“And now,” said he, “it is late, but if we ride towards Annandale we may meet them coming back from the polo match we have missed.”  His eyes glowed at the thought.  Shere Ali, the maharajah, bonds, principal, and interest, were all forgotten in the anticipation of a brief meeting with the woman he loved.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VI.

“Why did you not come and see the game?  After all your enthusiasm about polo this morning, I did not think you would miss anything so good,” were the first words of Miss Westonhaugh as we met her and Kildare in the narrow path that leads down to Annandale.  Two men were riding behind them, who proved to be Mr. Currie Ghyrkins and Mr. John Westonhaugh.  The latter was duly introduced to us; a quiet, spare man, with his sister’s features, but without a trace of her superb colour and animal spirits.  He had the real Bombay paleness, and had been steamed to the bone through the rains.  As we were introduced, Isaacs started and said quickly that he believed he had met Mr. Westonhaugh before.

“It is possible, quite possible,” said that gentleman affably, “especially if you ever go to Bombay.”

“Yes—­it was in Bombay—­some twelve years ago.  You have probably forgotten me.”

“Ah, yes.  I was young and green then.  I wonder you remember me.”  He did not show any very lively interest in the matter, though he smiled pleasantly.

Miss Westonhaugh must have been teasing Lord Steepleton, for he looked flushed and annoyed, and she was in capital spirits.  We turned to go back with the party, and by a turn of the wrist Isaacs wheeled his horse to the side of Miss Westonhaugh’s, a position he did not again abandon.  They were leading, and I resolved they should have a chance, as the path was not broad enough for more than two to ride abreast.  So I furtively excited my horse by a touch of the heel and a quick strain on the curb, throwing him across the road, and thus producing a momentary delay, of which the two riders in front took advantage to increase their distance.  Then we fell in, Mr. Ghyrkins and I in front, while the dejected Kildare rode behind with Mr. John Westonhaugh.  Ghyrkins and I, being heavy men, heavily mounted, controlled the situation, and before long Isaacs and Miss Westonhaugh were a couple of hundred yards ahead, and we only caught occasional glimpses of them through the trees as they wound in and out along the path.

“What are those youngsters talking about, back there?  Tigers, I’ll be bound,” said Mr. Ghyrkina to me.  Sure enough, they were.

“What do you suppose I found when we got back this afternoon, Mr. Griggs?  Why, this hair-brained young Kildare has been proposing to my niece——­” his horse stumbled, but recovered himself in a moment.

“You don’t mean it,” said I, rather startled.

“Oh no, no, no.  I don’t mean that at all.  Ha! ha! ha! very good, very good.  No, no.  Lord Steepleton wants us all to go on a tiger-hunt to amuse John, and he proposes—­ha! ha!—­really too funny of me—­that Miss Westonhaugh should go with us.”