As he
moved here and there, there was a sinuous grace, panther-like, as if he
strode on soft pads. At rest his tall figure had the set-up of a
soldier.
As the three in the brake studied the handsome Ajeet, a girl stepped
forward and stood contemplating them.
"By Jove!" the exclamation had been Captain Barlow's; and Elizabeth,
with the devilish premonition of an acute woman knew that it was a
masculine's involuntary tribute to feminine attractivity.
She had turned to look at the Captain.
Nana Sahib, little less vibrant than a woman in his sensitive
organisation, showed his even, white teeth: "Don't blame you, old
chap," he said; "she's all that. I fancy that's the girl they call
Gulab Begum. Am I right, Sirdar?"
"Yes, Prince," Jean Baptiste answered. "The girl is a relative of the
handsome Ajeet."
"She's simply stunning!" Captain Barlow said, as it were, meditatively.
But Nana Sahib, knowing perfectly well what this observation would do
to the austere, exact, dominating daughter of a precise man, the
Resident, muttered to himself: "Colossal ass! an impressionable cuss
should have a _purdah_ hung over his soul--or be gagged.
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