"Won't you come into tiffin," said Angel, appearing suddenly. "I have sent off a note to Mrs. Blaine," and she led the way into the dining-room.
"What a delightful bungalow this is," remarked Lola, after she had helped herself carefully to mayonnaise; "so much larger than the Blaines'. Quite double the size."
"Yes, I suppose it is," assented Angel, carelessly.
"They have only one spare room. Of course they are not old friends, only board ship acquaintances, and it was so good of them to put me up; but I've got to turn out."
"You are going on to Edgar?" said her host.
"Oh, no, such a bore. The Edgars are moving, and won't be settled for a whole month. She is marching with the regiment to Seetapore, so I am going to take my chance in the Imperial Hotel here."
And Lola looked down, and sighed profoundly.
"Will it be very bad, do you think?" she asked, suddenly raising her eyes to Angel.
"I'm sure I cannot say; I've never stayed in a hotel in India, but a great many globe-trotters put up there in the cold weather."
Philip gazed at his wife. Was she unable to recognise a broad hint, or was she intentionally and exceptionally dense?