“Good morning, and don’t come too near the Devil.  We were out in the fog this morning and it has made him as touchy as anything.  Isn’t it a simply perfect morning!”

For a moment she sat and looked at the funnels and masts swarming the placid Hoogli, turned her head as a far-away siren announced the arrival of a liner, gave a little sigh as she looked up at a kite sailing care-free overhead, and came back to earth with a smile.

“How d’you do,” she smiled, upon the introduction of the other man.  “And don’t come too near the Devil, he’s nervy; in fact I think he will burst with suppressed energy if I keep him standing longer.  Shall we canter as far—­oh!——­”

“Hell!” finished Thorne after his kind, causing the corners of Leonie’s beautiful mouth to lift as she raised a reproving finger.

The razor-tongued, most feared and detested colonel mem-sahib of the line, in the whole of India, rode up with a seat which would not have disgraced the sands of Margate.

Thinking that she might as well share the pig-skin, she had, upon her husband attaining his majority, taken a dozen riding lessons somewhere near Regent’s Park; had hacked irregularly ever since, and still, when off her equine guard, talked about a horse’s ankles.

“Don’t come too near the Devil, Mrs. Hudson, he’s so fidgety.”

“Nonsense!” brusquely replied the lady as she nodded to the men.  “It’s you who are fidgety; comes of all your sleep-walking, brain fag or whatever you call it; you’ve—­you’ve inoculated the poor darling,” she added, clapping her hand on the Devil’s hind-quarters.

Thorne made an ineffectual grab as the Devil reared so straight that Leonie’s face was hidden in the mane, and backed his horse as the waler came down with a terrific clatter on the hard ground, scraping the colonel mem-sahib’s foot as she wheeled about, emitting silly little cries, whilst men tore up from all sides with desire to help.

Up again he shot, pawing the air until it seemed that he surely must fall backwards, and men and women stared aghast until Leonie, raising her arm, brought her whip down between the silky ears.

“Damnation!” said John Thorne as Leonie patted the Devil’s neck as he danced nervously on one spot.

“Time I took him home,” she said.  “The syce?—­no!  I daren’t give him to anyone as he is—­oh! good morning——­

“Saw your haute ecole stunt, Lady Hickle,” burst out a lad who rode a fallen star in the shape of a discarded discreditable polo pony.  “Simply topping—­but the Devil’s a nervy demon, you shouldn’t ride him—­he’ll get away with you one of these fine days.  What happened?”

“He bumped into my horse, he’s not safe to be out amongst us—­indeed, he is not.  Lady Hickle, I have been in Cat——­”

The rest was lost in precipitate flight with the colonel mem-sahib’s arms closely hugging her pony’s neck, to the joy and the infinite delight of the rest of the spectators.