"Bah! the pater is only terrified that I should marry, that's all. No one marries in India—we carry on——"
"Oh, do you? And—what about Mrs. de Lacy? Have you dropped her?"
"I wish to goodness she'd drop me, Malcolm!" declaiming with uplifted hand and cigarette. "The pater was right there, though I'm the last man to tell him so! Nita is awfully up-to-date—plays bridge like a book, smokes like a chimney, has a ripping good figure—but twelve years, you know—I say, come, it's a good bit of a start, eh?"
"On the wrong side—yes. Uncle Horace wrote me a raving letter—he has a tremendous idea of what he calls 'A suitable alliance.' I fancy I see him and your father together at the club, wagging their heads over your 'case.' I bet your Uncle Horace prescribed India——"
"He has never been out, eh?" and Jimmy grinned significantly from ear to ear. "Well, I can't say I bear the old boy a grudge. I'm glad I came. Every one does India now; the Taj is as familiar as Charing Cross. I've been here four months—and the days have just slid along. I've had a blazing good time!"
"Ahem! Then—James—I'm much afraid you're at your old games. And yet—there are not many women of your style in the station——"
"That's true, oh, observant sage! Find the lady? By the way"—giving the conversation a sudden twist, "what are you doing to-day?"
"I don't quite know. Mrs. Chandos—asked me to tiffin——"
"What infernal cheek!" half sitting up; "you are not going to be such an ass as to give yourself away like that. If you do, she will nail you. Who enters there, leaves hope behind."
"What do you mean——?"