Travers
could not help thinking, as he glanced from one to the other, that,
had it not been for the dress, it would have been difficult to decide
who was the native prince and who the officer. Nehal Singh's high
forehead and clean-cut features might have been those of a European,
and his complexion, if anything, was fairer than that of the sunburnt
man opposite him. It was doubtful, too, which of the two faces was the
more striking. Travers felt himself irresistibly drawn to the
new-comer. The bold, aquiline nose, the determined mouth under the
close-cut moustache, the broad forehead with the white line where the
military helmet had protected from the sun, the black hair prematurely
sprinkled with grey--these, together with the well-built figure, made
him seem worthy of the record of heroism and ability with which his
name was associated.
"If you want a rest, your only hope is with the ladies," Travers said,
as he turned with Nicholson toward the garden. "They are the only
people who haven't got mines and industrial progress on the brain. Are
you prepared to be lionized, by the way? We are all so heartily sick
of one another that a new arrival is bound to be pursued to death."
"I don't care so long as I get in some decent tennis and polo,"
Nicholson answered cheerfully. "Not that I've starved in that respect.
I got my men up at the Fort into splendid form. We made our net and
racquets ourselves, and rolled out some sort of a court.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205