"But I am all alone, and very dull," says Eleanor plaintively. "Do rest and refresh yourselves."

She sends for a man to take their horses, and receives them in the verandah with a gracious air.

"May I ask to whom we have the pleasure of speaking?" murmurs Captain Stevenson.

"Oh! didn't I introduce myself?" says Eleanor with a slight flush.

"How stupid of me! I am Mrs. Quinton, you know, or rather you _don't_ know," laughing spontaneously. "The fact is, Carol and I made a runaway match against the wishes of my relations--very shocking, was it not? But I am not going to appal you with domestic details. A whisky and soda is more to the point. Is not this an ideal spot?"

The visitors hardly notice the surrounding scenery. They are looking at the lovely features of their blushing young hostess.

An Irish terrier has followed them hot and panting into the verandah.

"I have brought the dog I promised your husband," says Captain Stevenson. "He is a fine little fellow, and game for anything."

"It is extremely good of you," cries Eleanor, catching the dog up in her arms, and feeding him with biscuits.

She puts both the strangers at their ease at once. It is long since she has had anyone fresh to talk to, and the time flies, for they all three have much to say. Eleanor will not let them go.

"You must stay and lunch with me," she murmurs persuasively. "Carol will be so angry if I don't keep you, and the days are so long without him."

"I can't think how it was we did not meet if he rode our way," declares Major Short, when lunch is over, and Eleanor has begged them to smoke.

"Nor I; but he must be home early."

"Is that your guitar?" asks Major Short.

"Yes, but unfortunately I cannot play it. Carol has taught me a few chords, but I have no music."

"Short is the man to sing," Captain Stevenson vouchsafes.

Eleanor seizes the instrument, and holds it out to him with a winning smile.

"Do give us one little song!" she pleads.

He takes the guitar with a kind look from his exquisite brown eyes, and strokes the strings, it seems so gently, that they whisper like the wind in the trees.

"What will you have?"

Eleanor leans forward with her chin between her hands, gazing at him intently.

"Anything you like."

"This road," says Captain Stevenson, leaning over the verandah, "is the road to Mandalay. It seems impregnated with the spirit of Rudyard Kipling."

"That shall be the song," says Major Short.

Captain Stevenson half sits on the bal.u.s.trade, with the terrier beside him gazing up wistfully into his eyes. Eleanor retains her intent att.i.tude, as a voice more beautiful and mellow than any she has ever heard swells out on the hot air.

Eleanor is moved almost to tears by the magnetism of that wonderful sound, thrilling her very being, for she is highly emotional.

The tune is soft, and the well-known words to the familiar melody take pathos from their rough uncultured sentiment.

She remembers once hearing a man recite the words at a musical "At home."

People had cried then; they knew not why, save that his elocution was exquisite, and he breathed it in an undertone:

By the old Moulmein Pajoda lookin' eastward to the sea, There's a Burmah girl a-setting, and I know she thinks o' me, For the wind is in the palm trees, and the temple bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldiers, come you back to Mandalay."

Eleanor and Captain Stevenson join in the chorus softly. It is sung slowly, like a low wail, Major Sh.o.r.e's clear notes rising above the rest:

Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?

On the road to Mandalay, Where the flying fishes play, And the dawn comes up like thunder out er China, 'crost the bay.

As they sing, Carol rides up the hill, and the music falls on his astonished ear. Singing in their verandah--how can that be?

Eleanor is the first to catch sight of him, but does not speak or move, though Quinton's presence always quickens her pulses.

The chords of the guitar take up the refrain, and Captain Stevenson, turning, espies Carol.

"When the mist was on the rice fields, an' the sun was droppin' low,

continues the rich voice.

"Why, there's Quinton!" exclaims Captain Stevenson, breaking into the melody. "My dear fellow, how was it we missed on the road?"

"I can't imagine," he replies; "I suppose I took a different path."

His eyes shift uneasily, a flush rises to his brow.

"Your wife has been most kind and hospitable," declares Major Short, laying down the guitar.

"I am delighted she kept you."

"We brought the dog. He has already attached himself to Mrs. Quinton.

I a.s.sure you at lunch his preference for her was most marked; he wouldn't look at us."

"Cupboard love, eh? I suppose she fed him."

"Well, yes, I should rather think so, he will not require anything more for some time."

"I am afraid," says Quinton, "that I interrupted a concert. You all looked most Bohemian and enjoying the _dolce far niente_ stage of existence."

"It was too bad to break off in the middle of your song, Major Short,"

Eleanor murmurs, seating herself beside him and taking up the guitar.

"I wish you could teach me the accompaniment, for I do know a few notes vaguely, and though I have never learned to sing I can croon a little."

"It really is not difficult," Major Short a.s.sures her. "I will send you the song if you like."