"Almost a castle in the air?" suggested Verona.
"Yes, yes, it is; and I, too, have my real castle in the air," he added with tremulous significance. "Oh, such an adorable one." This speech was accompanied by a long, intense look.
"Don't you think these castles in the air cost a good deal to keep up?" remarked Miss Chandos. "I cannot afford to build them myself." Then she smiled her sweet smile, and turned away to address her left-hand neighbour.
All this time Malcolm was inwardly fuming, although he was eating his dinner critically and carrying on a conversation with the lady beside him, a lady who was blessed with a copious stock of words and laboured under the delusion that she was a brilliant and dramatic talker. She speedily discovered that her neighbour had been in India, and plied him with opinions, suggestions and numerous questions with regard to native life.
At last, utterly wearied by this severe cross-examination, he exclaimed:
"I am truly sorry my information appears so meagre, but the truth is that India—real India—is to the European a closed book!"
"Oh no, surely not!" she protested warmly. "Only stupid, lazy people say so!"
"Well, I have been out in the East seven years, and I know precious little of the natives, although I speak their language. I was born there, too, and sent home as a kid. My father was a judge in the Punjaub for thirty years. Shall I tell you what he said?"
"Oh, pray do!"
"That we Europeans are like drops of oil on a great ocean of water, and will never penetrate or mix!"