their lunch. I would have objected,
and I am certain Belle Treherne would gladly have done so, but Mrs.
Callendar was anxious to accept, therefore we expressed our gratitude
and joined the group. On second thoughts I was glad that we did so,
because, otherwise, my party must have been without refreshments
until they returned to the ship--the restaurants at Aden are not to be
trusted. To me Mrs. Falchion was pleasantly impersonal, to Miss Treherne
delicately and actively personal. At the time I had a kind of fear of
her interest in the girl, but I know now that it was quite sincere,
though it began with a motive not very lofty--to make Belle Treherne her
friend, and so annoy me, and also to study, as would an anatomist, the
girl's life.

We all moved into the illusive shade of the fig and magnolia trees, and
lunch was soon spread. As we ate, conversation turned upon the annoying
persistency of Eastern guides, and reference was made to the exciting
circumstances attending the engagement of Amshar, the guide of Mrs.
Falchion's party. Among a score of claimants, Amshar had had one
particular opponent--a personal enemy--who would not desist even when
the choice had been made. He, indeed, had been the first to solicit the
party, and was rejected because of his disagreeable looks. He had even
followed the trap from the Port of Aden. As one of the gentlemen was
remarking on the muttered anger of the disappointed Arab, Mrs. Falchion.
said: "There he is now at the gate of the garden."

His look was sullenly turned upon our party. Blackburn, the Queenslander
said, "Amshar, the other fellow is following up the game," and pointed
to the gate.

Amshar understood the gesture at least, and though he gave a toss of the
head, I noticed that his hand trembled as he handed me a cup of water,
and that he kept his eyes turned on his opponent.

"One always feels unsafe with these cut-throat races," said Colonel
Ryder, "as some of us know, who have had to deal with the nigger of
South America. They think no more of killing a man--"

"Than an Australian squatter does of dispersing a mob of aboriginals or
kangaroos," said Clovelly.

Here Mrs. Callendar spoke up briskly. "I don't know what you mean by
'dispersing.'"

"You know what a kangaroo battue is, don't you?"

"But that is killing, slaughtering kangaroos by the hundred."

"Well, and that is aboriginal dispersion," said the novelist. "That is
the aristocratic method of legislating