There was a long pleasant pause.

“They’re giving Sloane a dinner to-night at the ’Travellers’,” Stuart said at last, “in honor of his going to Abyssinia.”

Stuart pondered for some short time as to what sort of a reply Miss Delamar’s understudy ought to make to this innocent remark.  He recalled the fact that on numerous occasions the original had shown not only a lack of knowledge in far-away places, but what was more trying, a lack of interest as well.  For the moment he could not see her robbed of her pretty environment and tramping through undiscovered countries at his side.  So the Picture’s reply, when it came, was strictly in keeping with several remarks which Miss Delamar herself had made to him in the past.

“Yes,” said the Picture, politely, “and where is Abyssinia—­in India, isn’t it?”

“No, not exactly,” corrected Stuart, mildly; “you pass it on your way to India, though, as you go through the Red Sea.  Sloane is taking Winchesters with him and a double express and a ‘five fifty.’  He wants to test their penetration.  I think myself that the express is the best, but he says Selous and Chanler think very highly of the Winchester.  I don’t know, I never shot a rhinoceros.  The time I killed that elephant,” he went on, pointing at two tusks that stood with some assegais in a corner, “I used an express, and I had to let go with both barrels.  I suppose, though, if I’d needed a third shot I’d have wished it was a Winchester.  He was charging the smoke, you see, and I couldn’t get away because I’d caught my foot—­but I told you about that, didn’t I?” Stuart interrupted himself to ask politely.

“Yes,” said the Picture, cheerfully, “I remember it very well; it was very foolish of you.”

Stuart straightened himself with a slightly injured air and avoided the Picture’s eye.  He had been stopped midway in what was one of his favorite stories, and it took a brief space of time for him to recover himself, and to sink back again into the pleasant lethargy in which he had been basking.

“Still,” he said, “I think the express is the better gun.”

“Oh, is an ‘express’ a gun?” exclaimed the Picture, with sudden interest.  “Of course, I might have known.”

Stuart turned in his chair and surveyed the Picture in some surprise.  “But, my dear girl,” he remonstrated kindly, “why didn’t you ask, if you didn’t know what I was talking about.  What did you suppose it was?”

“I didn’t know,” said the Picture, “I thought it was something to do with his luggage.  Abyssinia sounds so far away,” she explained, smiling sweetly.  “You can’t expect one to be interested in such queer places, can you?”

“No,” Stuart answered, reluctantly, and looking steadily at the fire, “I suppose not.  But you see, my dear,” he said, “I’d have gone with him, if I hadn’t married you, and so I am naturally interested in his outfit.  They wanted me to make a comparative study of the little semi-independent states down there, and of how far the Italian government allows them to rule themselves.  That’s what I was to have done.”