*CHAPTER VI*
A few evenings later, with the dream-like rapidity with which life'sscenery is constantly shifting behind its players, Hector was once moreback in his Riwala home. Gone--flitted into the past--were the bare mudwalls, stinking lanterns and camp-chairs of the Fort Hussein Mess; intheir place the soft comfort and luxury of a drawing-room, each detailof which had been personally superintended by Lucy herself. Here now,warm and comfortable, he reclined in a huge arm-chair, his eyes dreamilygazing into the crackling log-fire before him, and his mind in thebeatific state induced by the consumption of an excellent dinner and thesubsequent inhaling of a Turkish cigarette.
Beside him, busy with the knitting of a yellow silk waistcoat, sat Lucy,a dainty figure in tea-gown of lemon and white, which was quite inharmony with the soft lights and colouring of her surroundings. Likethe hen-pheasant, however, in gorgeousness of plumage she was quiteout-shone by her lord, whose smoking-jacket of amethyst velvet, withbuttons of pink crystal, amber silk shirt, and Russia leather slippersof the same hue, formed a somewhat striking picture. On his kneereposed a somnolent white cat, a species of animal he loved, which hewas caressing with much tender solicitude.
"Hector, dear," said Lucy, suddenly breaking the silence, "I've got anidea."
"Have you, Lucy? Ow!" to the cat, "you old beggar you, put your clawsout at father, would you? Come and tickle this chap's tummy, Lucy, andsee him kick."
"Oh, put the thing down, it worries me to see you. Really, Hector, how asporting person like yourself can adore a cat as you do is beyond me.If it was a dog now, I could sympathise, but--a cat."
"A dog, nasty fidgeting brutes; besides, every fellow in the regiment'sgot one, that alone's enough. As for my being sporting, so's a cat, thefinest sportsman in the world, a genuine one too, hunts for his ownpleasure, not to be thought a good fellow, like most men. What aboutthat big lizard we caught this morning, eh, old Nimrod?" againaddressing the unresponsive animal.
"To me they're like spiteful women, Hector."
"Just where you're wrong, Lucy, a cat's not a bit like a woman. They'rerestful, which a woman's not; they're independent; know what they wantand get it, while a woman not only don't know her own mind, but alwaysdoes the very reverse of what she preaches."
"Really, Hector, I'm sure you can't say that of me."
"There you are, Lucy, can't discuss a thing without taking itpersonally. Besides, you're as bad as any of them. You're always at meto become a keen soldier, yet, when the chance of active service comesalong, you----"
"Dear, that's not fair, as I've told you before. You surely wouldn'tlike me not to care, Hector, like some wives?"
"I don't suppose I should, but it's not that I'm talking about, it's theinconsistency. But, about cats and women a cat only takes what itwants, a woman, on the contrary----"
"Oh, bother the cats! I want to talk about something else, theRegimental Cup to-morrow."
"When I propose to be ten miles away at Rarkat Jheel, quail shooting."
"Oh, but, Hector, you can't really. The regiment's At Home, and we mustput in an appearance; besides, I should like it."
"Like it, a fifth-rate race-meeting?"
"Yes, I should. I'm not a hundred, Hector, and every woman wants alittle gaiety at times. Of course I love going out shooting with youand all that, but I think just occasionally we might vary the programmea little."
"Oh, of course, if you're set upon it, Lucy, that's another matter, butit's a weary business."
"Only because you make it so, and take no part in things, Hector. TheRegimental Cup, for instance, every officer but you is runningsomething, no matter whether it's got a chance or not. You only are outof it, and I hate it--it looks so odd and unsporting. I know, ofcourse, it's not that, but the others think so."
"Let them think what they like, I don't care. I'm not competing becauseI can't win. I'll play second fiddle to no one, least of all toO'Hagan, and nothing I've got could beat Matador, he's a racehorse, therest are only polo ponies."
"Hector, I do hate that Captain O'Hagan."
"Really, why? I thought he rather liked you."
"Oh, he's civil enough to me, it's because of his rudeness to you I hatehim. Hector, do you know what he said the other evening at the Club?"
"That he meant having me out of the regiment? Yes, I heard of it,Lucy."
"He dared to say it, Hector. Oh, I could kill him for it," and Lucy'sbreast heaved and her blue eyes flashed.
Hector laughed. "Perhaps he will, Lucy; he has all the others behindhim, you know."
"But you mustn't allow it, you must fight him. I'll help you all I can.The Colonel likes me, I know; let's have the old man to dinner, Hector,and do him really well. Oh, Hector, do rouse yourself, it's not like youto submit tamely."
Hector looked at her, and, as he did so, the curious glitter in his eyesvanished. Rising, he went across to his wife and kissed her.
"I believe you'd stand by me, no matter what I did, Lucy."
Some strange note in his voice startled her; she looked up. "Hector,what do you mean?" she said quickly. "Oh, Hector dearest, you won't, youdon't mean to do anything mad?"
At the fear in her voice, Graeme's half-parted lips shut tight. Hepicked up the cat, and, returning to his chair, resumed hiscontemplation of the flames, his face expressionless.
"Don't be alarmed, Lucy," he said, and it seemed to her that there was ashade of contempt in his tone, "and as for O'Hagan and his paltryschemes, leave the poor fool to me. I'm only letting him play a little,and when the time comes--and it's pretty close now--it's Bob O'Haganwho'll go under, not me. But, about this idea of yours, what is it, togo to-morrow? If so, I will, as you want it."
"It's more than that, Hector, I want you to ride in the race for theCup."
"But what on?"
"Hermes, Captain Carruther's second string. He'd give you the mount, Iknow, for I asked him this afternoon. He's a good pony, Hector, andjumps well, though of course he can't beat Matador."
"He'd be just about last, Lucy. I last, no thank you. Sorry, I'd liketo please you, but it can't be done. I'll go to the races, as you wishit, but a ride on old Hermes is rather too humiliating a proceeding.Hullo," looking up at the clock, "past eleven, and an early paradeto-morrow morning. Time for bed. Come on, Lucy. You too, Fop, oldman, no tiles for Romeo to-night," Hector rose, and having lightedLucy's candles, departed to his dressing-room, the cat hanging limply inhis arms.
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