"Yes, saar, she is in," replied the smart Goanese attendant, "but who shall I say, saar?"
"A gentleman to see her—no, I have no card."
Nevertheless the visitor was ceremoniously ushered into a lift, and swiftly whirled to the first floor.
After what seemed a long interval of waiting in an empty sitting-room, Mrs. Rochfort appeared. The lady had evidently dressed in haste; her hair was damp,—as if recently dipped in water,—and she was violently struggling with a blouse button as she entered. The pitiless heat had undoubtedly tried her more than her visitor; Sophie Rochfort looked plainer than ever; so old, sallow, and fagged, as she stood for a moment uncertain,—then held out her hand.
"Oh, Captain Mallender, of all people!" she exclaimed, "fancy you and I meeting in India! how did you know I was here? I am expecting Robbie every instant, do sit down," pointing to a chair.
"Yes, I heard you had arrived," he began evasively, looking into his helmet, and wondering what the dickens he should say next?
"Wasn't I energetic!" she continued volubly, "coming out as a surprise,—and so late in the season. You see, I was at Port Said, nearly half-way, and I took it into my head to visit this wonderful coffee estate. Robbie has always been so keen on it, and so full of it, now I shall be able to talk of it too, and to share his interest!"
"Um—yes—of course," murmured her visitor; but his tone was faint and dubious.
"Do excuse my toilet!" she chattered on, "I really was not prepared for this furnace, and until I landed here, I'd no idea of the miseries of prickly heat!"
"I know, it's a bad time," agreed her visitor; "mostly everyone is in the Hills now."