He glanced at her, puzzled. "But I wasn't thinking so much of the mutiny. Did you never hear of George Thomas?"
"George Thomas! Who was he?"
"One of the old military adventurers who paved the way for the British occupation of India. He very nearly conquered the Punjab, and established himself in this district, coining his own rupees, and manufacturing his own arms and ammunition, and he was always for his King and country. But he failed, beaten by the French under Perron, and through treachery among his native followers; also partly, I'm afraid, because at critical moments he was generally drunk!"
"Oh, poor dear!" Stella's eyes shone with interest. "And what happened to him?"
"He died on his way down country with his wife and family, broken-hearted, more or less a fugitive, but still, it is said, having certain possessions in the shape of money and jewels and shawls. His tomb has never been found, nor is it known what became of his descendants. I often wonder if any of them are living to-day. There is a story that on one occasion, when he was looking at a map of India, in which British territory was then, as now, coloured red, he ran his hand over the whole of the map and said, 'All this ought to be red.' That was the real spirit of his ambitions. I'll lend you a book about him if you like."
"Like! Please let me have it to-day—to-morrow."
He laughed at her enthusiasm. "Very well, directly my things are unpacked. His career would make a fine subject for a romance."
"Why don't you write it?"
He paused reflectively.
"Are you writing it? Do tell me," urged Stella.