“What did these two do?” asked Granger, his host of the previous night.

“Not much.  They tried to stand their ground, but didn’t really give much trouble.  So I took Miss Daleham up on my elephant and we started back.  But like a fool I stopped on the way to have grub, and somebody began shooting at us from the jungle, until wild elephants turned up and cleared them off.  Then we came on here.  That’s all.”

These was a moment’s silence.  Then Granger, in disgusted tones, exclaimed: 

“Well, Major, of all the poor story-tellers I’ve ever heard, you’re the very worst.  One would think you’d only been for a stroll in a quiet English lane.  ‘Then we came on here.  That’s all.’”

“Oh, yes, you can’t ask us to believe it was as tame as that, Major,” said another planter.  “We expected to hear something a little more exciting.”

“You go out after thirty or forty raiders—­”

“No, only twenty-two all told,” corrected Dermot.

“All right, only twenty-two, come back with three hits on you and your elephant up to his eyes in blood and—­and—­well, hang it all, Major, let’s have some more details.”

“Come, Miss Daleham,” Payne broke in, “you tell us what happened.  I know Dermot, and we won’t get any more out of him.”

“Yes; let’s hear all about it, Noreen,” said her brother.  “I’m sure it wasn’t as tame as the Major says.”

“Tame?” echoed the girl, smiling.  “I’ve had enough excitement to last me all my life, dear.  I think that Major Dermot has put it rather mildly.  I’m sure even I could tell the story better.”

She narrated their adventures, giving her rescuer, despite his protests, full credit for his courage and resource, only omitting the details of their picnic meal and slurring over their relief by the wild elephants.  The planters listened eagerly to her tale, breaking into applause at times.  When she had finished Parry laid a heavy hand on Dermot’s shoulder and said solemnly, though thickly: 

“Look you, you are a bad liar, Major Dermot.  Your story would not deceive a child, whateffer.  But I am proud of you.  You should have been a Welshman.”

The rest overwhelmed the soldier with compliments and congratulations, much to his embarrassment, and when Noreen left the room to supervise the arrangement of the supper-table they plied him with questions without extracting much more information from him.  But when a servant came to announce that the meal was ready and the planters rose to troop to the dining-room, Dermot reached the door first and held up his hand to stop them.

“Gentlemen, one moment, please,” he said.  Then he looked out to satisfy himself that the domestic was out of hearing and continued:  “I’d be obliged if during supper you’d make no allusion before the servants to what has happened today.  Afterwards I shall have something to say to you in confidence that will explain this request of mine.”