Accepting Captain Ross's aid she slipped lightly from her saddle to the ground and on foot looked as graceful as she did when mounted. Raymond brought his friend to her and introduced him.
Holding out a small and shapely hand in a dainty leather gauntlet she said in a frank and pleasant manner:
"How do you do, Mr. Wargrave? You are a fortunate person to have been in England so lately. I haven't seen it for nearly three years. Weren't you sorry to leave it?"
"Not in the least, Mrs. Norton. I'd far sooner be doing this," he waved his hand towards the horses and the open desert, "than fooling about Piccadilly and the Park."
"Oh, but don't you miss the gaieties of town, the theatres, the dances? And then the shops and the new fashions--but you're a man, and they'd mean nothing to you."
"Mrs. Norton, I think we had better mount. The beaters are going in; and the _shikaris_ (hunters) tell me that the _nullah_ swarms with pig. There are at least half a dozen rideable boar in it."
In pigsticking only well-grown boars are pursued, sows and immature boars being unmolested.
Ross started forward to help Mrs. Norton on to her fresh pony; but Wargrave refused to surrender the advantage of his proximity to her. So it was into his hand she put her small foot in its well-made riding-boot and was swung up by him.
The saddles of the rest of the party had been changed on to the horses that the Maharajah had provided. The beaters streamed down the steep bank into the ravine which some distance away was filled with dense scrub affording good cover for the quarry. Forming line they moved through it with shrill yells, the blare of horns, the beating of tom-toms and a spluttering fire of blank cartridges from old muskets. The riders mounted and, spear in hand, eagerly watched their progress through the jungle. Wargrave found himself beside Mrs. Norton; but, after exchanging a few words, he forgot her presence as, his heart beating fast with a true sportsman's excitement, he strained his eyes for the first sight of a wild boar.
Suddenly, several hundred yards away, he saw a squat, dark animal emerge from the tangled scrub and, climbing up the _nullah_ on their side, stride away over the sand with a peculiar bounding motion that reminded Wargrave of a rocking-horse. All eyes were turned towards the Maharajah, who would decide whether the animal were worthy of pursuit or not. He gazed after it for a few moments, then raised his hand.