind. See here, old man, send the Wife Home for the hot weather and come to Kashmir with me. We'll start a boat on the Dal or cross the Rhotang—shoot ibex or loaf—which you please. Only come! You're a bit off your oats and you're talking nonsense. Look at the Colonel—swag-bellied rascal that he is. He has a wife and no end of a bow-window of his own. Can any one of us ride round him—chalk-stones and all? I can't, and I think I can shove a crock along a bit.
G. Some men are different. I haven't the nerve. Lord help me, I haven't the nerve! I've taken up a hole and a half to get my knees well under the wallets. I can't help it. I'm so afraid of anything happening to me. On my soul, I ought to be broke in front of the squadron, for cowardice.
M. Ugly word, that. I should never have the courage to own up.
G. I meant to lie about my reasons when I began, but—I've got out of the habit of lying to you, old man. Jack, you won't?—But I know you won't.
M. Of course not. (Half aloud.) The Pinks are paying dearly for their Pride.
G. Eh! Wha-at?
M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us.
G. 'Tisn't her fault. Don't think that. It's all mine.
M. What does she say?