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It was unfortunate, she thought, that Colonel Dermot, with his extraordinary knowledge of and influence over the Bhutanese, had left India. But even without him the power of the British Empire would be set at once in motion to avenge this outrage on an Englishwoman. Dermot's understudy, the Assistant Political Officer, faithless lover though he was, would do all he could to save her.
We sent away my horse, and she drew me into her favourite path while answering my questions that Dermot had had a good night and was getting up; I should find him in the drawing-room if I waited a little while. She could have me all to herself, for mamma was closeted with Uncle Ery, talking over things and on some word or sound of mine betraying that I guessed what things, it broke out.
They gazed with interest at the stalwart sepoys of the detachment in khaki or white undress whom they passed and who drew themselves up and saluted their commanding sahib smartly. Dermot had given up his small bungalow to his guests and gone to occupy the one vacant quarter in the Mess.
"No!" again said Dermot, as if his tongue refused to move. "Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot tell you!" And he burst into a flood of tears, shaking, choking, even rending him.
Noreen blushed, but Dermot did not observe her heightened colour, for he had taken her programme out of her hand in his usual quiet, masterful manner and was scrutinising it. "You haven't said yet if I may have a dance," he continued. "But I know that on an occasion like this I must lose no time if I want one." "Oh, do you dance?" she asked in surprise.
"Oh yes, Dermot, write, you may trust me; it is better than putting it into my poor mind, though I can remember if it is not overcharged," she answered with a sigh. "But be quick, or some of these people will be suspecting us." Dermot sat up.
"Her mother knows what is in Viola no more than she knows what is in that star. Has Dermot never said anything " "Lady Diana made everyone promise not to say a word to him." "Oh!" "But, Lucy, what hinders it? There's nothing else in the way, is there?" I did not speak the word, but made a gesture of assent. "May I know who it is," said Harold in a voice of pain. "Our poor fellow shall never hear."
Colonel Dermot was helped in his instruction of his pupil by his chief spy and confidential messenger, an ex-monk from a great monastery in Punaka, the capital of Bhutan.
Colquhoun is really called Dermod, but he would have been far too modest to choose Dermot O'Dyna for his Celtic name, had we not insisted; for this historic personage was not only noble-minded, generous, of untarnished honour, and the bravest of the brave, but he was as handsome as he was gallant, and so much the idol of the ladies that he was sometimes called Dermat-na-man, or Dermot of the women.
She picked up her hat and put it on. "I've had a fall from my pony," she explained, trying to reduce her unruly tresses to order. "It shied at the elephants and threw me. Then I suppose it bolted." She looked around but could see nothing except elephants, which were regarding her solemnly. "But where have you come from? Are you far from your camp?" persisted Dermot. "Shall I take you to it?"
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