These carts, with the three or four carriages which had conveyed the elder members of the party, were obliged to return home by the track across the plain, but it was possible for the riders to take a short cut through the hills for the first part of the way. While a discussion was going on as to the path to be chosen, Flora Graham moved close to Mabel. “Oh, Mab,” she murmured hastily, “do you think you could get Mr Brendon to ride with you? He persists in sticking to me, and I know Fred won’t like it when he hears. He’s a little inclined to be jealous, you know, because once, before we were engaged, he thought I liked Mr Brendon. Besides, I want to ride with Mr Milton, and talk to him about Fred.” Milton, the youth who was Fred Haycraft’s comrade at Fort Shah Nawaz, had cheerfully put up with the fag-end of the holidays that his senior might enjoy as much of Miss Graham’s society as possible. He was delighted with the proposed arrangement, and Mabel had little difficulty in attaching Mr Brendon to herself when he found that the post he coveted was already bespoken. It was obvious, however, to keen-eyed observers that Mr Burgrave and Fitz Anstruther had both been promising themselves the pleasure of riding with Mabel, and the sudden blankness of their faces when they found themselves forestalled by this outsider was much appreciated. Finally, either moved by a certain vague fellow-feeling, or each impelled by the determination to see that the other played fair, they fell in together behind Mabel and her cavalier, riding rather in advance of the rest. As for Mabel, she felt it distinctly hard to be obliged to sacrifice herself in this way for Flora’s benefit. Mr Brendon, of the Public Works Department, was a most estimable young man, but he suffered from a plethora of useful knowledge. To ask him a question was like pulling the string of a shower-bath, which let loose a flood of information on the head of the unwary questioner. Mabel had intended to let him prose as he liked, while she thought about other things, and jerked the string, so to speak, at the requisite intervals, but he was far too polite to monopolise the conversation. He paused for her replies or invited her opinion so often, while clearly ready to supply the needed answer himself, that she had not a moment for meditation, and found the ride almost unendurable. She had just succeeded in hiding an irrepressible yawn when a happy idea came to her as she was approaching a state of desperation. “Oh, here is quite a nice level piece of ground! Let us race, Mr Brendon.”