"You may call me Gunga Singh," said a quiet voice full of amusement,
and Tom Tripe started. He turned about in his chair and for the first
time looked the third member of the party in the face.

"Hoity-toity! Well, I'm jiggered! Dash my drink and dinner, it's the princess!"

He rose and saluted cavalierly, jocularly, yet with a deference one could
not doubt, showing tobacco-darkened teeth in a smile of almost
paternal indulgence.

"So the Princess Yasmini is Gunga Singh this morning, eh? And here's
Tom Tripe riding up-hill and down-dale, laming his horse and sweating
through a clean tunic--with a threat in his ear and a reward promised
that he'll never see a smell of--while the princess is smoking cigarettes--"

"In very good company!"

"In good company, aye; but not out of mischief, I'll be bound! Naughty,
naughty!" he said, wagging a finger at her. "Your ladyship'll get caught
one of these days, and where will Tom Tripe be then? I've got my
job to keep, you know. Friendship's friendship and respect's respect,
but duty's what I'm paid to do. Here's me, drill-master of the maharajah's
troops and a pension coming to me consequent on good behavior,
with orders to set a guard over you, miss, and prevent your going and
coming without his highness' leave. And here's you giving the guard
the slip! Somebody tipped his highness off, and I wish you'd heard
what's going to happen to me unless I find you!"

"You can't find me, Tom Tripe! I'm not Yasmini today; I'm Gunga Singh!"