"Comfort!" thought her listener; "if this is merely comfort, what can be her idea of luxury?"
"I appreciate the large houses," she continued, "the food, the servants, who all speak English; though, of course, no stretch of imagination can give Madras a cold weather!"
"No, I understand that this is their winter," rejoined Mallender, "and to-day, you could have fried an egg on the roof of my gharry."
"Yes, I daresay, and yet I like Madras. My father was born out here, and his father served most of his life in the Presidency—there must be something in heredity."
"I believe there is no doubt of that. Do you happen to know the old man opposite, who is staring so fixedly?"
"Oh, yes, Sir William Bream, a connection of Fanny's; enormously rich, and immensely interested in cotton."
"I thought for a moment that he was immensely interested in us—or rather, I should say, in you."
"Oh," spreading out her hand with a gesture of sudden confidence, "he generally sits beside me—we are rather pals."
"The young lady next to him looks ill," observed Mallender, as he glanced at a pale, thin girl with sunken eyes, and a frock that had seen its best days.
"You mean Miss Sim; I don't think she is ill—only miserable." Mrs. Villars helped herself to a salted almond, nibbled it daintily, and then added unconcernedly, "You see, she has no belongings—and no home."