"I had to get my men on."
He looked on her with more approval.
"Well, you're safe out of it. And now, I beg of you, don't do it any more."
"Is my little scolding all done?" she asked after a pause.
"Forgive me. I did not mean it as a scolding."
She sat upright and rested her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. Her long sea-green eyes softened.
"Listen: I deserve that what you say. I thought I knew, because always I have travelled in a good country. But never the hell of a dry country. I want you to know that you are quite right, and I want to tell you that I know you saved me and my men: and I would not know what to do now if you were not here to help me. There!" she made a pretty outward-flinging gesture. "Is that enough?"
Kingozi, like most men whose natural efficiency has been hardened by wide experience, while impervious to either open or wily antagonism, melted at the first hint of surrender. A wave of kindly feeling overwhelmed the last suspicions--absurd suspicions--his analysis had made. He was prevented from replying by the approach of Simba at the head of eight of the askaris. They slouched along at his heels, sullen and careless, but when they felt the impact of Kingozi's cold glare, they straightened to attention. Kingozi ran his eye over them.
"Where are the other four?" he demanded.
"Three are in the shenzis' village. One says he is very tired."