"I want to learn, and I have nothing particular to do while you are at work all day."
"You've got the piano, and you can order what books you want from Bombay. Haven't you any fancy work?"
She laughed. "Fancy work! I want to use my brains."
"Don't talk nonsense. What good will Hindustani do your brains? Keep up your French and music. Natives respect Englishwomen far more if they can't speak the language."
"Oh, Robert, what a thing to say! I'm sure that can't be true."
"You know nothing about it, you silly child. Come here!"
She had risen and was moving restlessly about the room. As she passed he put out his arm and pulled her down on to his knees. With a strong effort she controlled her reluctance, realising, suddenly aghast, that her distaste for Robert's demonstrations of affection was on the increase, that it threatened to develop into actual aversion. As he pressed her face against his shoulder, kissing her hair, a sort of desperation seized her. She did not love Robert, had never loved him, and at this moment she almost hated him. The question rose in her mind: Was it because they had known she was not in love with Robert that grandmamma and the aunts had shown so little sympathy with her marriage, had behaved as if she were doing something reprehensible? If so, why had they not warned her? Yet, supposing they had gone so far as to put probable consequences before her, would she have heeded, believed them? No, she knew well enough that in her headstrong simplicity nothing would then have turned her from her purpose. If anyone was to blame in the matter it was Robert, who had married her to please himself only, regardless of her ignorance of life and love, even partly, perhaps, because of it. She recalled a sentence in the letter Maud Verrall had written announcing her engagement: "I am very happy and awfully in love." If only she was in love with Robert! But she was not, she never could be. Did he know it? Not that she believed he would care one way or the other as long as she submitted to his will in every detail. But at least she did not intend to submit with regard to learning Hindustani. More than ever did she feel that congenial occupation of mind was a necessity, that if she could not satisfy her craving for knowledge of the country she would rather have stayed on at The Chestnuts. How could she hope to understand India, as far as it was possible for an Englishwoman to do so, till she was able to talk to the people? She had already discovered that India for its own sake did not interest Robert. He worked hard because he liked work. He had a clear, hard brain; the mode of existence suited him; he appreciated his big pay and the importance of his position; natives were afraid of him, and he liked to inspire fear. He never talked to her of his work, or of the people and their histories and religions, and now he did not want her to learn the language, beyond the smattering that would suffice for her daily requirements.
However, learn it she would. And a means, though repugnant, of gaining her ends occurred to her. Bracing her will, she slipped her arm about his neck and laid her lips to his cheek. "You are Satan Sahib now," she murmured plaintively. "I don't like you at all."
His grasp of her tightened. "Why, what have I done?"
"The first little thing I have ever asked for you refuse me!"