“But why shouldn’t she know?”
“Because out here we learn to stick together. Quarrel in private as much as you like, but present a united front to the foe,” said Georgia sententiously, as she pulled up before her own verandah. Two horses, in charge of native grooms, were waiting at the door.
“Our visitors have arrived before us,” said Mabel, and they hurried into the drawing-room, to find an elderly man of soldierly appearance and a tall yellow-haired girl waiting patiently for them.
“I’m afraid you will think us very rude for thrusting ourselves upon you so soon, and at this time of day,” said Miss Graham, addressing herself to Mabel, after Georgia had apologised for their absence, “but my father happened to have time to come with me just now, and I was so very anxious to see you——”
“How sweet of you!” murmured Mabel softly, as the visitor stopped abruptly.
“Because I want to ask you a favour,” finished Miss Graham. Her father laughed, and Mabel looked politely interested. “I want you to be Queen of the Tournament next week instead of me.”
“Oh, Georgie!” cried Mabel; “and you said that life out here was modern and unromantic! Why, here we are plunged into the Middle Ages at once.”
“It’s only my daughter’s poetical way of speaking of our annual gymkhana,” explained Colonel Graham. “She has officiated so often that she feels shy. The real fact is,” he turned confidentially to Georgia, “Haycraft has loafed about here so much that he’s wretchedly stale this year, and Flora can’t bear to give a prize to any one else.”
“No, no, papa; what a shame!” cried Miss Graham, blushing. “You see, Miss North, I have really done it a good many times, and I’m sure everybody would like to see some one new. Besides, I am engaged, you know, and—and——”
“And it would make it more realistic if the opposing heroes felt they were really struggling for the Queen’s favour?” said her father. “Well, that’s easily managed. Intimate to Haycraft that unless he wins he’ll have to resign you to the successful competitor.”