"
"Perhaps?"
"Perhaps. Who knows?"
He spoke from modesty, sure of the squadron that he loved so much
better than his life, but not caring to magnify his own importance by
claiming the regard of the other squadrons, too. But Yasmini, who
never in her life went straight from point to point of an idea and
never could believe that anybody else did, supposed he meant that one
squadron was in his confidence, whereas the rest had not yet been
sounded.
"So speaks one who is for the Raj!" she grinned.
Playing for profit and amusement, she never, never let anybody know
which side she had taken in any game. Therefore she despised a man
who showed his hand to her, as she believed Ranjoor Singh had done.
But she only showed contempt when it suited her, and by no means
always when she felt it.
The minor music ceased and all eyes in the room were turned to her.
She rose to her feet as a hooded cobra comes toward its prey, sparing
a sidewise surreptitious smile of confidence for Ranjoor Singh that
no eye caught save his; yet as she turned from him and swayed in the
first few steps of a dance devised that minute, his quick ear caught
the truth of her opinion:
"Buffalo!" she murmured.
The flutes in the window wailed about mystery. The lights, and the
sandal-smoke, and the expectant silence emphasized it.
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