DEEDS, NOT WORDS.
/It/ seemed that Gul Ali’s ignominious flight had served to stimulate
in his brother Shahbaz Khan the amiable instinct to profit by his
disgrace, for very shortly afterwards he also arrived on the bank of
the river, and sent to request the honour of beholding the General’s
face. Sir Harry appointed as meeting-place the garden where Gul Ali
had failed to present himself, and crossed the river attended only by
two aides-de-camp and Richard Ambrose as interpreter. To the
remonstrances of those who urged that Shahbaz was as likely as his
brother to attempt treachery, he replied calmly that he liked
Shahbaz--he was a sportsman, by far the best of the Khans--and
declined precautions. Yet he left Brian behind, lest Mrs Ambrose
should be robbed of husband and brother in one day; and Brian, panting
to show his mettle, spent the time in trying to make Eveleen nervous
by devising plans for a rescue. Nervous Eveleen declined to be--it was
not in her where any daylight danger was concerned; but she was quite
as ready to be excited as Brian himself, and firmly determined to make
part of any expedition that might set out. But the day passed quietly.
No boat struggled across with a piteous demand for succour, and
nothing in the nature of commotion on the opposite bank rewarded the
watchers who had posted themselves with glasses on the highest towers
of the old fort, resolved to be the first to report calamity, even if
they could not avert it. Precisely at the appointed time, the
General’s boat was seen returning, and a sigh of relief went
up--possibly tinged slightly with regret on the part of the prophets
of evil.
“Shahbaz Khan is a precious fine fellow!” declared Sir Harry in high
good humour, to those who had ridden to the landing-stage to meet
him--Eveleen and Brian among them; “and he shall have the Turban, or
Hal Lennox will know the reason why.”
“Did he give you a good reception, Sir Harry?” asked Eveleen, rather
unnecessarily, as it occurred to her the moment after.
“Tiptop. Troops drawn up to receive us--everything most correct.
Double pavilion pitched--into the inner room of which Shahbaz and I
retire after the formal compliments, with Ambrose to interpret.
Shahbaz declared honour of receiving me as his guest is quite enough,
but if I have no objection he _would_ be glad to know where he stands.
He has cut himself off from the other Khans by declaring himself our
friend, and they are encouraging Gul Ali to oust him from the
succession. Would he have to suffer for his loyalty to us? Of course
there was only one answer to that. ‘I care nothing for this Turban
nonsense, but you are the rightful heir, and so long as you remain
loyal, the Governor-General will protect you in your rights.’ He was
uncommonly pleased at that, and said to Ambrose that he could have
vindicated his rights by himself, but our backing would make his task
much easier. A fine chap, a fine chap! worth ten of that old sot Gul
Ali. It’s a pleasure to find a fellow of his kind to support.”
“Then will you be dethroning Gul Ali?”
“Not as long as he behaves himself. But there’s talk again of his
resigning in favour of his son, who has no right to succeed until
Shahbaz has had his turn.”
“Then you won’t alter that queer plan of theirs?”
“How can I? It’s nothing but folly, of course, but as long as the
present state of things lasts it must go on. If I had let Shahbaz
broach the question, I don’t doubt he’d have tried to get me to
promise his son should succeed him, but that don’t come into my
province. If this nonsense of Brotherhood rule is done away with, and
Shahbaz becomes sole Khan, it may be settled his way, but that’s for
Lord Maryport to decide--not me.”
“I wonder how can they go on with such a silly way of governing--all
reigning at once,” said Eveleen.
“Why not, ma’am? Precious convenient way for them--you can never pin
’em down to anything. Ask your good husband what all the letters are
about which are turning his hair as grey as mine. Oh, I forgot! he
don’t tell you things--eh? Well, then, when I write to demand why the
Khans have stopped the boats going down the river and demanded toll,
contrary to treaty, the first thing is to deny it absolutely. With
shocking bad manners I contradict ’em flatly--it has been done, and
why? In a great hurry half the Khans reply that they had no hand in
it; it was the doing of some of the other Khans’ servants. Then why
have not the servants been punished? I demand. ‘Oh, they were not
their servants, but the other chaps’.’ ‘Very well, then, if you don’t
punish ’em, I shall,’ says I. ‘Oh,’ say the Khans, ‘the poor fellows
were ignorant; we have admonished ’em, and bid ’em not do it again.’
It happens again the next week. ‘Precious lot of good your admonitions
are!’ says I. ‘Be so good as to send the poor ignorant chaps to me,
and _I_’ll admonish ’em.’ ‘Alas!’ says they, ‘the servants, being
unaware of the honour destined for ’em, have fled.’ ‘Oh, very well,’
says I; ‘princes who give their seals and their authority to their
servants to use must expect to be held responsible for their misdeeds.
The fines due will be deducted from the sum which was to have been
paid to their Highnesses as rent for our cantonments.’ Silence for a
bit, while they think hard to find some way of getting round me.
Bright idea! they’ll put an utter stop to the steamer traffic by
forbidding woodcutting on either bank of the river on pain of
death--making out that every patch of brushwood is part of their
private preserves. ‘Sorry!’ says I, ‘but the traffic must be
maintained somehow. If the wood ain’t to be taken from the
_shikargahs_, why, I must destroy Qadirabad bit by bit, and burn the
wood from the houses.’ Then they lament together in durbar over the
wicked stiff-neckedness of that old rapscallion the Bahadar Jang, and
talk big about the steps they are on the point of taking to teach him
a lesson. ‘We will handle the English so vilely,’ say they, ‘that
they’ll call out in despair, “Great Heaven, what have we done that
Thou shouldst let loose such devils upon us?”’ Which is a very proper
sentiment for patriotic princes defending their country against the
invader, but things of that sort should be done first, and talked
about afterwards.”
“D’ye tell me then they won’t be meaning it at all, Sir Harry?”
“Mean it? They mean to slip out of all their engagements, and all
punishment for breaking ’em, by dint of shifting the blame on one
another and on their servants, and if they could frighten me off, it
would suit them nicely. But that they ain’t going to do. When the new
treaty is presented to ’em, they’ll sign it or they’ll refuse it, and
we shall know where we are, and if they sign it and break it, then
also I shall know what to do--and I’ll do it!”
“You’ll just be waiting now for Bayard to come back, and then the
treaty will be presented?” suggested Eveleen. Sir Harry turned a
ferocious glance upon her.
“Waiting for Colonel Bayard? Certainly not. I don’t need Colonel
Bayard to help me make treaties, ma’am--much obliged to you for
thinking of it!” with deadly irony. “All he’s wanted for is to help
with the arrangements about lands and so on, which will have to be
made under the treaty--and which he ought to know something about,
after his years here. The treaty will go to Qadirabad by Stewart as
soon as it’s finished translating into Persian, and the moment he’s
well away I begin to move my troops across the river--where they’ll be
equally ready to occupy the stolen Habshiabad districts and hand ’em
back to the Nawab, or to move on Qadirabad if the Khans turn nasty.
Wait for Bayard, indeed!”
He went on growling to himself for some time, until Eveleen turned the
conversation tactfully to horses. It was inadvisable to mention
Colonel Bayard’s name to him again, but to her husband she said when
they were alone--
“D’ye think Bayard will understand, Ambrose, that he comes back merely
as assistant to the General?”
“I’m afraid not.” Richard spoke gravely. “I doubt if he would return
to find himself nothing but an underling.”
“You think they’ll not work well together?”
“I think the best chance of it would be for the treaty to be
signed--if signed it is to be--before Bayard gets back. Then he’ll
find plenty to do in alleviating the feelings of the Khans, knowing
that the thing is done and can’t be undone, and their best hope is to
submit gracefully. Something must have happened to detain him in
Bombay, or we should have had him back before this. Whatever it be, I
trust it may detain him a little longer.”
It was not often that Richard spoke so openly and so seriously, and
Eveleen was duly impressed. For the moment, that is--for the life
going on around her was so interesting and engrossing that it was hard
to realise Colonel Bayard as a possible disturbing influence. Sir
Harry might expect to carry through the treaty peacefully, but his
troops were longing for the Khans to refuse to sign. A new spirit had
been breathed into the disintegrated force when the Peninsular veteran
took it in hand. The bonds of discipline were tightened, something
like _esprit de corps_ was growing up between Queen’s and Company’s
men, which were traditionally at daggers drawn, and the native
regiments--in looking down upon which they had been wont to find their
sole point of agreement; life might be harder, but it was incomparably
more thrilling. The two or three thousand men at Sahar would have
charged cheering upon the great hosts of Granthistan next door, and
gone through them with the bayonet, so said Sir Harry, who
realised--no one better--the change he had brought about in the spirit
of his command. He said it to Eveleen and her husband, when they came
upon him by the river, watching the tents and heavy baggage of a
native regiment, which was due to cross on the morrow, being ferried
over in haste before darkness fell to the camp which was in process of
formation outside Bori.
“Almost a pity to see ’em so full of fight, with no enemy handy!” he
added, a little gloomily. “But what a bloodthirsty wretch I am--almost
as bad as the Bombay chaps make me out--to be regretting the strife I
have strained every nerve to avert! If the poor fellows themselves
know no better than to desire war, their commander at least should be
superior to such a passion.” He was talking as though to himself, and
Richard broke in rather hastily--
“Do I understand you, General, that the Khans have decided to submit?
Is there news from Stewart?”
“Yes, a _cossid_ [messenger] came in after you left. The Khans are
sending Vakils to sign the treaty--under protest, naturally enough,
but still to sign.”
“Then the rumours were nothing at all but talk?” said Eveleen.
“Nothing whatever. If there had been even some attempt at resistance I
should have felt--foolishly enough--less unjust, but these poor Khans
are so meek, so submissive, that one has the impression of behaving in
the most shockingly arbitrary fashion. Had there been any truth in
last week’s story of Gul Ali’s actual resignation of the Turban to
that violent youth, his son, I could almost have welcomed the chance
of an honest tussle, but it’s like raining blows on a feather bed. You
don’t feel this?” he turned sharply on Richard. “You still believe
they mean to fight?”
“I can’t believe they have assembled sixty thousand men for nothing,
General--nor yet that the younger Khans have invited those armed bands
we hear about into the desert solely to enjoy a picnic in their
company.”
“Very true. We shall soon see. Those bands must disperse--or be
dispersed--before the treaty is signed. We have ample force to meet
any resistance they can offer. But sixty thousand! No, my dear
Ambrose, I can’t credit such a figure as that. I know you have
gathered it precious carefully from the reports of our spies--but
after all, what trust can you put in the word of a spy? Oh, I know I
make use of ’em, but I discount their reports pretty shrewdly. So
don’t be frightened, ma’am”--with a benevolent smile at Eveleen--“by
your good man’s dark forebodings. I’ll tell you this, Lord Maryport
offered me additional troops either from the Upper Provinces or
Bombay, or both, and I refused ’em. So you see what I think about
it--eh?”
“Frightened!” said Eveleen, in high scorn. “And pray why would I be
frightened, Sir Harry?”
“Why, indeed? But don’t think I blame your prudence, Ambrose,” noting
the younger man’s silence. “From my soul I believe I have men enough
to cope with any force the Khans can bring against us. To have asked
for more would have meant delay--two months, three months, four,
perhaps,--and there we are landed in the middle of the hot weather.
You yourself have told me what that means for military operations
here--not a soldier, European or native, able to show his nose on the
parade-ground by daylight, men struck down by the dozen in a march of
a few miles. No, if we have to fight, we’ll fight at once--the sooner
the better, so long as Stewart has got back. I’m sure they have given
me pretexts enough, if there’s any humbug about signing the treaty,
and they know what I think about ’em--eh?”
“They must be uncommonly stupid if they don’t, General.”
“But that’s what they are--sodden with drink and drugs. If my letters
don’t wake ’em up a bit---- See here, ma’am, if this don’t strike you
as rayther neat. Twice in this last day or so poor Ambrose has had to
write to Gul Ali for me. The young bloods have been talking big about
burning our camp over at Bori there, and I knew their besotted elders
might well be induced to give such an order over-night, and in the
morning forget all about the matter and deny giving it. So I told Gul
Ali that if I heard any more of night attacks on my camp he and the
rest would be made to look precious silly, for not only would every
one that tried it get killed, but I should march on Qadirabad and
destroy it, leaving only the Fort standing, to show my respect for
their Highnesses, for all they couldn’t keep their people in order. So
they know what to look forward to now.”
“But sure they’ll not see the joke,” said Eveleen sorrowfully. “They
will be too stupid, the creatures!”
“Well, this will touch ’em, I imagine. Gul Ali has had his emissaries
in Bori since the first detachment crossed there, bribing our men to
try and get ’em to desert. They have not been able to do it so far,
but it don’t answer to let that sort of thing go on. So I gave the old
fellow a friendly tip. He was paying his men to corrupt mine,
believing he was getting good value for his money, says I. Well, he
was being choused right and left. When any money did pass from his
chaps to mine, they brought it straight to me, but he might take my
word for it that most of it went in high living and never came near
the troops at all. That ought to make a little unpleasantness between
the old villain and his precious tools--eh?”
“He ought be feeling terribly small,” agreed Eveleen. “But he will not
be any fonder of you for that, Sir Harry.”
“That, ma’am, is a consideration which I can safely assert never held
back any Lennox that ever lived from saying a neat thing when he had
it to say,” returned the General, with perfect truth.
The next day the station enjoyed a mild excitement, for Stewart came
in by land, attended only by his orderly and personal servants,
whereas he had gone down to Qadirabad by steamer, with an escort of
thirty of the Khemistan Horse. At first people thought there had been
another Ethiopian disaster, resulting in another sole survivor, but it
soon became known that the escort were returning safe and sound by
water, while Stewart had taken the quicker land route that the General
might be aware as soon as possible of the true state of affairs. Yet
the situation was not made much clearer by his report. It was true
that the Khans had not rejected the treaty, though the Vakils they
were sending to Sahar were empowered rather to complain of their
wrongs than to sign on their behalf. But Stewart had had great
difficulty in getting away, after being insulted in the streets and
coldly received in durbar, and on his return journey he had only
avoided having to fight his way by exercising extreme self-restraint
masked by ferocious bluff. He found an enemy in every Arabit he met,
and his life was in danger more than once, but the Khemis crowded to
him in secret to express their longing that the British would take
over the country, though in the presence of their masters they
appeared indifferent or hostile. To him it seemed impossible to doubt
that the Khans meant to fight, and that the Vakils, if they ever
arrived, were intended merely to stretch out matters and gain time for
their employers; but Sir Harry was not to be hurried. He would go on
massing his troops at Bori, but nothing should induce him to take the
first hostile step. His moderation seemed to be justified when, two
days after Stewart, the Vakils arrived, though there was little
satisfaction to be obtained from them. Possibly the Khans had come to
an end of their excuses, for their sole answer to Sir Harry’s charges
was to deny them all--adding that guiltless and oppressed as they
were, they had no resource but to sign the treaty forced upon them.
Perhaps they knew that this was their best way of dealing with the
General, who was thrown into a perfect frenzy by finding himself
accused of injustice, and laboured for hours to convince the
messengers--and through them their masters--that they were being dealt
with leniently rather than oppressively. He might even have consented
to refer the treaty back to Lord Maryport, with the modifications the
Vakils proceeded humbly to suggest, had the Khans possessed sufficient
common-sense to maintain their pose of injured innocents. But
stimulated perhaps by his apparent gullibility, they struck out a new
line of annoyance, holding up the _dâks_ and robbing the mails, with
the result that every trace of meekness and compassion vanished, and
Sir Harry sent off a sledge-hammer letter to Gul Ali, ordering him
instantly to disband his troops, with the alternative of immediate
war. It might have been supposed that this time the Khans were
confronted with a straight issue that could not be evaded, but that
they were not yet destitute of wiles was clear one morning when
Richard was summoned before daylight to attend his chief. Brian,
coming to the edge of the office verandah to bid him hurry, added a
whispered word of warning.
“Look out! the old boy is dancing mad!”
If Sir Harry was not exactly dancing, he was doing something very like
it--rushing about the office in a series of short dashes, as he was
brought up by the walls or the furniture. He could not speak
coherently.
“Sit down--write!” he jerked out. “That old fool--that old
villain----!” a string of expletives in various Southern European
tongues followed. “Thinks he’s diddled me, does he? _I_’ll diddle
him!”
So far there seemed nothing to write, and Richard made a show of
elaborate preparation, selecting a large sheet of paper, choosing a
quill with care, and trying it on his thumb-nail. Then he looked up
with respectful attention.
“Well, why don’t you write? Begin. ‘Khan!’ None of your flummery of
polite phrases--I won’t have it. Let the fellow get it hot and
strong.”
“‘Khan!’” repeated Richard obediently, secure in the knowledge that an
English letter, however violent in expression, could do no harm.
“Well, go on! You know what I want said--pitch it him hot, I tell you.
Can’t be too strong.”
“Perhaps if I knew which of the Khans it was, General, and what he has
done----?”
“Done? Which of ’em? Why, old Gul Ali, of course. Is there ever
anything wholly preposterous that the old idiot hasn’t got a hand in?
As to what he’s done--why, he’s trying to embarrass me, sir! made up
his mind to tie my hands! Says he’s helpless in the power of his
family, who are keeping him prisoner, but he’ll escape and come to me
and be my suppliant--lay his turban at my feet! Escape? yes--escape
the punishment due to him, so he thinks--get me on his side, come out
top dog after all! But I won’t have it. He shan’t come here and
slobber over my boots! If I have to fight, I’ll fight with my hands
free. Tell him I won’t receive him here--won’t see his dirty old face.
He’s to go to his brother Shahbaz, if he goes anywhere, and stay with
him till I send him orders to the contrary.”
“As you please, General.” Richard was writing busily.
Sir Harry came to a threatening stop just behind him. “Well, sir,
what’s wrong? What d’ye mean, sir?”
“In this country it ain’t considered particularly healthy for an aged
relative to entrust his safety to his next heir, General.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” Sir Harry laughed loudly. “If he chooses to
resign the Turban to Shahbaz, so much the better. If Shahbaz thinks
fit to exercise a little persuasion, I’m sure I have no objection. I
have done with the canting old dog. Now let his brother deal with him,
as I have no doubt he knows how. Then I’ll make short work of the
rebellious young cubs.”
The letter written by Richard, if less peremptory in its terms than
Sir Harry would have wished, produced the desired effect. Gul Ali made
no further attempt to take refuge with the British, but turned aside
meekly to the camp of his brother, while the unfilial Karimdâd, from
whose violence he asserted that he had fled, took possession of his
fortresses, and announced loudly that he would hold them against the
man who called himself the Bahadar Jang or any other Farangi in
creation. Sir Harry chuckled, and completed his consolidation at Bori,
but it was not his measures that alarmed Karimdâd. From Shahbaz
Khan’s fortress of Bidi came the news Richard had expected. Gul Ali
had resigned the Turban--of his own free will, it was carefully
added--in favour of his brother. The result was electrical. Karimdâd
and his cousins lost no time in quitting the strongholds they had
seized, and fled to Sultankot, far in the desert--a fortress which was
declared and believed by all Khemistan to be not only impregnable but
unreachable for an enemy, owing to the difficulties of the route and
the lack of water. Sir Harry chuckled again, and with a calmness that
staggered his own troops as much as his opponents, announced that he
was going to take Sultankot. It might be a hundred miles in the
desert, but if the Arabit bands could make the journey, so could
trained troops. The fortress might be impregnable to a native army,
but not to Europeans provided with artillery. Parts of the way might
be impassable for heavy guns, but he would rely on his field-pieces.
The wells might be destroyed or poisoned, vegetation might be lacking,
but he would carry water and forage with him. The route might be
unknown, but he would get guides from Shahbaz Khan, and in case the
opportunity might be too tempting, Shahbaz Khan himself should come
too. No smoothing-out of complications at one blow by allowing the
British force to be overwhelmed in the desert, leaving him undisputed
master of Khemistan! Shahbaz Khan professed unbounded delight in the
honour conferred upon him, but begged the General politely not to
impose upon himself the labour of such a march. He himself would
undertake to reduce Sultankot with his own troops, and bring the
rebellious princelings to heel. But Sir Harry refused to be spared,
and gave his reason openly, though happily not to his prospective
ally. It was just as well that Shahbaz Khan should be convinced of the
ability of British troops to reach and capture any objective
whatever--no matter how distant and difficult,--as a gentle hint that
when he was placed in power he also would find no place of refuge if
he chose to misbehave. The British force, fretting at the leash which
held it inactive after its hard training, was ready to go anywhere and
fight anything, and moved out joyfully from Bori into the desert, to
the number--after the manner of Anglo-Indian armies--of three thousand
fighting men and twenty thousand camp-followers.
Eveleen being what she was, it was natural--though Richard did not
think so--that the prospect of actual fighting should excite her
nearly as much as it did the soldiers. Returning one evening from a
visit to the camp at Bori under Brian’s escort, she burst into her
husband’s dressing-room, where he was trying hard to decide which of
his indispensable campaigning requisites were absolutely
indispensable, and which only relatively so.
“It’s a great sight!” she cried, without troubling to specify what the
sight was--“but terrible, too. I wonder does Sir Harry feel himself a
murderer when he thinks how few of those splendid horses and men may
come back?”
Richard’s lips twitched. Eveleen made it a grievance against him that
he had no sense of humour, but it sometimes seemed to him--as to other
married people with Irish partners--that the accusation might as fitly
apply to the accuser. “You are uncommonly cheering in your view of our
prospects, my dear,” he said.
“But what d’ye think yourself? Is there a chance of success? Truly,
now?”
“Under any other commander, not the faintest chance. Under Sir
Henry--well, he has such a turn for performing the impossible when
he’s said he will, that there may be a hope. But mind you, the
enterprise will either be the most horrible disaster in history, or
the maddest success.”
“And which would you say ’twill be?”
He spoke as though reluctantly. “Well, having had some opportunity of
observing the General, I pin my faith to his madness, which has more
method than the sound mind of most men. I believe he will succeed--not
without loss, of course; precious heavy loss, perhaps.”
But Eveleen paid no heed to the qualification. Quite unexpectedly, for
he was standing looking meditatively at the floor, with his arms full
of clothes--his servant having discreetly faded away,--Richard found
her head on his shoulder, and heard her coaxing voice in his ear--
“Ah, then, Ambrose, let me come too!”
“Let _you_ come? Nonsense! certainly not.”
“Ah, now, do!”
“I tell you I won’t hear of it. Am I dreaming, or are you? or is the
General’s madness infectious?”
“Why would you be so unkind? Just think how nice, when you come tired
to your tent after a march, to find your wife waiting to welcome you,
and your slippers warming--no, I suppose it ought be cooling--eh?”
“In my bath, I suppose--if there was one, or any slippers either. My
dear, don’t be silly. Do you know that we take no baggage with us
after the first day or two? You have no conception of the misery--the
squalor--of an ordinary desert campaign, and this will be far worse.”
“What horrid words you use!” complained Eveleen softly, stroking his
shoulder-strap. “Didn’t you hear Sir Harry himself telling how Lady
Cinnamond was with Sir Arthur at Salamanca, and even rode in the
charge?”
“That was Sir Arthur’s business, not mine. If I had been the Duke, I
would have cashiered him for allowing it. But perhaps the unfortunate
wretch was sufficiently punished by the anxiety he must have been
in--to say nothing of looking such a fool. And in any case, war in
Europe ain’t like war here. That’s a gentlemanly affair to this. You
stay at home and mind your house.”
“But I’ll only waste your money and bring you to debt and disgrace.
You’ve said so, often. Will you tell me now, am I the sort of wife to
sit on the verandah darning your stockings and dropping salt tears on
them because you’re away, thinking back over the future and looking
forward to the past?--no, I mean it’s t’other way about. But anyhow,
the sort of wife I am is the one that rides knee to knee with you in
the ranks, and takes her turn in keeping watch at night----”
“And can never keep awake if she tries! Won’t do, my dear. You must
remember you ain’t an Amazon, nor yet Joan of Arc, but the wife of a
British officer in the nineteenth century--a much more prosaic person.
The verandah is your lot, I fear, but we won’t insist on the darning.
I trust I ain’t unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable? The man that insisted on wearing stockings of my
darning would be stark staring mad!” cried Eveleen, with terrific
emphasis. “And will you tell me, Major Ambrose, if you wanted that
sort of wife, why you married me?”
“Oh, pray, my dear, don’t let us have that over again! I gave you my
reason once, and if it don’t satisfy you, I’m sorry, for I have no
other to offer. Now behave like a sensible woman, and make up your
mind to be happy and employ yourself usefully in my absence. Come!”
with a bright idea, “how would you like to buy another horse and begin
to break him in?”
“I’ll remember that!” gloomily, yet with a distinct lightening of the
gloom. “But I warn you, if this is the way you answer me, you won’t
find me asking you another time. I’ll just come.”
“Oh, very well. If I know anything of the General, you’ll find
yourself sent back under escort, after a lecture which will prove to
you once for all that he has a rough side to his tongue, though ladies
don’t often feel it.”
“If you knew anything of me, you’d know you were merely inviting me to
prove you wrong. You’ll see!” He might have been excused for imagining
she had some specific plan in view, but her mind was roaming vaguely
over various possibilities of making herself disagreeable.