Only six months, and such a pet already! But tell me about
yourself. I am sure you have come off the sick list too soon. You
look as if you had come straight from a lengthy stay with the
_bandar-log_."
"_Tu quoque!_" laughed Nick. "And with far less excuse. Only you
manage to look charming notwithstanding, which is beyond me. Do you
know, Mrs. Musgrave, you don't do justice to the compromise? I should
be furious with you if I were Will."
Mrs. Musgrave frowned at him. She was a very pretty woman, possessing
a dainty and not wholly unconscious charm. "Tell me about yourself,
Nick," she commanded. "And don't be ridiculous. You can't possibly
judge impartially on that head, as you haven't the smallest idea as to
how ill I have been. I am having a rest cure now, you must know, and I
don't go anywhere; or I should have come to see you in hospital."
"Good thing you didn't take the trouble," said Nick. "I've been
sleeping for the last three weeks, and I am only just awake."
Mrs. Musgrave looked at him with a very friendly smile. "Poor Nick!"
she said. "And Wara was relieved after all."
He jerked up his shoulders. "After a fashion. Grange was the only
white man left, and he hadn't touched food for three days. If Muriel
Roscoe had stayed, she would have been dead before Bassett got
anywhere near them.
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