To those present it seemed, however, as if this was not altogether a misfortune. Mr Crayne had a playful habit of jerking out unpleasant remarks in the interval between two mouthfuls of food, without even lifting his eyes, and continuing his meal without regarding any protest or disclaimer. Before dinner was half over he had told Lady Haigh that her cook did not know how to make curry, criticised adversely the gun-horses, which were the pride of Sir Dugald’s life, and dear to him as children, and sent Ferrers’ heart into his mouth by the announcement that things seemed to have got precious slack at Alibad, but that he was come to pull the reins tighter, thanks to a warning from his nephew. Soon afterwards he told Colin that he ought to have been a parson instead of a soldier, and Penelope that if she came down to Bab-us-Sahel she would see how far behind the fashion her clothes were--which is a thing no self-respecting girl cares to hear said of her, however hopelessly crossed in love she may be. But the climax was reached when he frowned malevolently at his plate, and observed-- “Fine state of things up here. For years Keeling has blazoned himself throughout India as the only man who could get this frontier quiet and keep it so, and yet he can’t make time to eat his dinner or show proper respect, but has to go and hunt murderers.” Every one was thunderstruck by this outburst, but to the general astonishment it was Penelope who responded to the challenge. “That is not fair, Mr Crayne,” she cried indignantly. “If you knew the frontier as we know it, you would wonder that it’s as quiet as it is. The settled inhabitants are perfectly good, and so are the tribes close at hand that know Major Keeling. But fresh tribes are always wandering down here, who haven’t heard of the new state of things. They were always accustomed to raid the villages, and rob and murder as they liked, and they don’t know that they can’t do it now. In time they will all have learnt their lesson, but it may not be for a long while yet.” “Upon my word, young lady!” said Mr Crayne, actually pausing to look at her. “Has Major Keeling engaged you as his official advocate? He ought to be thankful to have found such a champion.” “Miss Ross has only said what we all know and feel,” said Lady Haigh, coming to Penelope’s rescue as she sat silent, flushed but undaunted. “We are all Keelingolaters here, Mr Crayne; and don’t you know it’s very rude to say things against your hostess’s friends at her own table?” Mr Crayne accepted the rebuke with remarkable meekness. “I bow to your ruling, ma’am,” he said, with something like a twinkle in his eye. “At your table, and in your hearing, I am a Keelingolater too. Sir Dugald, a glass of wine with you, if you please.” “You have conquered that old bear, Elma!” said Penelope afterwards to her friend. “I could never have made a joke of what he said.”