There, in that land of snows and rock, with savage tribesmen not thirty miles away, and the British frontier-line something less than fifty, she gave them tea and talked small talk with the ease and gusto of an English country home.
"It's the most unfortunate thing in the world," she cried.

"If you had only wired, Gilbert would have stayed, but as it is he has gone down to Gilgit about some polo ponies, and won't be back for two days.

Things are so humdrum and easy-going up here that one loses interest in one's profession.

Gilbert has nothing to do except arrange with the foreman of the coolies who are making roads, and hold stupid courts, and consult with Captain Thwaite and the garrison people.

The result is that the poor man has become crazy about golf, and wastes all his spare money on polo ponies.