The actual quiet of the moment was suddenly broken into. His front-door
banged, and the house was filled with running footsteps and screams of
laughter. But it was not uncommon for Hermy and Ursy to make this sort
of entrance, and at the moment Georgie had not the slightest idea of
how much further-reaching was the disturbance of the tranquillity. He
but drew a couple of long breaths, said "Om" once or twice, and was
quite prepared to find his deeper calm unshattered.
Hermy and Ursy ran down the steps into the garden where he sat still
yelling with laughter, and still Georgie's imagination went no further
than to suppose that one of them had laid a stymie for the other at
their golf, or driven a ball out of bounds or done some other of these
things that appeared to make the game so diverting to them.
"Georgie, you'll never guess!" cried Hermy.
"The Guru: the Om, of high caste and extraordinary sanctity," cried
Ursy.
"The Brahmin from Benares," shrieked Hermy.
"The great Teacher! Who do you think he is?" said Ursy. "We never seen
him before--"
"But we recognised him at once--"
"He recognised us, too, and didn't he run?--"
"Into The Hurst and shut the door--"
Georgie's deeper calm suddenly quivered like a jelly.
"My dears, you needn't howl so, or talk quite so loud," he said. "All
Riseholme will hear you. Tell me without shouting who it was you
thought you recognised.
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