Speaking in excellent English but with an accent that showed that he had first acquired it in Germany, he said: 

“I am very pleased to meet you, Colonel.  I have heard much of you in Bhutan.”

“It gives me equal pleasure to make Your Excellency’s acquaintance and to welcome you to India,” replied Dermot with a bow.

Then in his turn Wargrave was presented to the two Asiatics, and the Envoy, calling an attendant in, took from him two white scarves of Chinese silk and placed one round each officer’s neck in the custom known as “khattag”.  All sat down and the Envoy plunged into an animated conversation with Colonel Dermot, first producing a metal box and taking betel-nut from it to chew, while the attendant placed a spittoon conveniently near him.

Yuan Shi Hung chatted in English with Wargrave, who was astonished to find him a well-educated man of the world and thoroughly conversant with European politics, art and letters.  But for the inscrutable yellow face the subaltern could have believed himself to be talking to an able Continental diplomat.  The contrast between the semi-savage Bhutanese official and his companion, in whom the most modern civilised gentleman’s manners were successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy of the Chinese aristocrat, was very striking.  The old Envoy was a frank barbarian.  He laughed loudly and clapped his hands in glee when Colonel Dermot presented him with a gramophone—­which, it appeared, he had longed for ever since seeing one on a previous visit to India—­and taught him how to work it.  He showed his betel-stained teeth in an ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and from the trumpet came the Political Officer’s familiar voice addressing him by name and in his own language with many flourishes of Oriental compliment.

Towards the termination of their call the Deb Zimpun called in two attendants with large baskets of fine blood oranges and walnuts from Bhutan and presented them in return.  A number of coolies were needed to carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the bison, the sight of which made the Envoy’s eyes glisten.  He shook Wargrave’s hand warmly when he learned to whose rifle he owed it.  Then he and his Chinese companion took their leave, and with their followers passed up the hilly road.  Wargrave, gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of the pair he preferred the savage to the ultra-cultivated Celestial.

Having thanked the Colonel for permitting him to be present at the interview, which had interested him greatly, the subaltern was about to leave when Mrs. Dermot appeared at the office door.

“May I come in, Kevin?” she began.  “Oh, good morning, Mr. Wargrave.  I was just sending a chit (letter) to you and Captain Burke asking you to tea this afternoon.  A coolie has arrived from the peelkhana to say that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. Carter are on their way up and will be here soon.  So you’ll meet them at tea.  You will like Miss Benson.  She’s a dear girl.”