"Come, Miss Daleham," Payne broke in, "you tell us what happened. I know
Dermot, and we won't get any more out of him."

"Yes; let's hear all about it, Noreen," said her brother. "I'm sure it
wasn't as tame as the Major says."

"Tame?" echoed the girl, smiling. "I've had enough excitement to last me
all my life, dear. I think that Major Dermot has put it rather mildly. I'm
sure even I could tell the story better."

She narrated their adventures, giving her rescuer, despite his protests,
full credit for his courage and resource, only omitting the details of
their picnic meal and slurring over their relief by the wild elephants. The
planters listened eagerly to her tale, breaking into applause at times.
When she had finished Parry laid a heavy hand on Dermot's shoulder and said
solemnly, though thickly:

"Look you, you are a bad liar, Major Dermot. Your story would not deceive a
child, whateffer. But I am proud of you. You should have been a Welshman."

The rest overwhelmed the soldier with compliments and congratulations, much
to his embarrassment, and when Noreen left the room to supervise the
arrangement of the supper-table they plied him with questions without
extracting much more information from him. But when a servant came to
announce that the meal was ready and the planters rose to troop to the
dining-room, Dermot reached the door first and held up his hand to stop
them.

"Gentlemen, one moment, please," he said. Then he looked out to satisfy
himself that the domestic was out of hearing and continued: "I'd be obliged