Beryl glanced at him, and he bowed in his courtly way. "I hope you don't
mind," he murmured.
She did mind exceedingly, but it was impossible to say so. She could
only yield to the inevitable and rest the tips of her fingers upon his
sleeve.
It was with a decided sense of relief that she found Major Fletcher
seated on her other side. A handsome, well-mannered cavalier was Major
Fletcher, by every line of his figure a soldier, by every word of his
conversation a gentleman. Exceedingly self-possessed at all times, it
was seldom, if ever, that he laid himself open to a snub. It was
probably for this very reason that Beryl liked him better than most of
the men in Kundaghat, was less distant with him, and usually granted the
very little that he asked of her.
She turned to him at once with a random remark about the polo-players,
wondering if they would be able to hold their own against a native team
with whom a match had been arranged for the following week.
"Oh, I think so," he said. "The Farabad men are strong, but our fellows
are hard to beat. It won't be a walkover for either side."
"Where will the match be played?" she asked, nervously afraid of letting
the subject drop lest Lord Ronald should claim her attention.
"Here," said Major Fletcher. "It was originally to have been at Farabad,
but there was some difficulty about the ground. I was over there
arranging matters only this evening.
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