After that there followed a period of unusual activity in the Coventry's bungalow¹. Guns and rifles were overhauled², ammunition³ ordered, boxes and cupboards were ransacked⁵ for garments suited to the jungle.
Trixie entered keenly into all the preparations. She seldom did anything by halves; and she might almost have been joining in the expedition herself so lively was her interest in every detail. She asked endless questions concerning camps and elephants and tigers, and she listened breathless to all that George could tell her of the fascinations⁶ of the jungle. She dragged books on sport from the musty shelves of the club library, and read them with genuine enjoyment⁷ during two long, hot afternoons.
Coventry to the last was more or less reluctant to leave her; but she ignored his hesitation⁸, and when the hour of departure came she drove with him gaily⁹ to the railway station, and with a cheerful, smiling face saw him off by the night mail.
[pg 144]
 It was when she returned to the empty bungalow that her spirits sank. The rooms were so silent, save for the tiny trumpeting¹⁰ of mosquitoes in the corners; the atmosphere felt so close, and there was a smell of musk¹¹ rat that was nauseating¹². Until dawn brought comparative coolness she lay awake, turning restlessly, hearing the desperate cry of the brain-fever bird, and the

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