“Well, I don’t know,” said Miss Ganett. “I’ve just been reading a book from the library about the underworld of Paris, and it says that some of the worst women criminals are young girls with the faces of angels.”
“That’s in France,” said Caroline instantly.
“Just so,” said the colonel. “Now, I’ll tell you a very curious thing—a story that was going round the Bazaars in India....”
The colonel’s story was one of interminable length, and of curiously little interest. A thing that happened in India many years ago cannot compare for a moment with an event that took place in King’s Abbot the day before yesterday.
It was Caroline who brought the colonel’s story to a close by fortunately going Mah Jong. After the slight unpleasantness always occasioned by my corrections of Caroline’s somewhat faulty arithmetic, we started a new hand.
“East Wind passes,” said Caroline. “I’ve got an idea of my own about Ralph Paton. Three Characters. But I’m keeping it to myself for the present.”
“Are you, dear?” said Miss Ganett. “Chow—I mean Pung.”
“Yes,” said Caroline firmly.
“Was it all right about the boots?” asked Miss Ganett. “Their being black, I mean?”
“Quite all right,” said Caroline.