Oliver consigned the Sergeant’s eyes to an ultimate fate worse than that which befell those of Peeping Tom; then, in a burst of candour, for subterfuge never was his forte, owned up: 

“You made no mistake,” he said, “we love each other, and it came out suddenly in the dark.  I suppose that the unusual surroundings acted on our nerves.”

“From a moral point of view I am glad that you love each other,” I remarked, “since embraces that are merely nervous cannot be commended.  But from every other, in our circumstances the resulting situation strikes me as a little short of awful, although Quick, a most observant man, warned me to expect it from the first.”

“Curse Quick,” said Oliver again, with the utmost energy.  “I’ll give him a month’s notice this very night.”

“Don’t,” I said, “for then you’ll oblige him to take service with Barung, where he would be most dangerous.  Look here, Orme, to drop chaff, this is a pretty mess.”

“Why?  What’s wrong about it, Doctor?” he asked indignantly.  “Of course, she’s a Jew of some diluted sort or other, and I’m a Christian; but those things adapt themselves.  Of course, too, she’s my superior, but after all hers is a strictly local rank, and in Europe we should be on much the same footing.  As for her being an Eastern, what does that matter?  Surely it is not an objection which should have weight with you.  And for the rest, did you ever see her equal?”

“Never, never, never!” I answered with enthusiasm.  “The young lady to whom any gentleman has just engaged himself is always absolutely unequalled, and, let me admit at once that this is perhaps the most original and charming that I have ever met in all Central Africa.  Only, whatever may be the case with you, I don’t know whether this fact will console me and Quick when our throats are being cut.  Look here, Orme,” I added, “didn’t I tell you long ago that the one thing you must not do was to make love to the Child of Kings?”

“Did you?  Really, I forget; you told me such a lot of things, Doctor,” he answered coolly enough, only unfortunately the colour that rose in his cheeks betrayed his lips.

At this moment, Quick, who had entered the room unobserved, gave a dry cough, and remarked: 

“Don’t blame the Captain, Doctor, because he don’t remember.  There’s nothing like shock from an explosion for upsetting the memory.  I’ve seen that often in the Boer war, when, after a big shell had gone off somewhere near them, the very bravest soldiers would clean forget that it was their duty to stand still and not run like rabbits; indeed, it happened to me myself.”

I laughed, and Oliver said something which I could not hear, but Quick went on imperturbably: 

“Still, truth is truth, and if the Captain has forgotten, the more reason that we should remind him.  That evening at the Professor’s house in London you did warn him, sir, and he answered that you needn’t bother your head about the fascinations of a nigger woman——­”