"Of course you did. I am bound to turn up like the clown in the pantomime,
saying, 'Here we are again.' Oh, I forgot. I am a bit late. I should have
appeared on the scene when those beggars got to your bungalow."

He pretended to treat the whole affair lightly and made no further allusion
to her adventure, asking no questions about it. He was afraid lest she
should break down in the sudden relief from the strain and anxiety. But
there was no cause to fear it. The girl was quietly brave and imitated his
air of unconcern, behaving after the first moment as if they were meeting
under the most ordinary circumstances. She smiled, though somewhat feebly,
as she said:

"Oh, not a clown, Major Dermot. Rather the hero of a cinema drama, who
always appears in time to rescue the persecuted maiden. I am beginning to
feel quite like the unlucky heroine of a film play."

The cords fastening her had now been cut, so she tried to stand up but
found no strength in her numbed limbs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm--I'm rather stiff," she said, sinking back into the
chair again. She felt angry at her weakness, but she was almost glad of it
when she saw Dermot's instant look of concern.

"You are cramped from being tied up," he said. "Don't hurry."

The cords had chafed her wrists cruelly. He stooped to examine the
abrasions, and the girl thrilled at his gentle touch. A feeling of shyness
overcame her, and she turned her eyes away from his face. They fell on the
bodies of the dead raiders, and she hastily averted her gaze.