_nullah_ again; and a few more runs added another couple of boars to the
bag. Then, after iced drinks while their saddles were being changed back
on to their own horses, the Britishers mounted and started on their
homeward journey.

Without quite knowing how it happened Wargrave found himself riding
beside Mrs. Norton behind the rest of the party. On the way back they
chatted freely and without restraint, like old friends. For the
incidents of the day had served to sweep away formality between them and
to give them a sense of long acquaintanceship and mutual liking. And,
when the time came for Mrs. Norton to separate from the others as she
reached the spot where the road to the Residency branched off, the
subaltern volunteered to accompany her.

It had not taken them long to discover that they had several tastes in
common.

"So you like good music?" she said after a chance remark of his. "It is
pleasant to find a kindred spirit in this desolate place. The ladies and
the other officers of your regiment are Philistines. Ragtime is more in
their line than Grieg or Brahms. And the other day Captain Ross asked me
if Tschaikowsky wasn't the Russian dancer at the Coliseum in town."

Wargrave laughed.

"I know. I became very unpopular when I was Band President and made our
band play Wagner all one night during Mess. I gave up trying to elevate
their musical taste when the Colonel told me to order the bandmaster to
'stop that awful rubbish and play something good, like the selection
from the last London _revue_.'"