They had sat late,
discussing the changes and chances of twenty years, recalling the
names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the living, as is the
custom of men meeting after intervals of action.
Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda,
still regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey
frock-coat and garments much too thin for the time of the year,
and a puggried sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a
shooting coat, riding breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs,
and a battered flax helmet. He had ridden some miles in the early
morning to inspect a doubtful river dam. The men's faces differed
as much as their attire. Orde's worn and wrinkled around the eyes,
and grizzled at the temples, was the harder and more square of the
two, and it was with something like envy that the owner looked at
the comfortable outlines of Pagett's blandly receptive countenance,
the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, clean-shaved
lips.
"And this is India!" said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long
and intently at the grey feathering of tbe tamarisks.
"One portion of India only. It's very much like this for 300 miles in
every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I
wouldn't ask the old question before--what d'you think of the
country?"
'Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen.
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