In order to carry out her project, that same evening, after dinner, Major Tallboys' particular horror—the loudest and showiest of the sisters—invited him to come into the conservatory for a smoke, and tell her something about India.
He obeyed with prompt gallantry,—though secretly alarmed. This bold-eyed matron with a voice of brass had, undoubtedly, something up her sleeve.
After a few vague enquiries respecting heat, and snakes, Mrs. Bond, assuming a more confidential attitude, took the plunge.
"Do you know, Major Tallboys, you have made Cousin Fanny just crazy about India. Poor dear, she has seen so little of the world."
"So I gather from what she told me."
"I'll bet you a pair of gloves she never told you the reason," the lady went on impressively, "or that she has been a slave and a martyr to a terrible old father for ten years! Poor Fan was his drudge and nurse, and yet she never complained—though it was a dog's life."
"Some dogs haven't half a bad time," argued her companion (who was thinking of his own happy pack and their assiduous "dog boy").
"Not those that are chained in back yards," declared the matchmaker. "Fan was always on the chain."
"Did no one interfere?"
"What can you do, between a father and a daughter?—though he was a Pharaoh—not a father. Besides, we were all mortally afraid of Uncle James, and never went near him. His temper was something frightful—just like a tiger with the toothache!"