“Certainly, Lady Smith-Tompkins, you mean.  Yes, you might do that—­that is, if Miss Westonhaugh has had the measles, and is not afraid of them.  I heard this morning that three of the little Smith-Tompkinses had them quite badly.”

“You don’t say so!  Well, well, we shall find some one else, no doubt.”

I was certain that at that very moment Isaacs and Miss Westonhaugh were planning the whole expedition, and so I returned to the question of sport and inquired where we should go.  This led to considerable discussion, and before we arrived at Mr. Ghyrkins’ bungalow—­still in the same order—­it was very clear that the old sportsman had made up his mind to kill one more tiger at all events; and that, rather than forego the enjoyment of the chase, he would be willing to take his niece with him.  As for the direction of the expedition, that could be decided in a day or two.  It was not the best season for tigers—­the early spring is better—­but they are always to be found in the forests of the Terai, the country along the base of the hills, north of Oude.

When we reached the house it was quite dark, for we had ridden slowly.  The light from the open door, falling across the verandah, showed us Miss Westonhaugh seated in a huge chair, and Isaacs standing by her side slightly bending, and holding his hat in his hand.  They were still talking, but as we rode up to the lawn and shouted for the saices, Isaacs stood up and looked across towards us, and their voices ceased.  It was evident that he had succeeded in thoroughly interesting her, for I thought—­though it was some distance, and the light on them was not strong—­that as he straightened himself and stopped speaking, she looked up to his face as if regretting that he did not go on.  I dismounted with the rest and walked up to bid Miss Westonhaugh good-night.

“You must come and dine to-morrow night,” said Mr. Ghyrkins, “and we will arrange all about it.  Sharp seven.  To-morrow is Sunday, you know.  Kildare, you must come too, if you mean business.  Seven.  We must look sharp and start, if we mean to come back here before the Viceroy goes.”

“Oh in that case,” said Kildare, turning to me, “we can settle all about the polo match for Monday, can’t we?”

“Of course, very good of you to take the trouble.”

“Not a bit of it.  Good-night.”  We bowed and went back to find our horses in the gloom.  After some fumbling, for it was intensely dark after facing the light in the doorway of the bungalow, we got into the saddle and turned homeward through the trees.

“Thank you, Griggs,” said Isaacs.  “May your feet never weary, and your shadow never be less.”

“Don’t mention it, and thanks about the shadow.  Only it is never likely to be less than at the present moment.  How dark it is, to be sure!” I knew well enough what he was thanking me for.  I lit a cheroot.

“Isaacs,” I said, “you are a pretty cool hand, upon my word.”