“Then probably you can tell me of some people who would receive me?”
“Oh, as for that, I could. I know a nice old widow, who was my mother’s English maid and married a half-caste clerk. She is comfortably off, lives in the infantry lines, and has no family.”
“It seems to be just the place for me!” I exclaimed.
“No, no,” she protested. “I won’t have any hand in your crazy scheme.”
“Oh, dear Mrs. Lakin, don’t say that. If you do, I shall be living in Bangalore, possibly with people you might not approve of—unless you or Zora can suggest something better.”
“I do know people down there,” she admitted, “but they are in your own class.”
“That would never answer,” I rejoined. “They would want references and to hear all about me and my business—even supposing they’d receive me as a paying guest.”
I could see that Mrs. Lakin was relenting by degrees when she said:
“Even if you did go to Mrs. de Castro, it would take a couple of weeks to make arrangements.”
“But you can telegraph—‘reply paid,’” I suggested.