Olga looked at his brown, alert face with its restless Irish eyes, and understood.  “You never think of the horrid part, do you?” she said.

He laughed, and flicked his whip at a wizened monkey-face that peered at them round the bole of a tree.  “What do you mean by the horrid part?”

She hesitated.

He turned his gay face to her.  “Do you mean the hardships or the actual fighting?”

She gave a little shudder.  Even in that brilliant warmth of sunshine she was conscious of a sense of chill.  “I mean—­the killing,” she said.  “It seems to me one could never forget that.  It—­it’s such a frightful responsibility.”

“It’s all part of the game,” said Noel.  “I couldn’t kill a man on the sly.  But when the chances of being killed oneself are equal—­well, I don’t see anything in it.”

“I see.”  Olga was silent a moment; then, with a curious eagerness:  “And was that what you were thinking of that night when you told Peggy that sometimes it was the only thing to do?” she asked.  “Forgive my asking!  But I’ve wondered often what you meant by that.”

“Great Scott!” said Noel, with a frown of bewilderment.  “What night?  What were we talking about?”

She explained with a touch of embarrassment.  “It was the night I arrived.  Don’t you remember I came upon you hearing her say her prayers?—­in fact you were saying them with her.  I liked you for doing that,” she said simply.

“Thank you,” said Noel with equal simplicity.  “I remember now.  The kiddie said something about it being wicked to kill people, didn’t she?”

“Yes.  And you said—­it was just before I interrupted you—­you said that sometimes it was the only thing to do.”

Noel nodded.  “I remember.  Well, can’t you imagine that?  Don’t you agree that when a man is fighting for his country, or in defence of someone, he is justified in slaying his enemies?”

Olga was frowning also, the old, troubled frown of perplexity.  “Oh, of course, when you put it like that,” she said; then put her hand to her head with a puzzled air.  “But that wasn’t quite what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” said Noel.

She shook her head.  “I don’t quite know.  It’s difficult to express things.  Whenever I try to discuss anything I always seem to lose the thread.”

Noel grinned boyishly.  “Good for me!  You’d jolly soon floor me if you didn’t.  Look at that parroquet, I say!  He flashes like an emerald, and see that imp of a monkey!  He’s actually daring to rebuke us for trespassing.  I call this road a disgrace to the State, don’t you?  If I were the Rajah—­by the way, the Rajah isn’t coming, is he?”

Olga thought it possible.  She knew he had been asked, but he had not returned any definite reply.  She hoped he would be prevented.

“Oh, don’t you like him?” said Noel.  “I detest him myself.  That’s partly why I’m so keen on smashing his team to-morrow.  He’s a slippery customer, he and that wily old dog Kobad Shikan.  They’d erupt, the two of them, if they dared and overwhelm us all.  But—­they daren’t!” And Noel turned his face upwards, and laughed an exceeding British laugh.