I endeavoured to thank him, but he would not listen to me; on the contrary, he insisted on my listening to him.
“I must tell you that I do not approve of this step you are taking—no more does Lucy. Of course old Jane de Castro will look after you, but you will find her a dull companion, and I do not see how you can possibly hold on with her for more than a few months. I can enter into your feelings in wishing to be near your brother, but I am sure you ought to think a little of yourself, and after you have seen him and cheered him up a bit, you really should go home.”
I listened to his advice with profound respect, but I was sensible that nothing would induce me to accept it. Mrs. Lakin, too, had provided me with a generous supply of admonition and warnings; and also endowed me with a basket of provisions that would have kept a hungry family for a week. She exhorted me to write to her continually, and actually threatened to come down to Bangalore in order to see with her own eyes how I was getting on.
In the midst of our leave-taking talk and Mrs. Lakin’s last instructions, Zora’s big motor glided into the compound. My boxes were placed upon the roof—a tiffin basket also—and Zora herself accompanied me down to Wadi, closely veiled. She gave me much sweet sympathy and many wise injunctions, saw me into a comfortable carriage in the Madras mail, and behold me launched into a new world!
Before my departure I had written to Mrs. Soames, Mrs. Mills, and other friends, bidding them farewell, thanking them for all their kindness. To poor Mrs. Lakin I deputed the heavy and thankless task of explaining my flight. In answer to numerous inquiries she assured her questioners that I had insisted on leaving, in spite of all that she could urge or do, but the truth was, I could not endure to remain in Secunderabad. I had been very mysterious about my destination and address; my desire was, if possible, to be absolutely forgotten. For all these stories may my good kind friend be absolved.
It was naturally assumed that I had taken flight to England, until Mrs. Potter announced in the morghi khana that I had been seen on the road to Wadi in Balthasar’s great grey motor with luggage on the top, and not alone. Moreover, it was an incriminating coincidence that Balthasar himself had disappeared from Chudderghat on the very same day!
CHAPTER XXV
AT BANGALORE
After changing at two junctions, and a tedious but eventless journey, Kipper and I arrived in Bangalore, and drove off in a dusty, shuttered gharry to 202 Infantry Lines, the abode of Mrs. de Castro.
Bangalore itself lies chiefly around a maidan or parade ground about a mile long, bordered with a ride and trees, and encircled and traversed by the principal roads in the station. Parallel to the maidan are the infantry lines; they lie behind what once were infantry barracks, and are now commissariat stores. Formerly the bungalows were occupied by officers, but these quarters—like the barracks—have passed into a different use, and are rented by clerks, shopkeepers and railway subordinates. Number 202 was large and old and gloomy, situated in a small compound with two entrances, flanked by imposing gate piers, but there were no gates. The front of the bungalow was completely veiled by an enormous lattice-work porch, covered with flowering creepers—wine-coloured bougainvillea and blue masses of “morning glory.” The little drive was full of ruts, the steps up to the veranda were lined with many pots of caladiums and maidenhair; evidently these had been recently watered, for the first sensation I received, with respect to my new residence, was an all-pervading smell of wet earth.
As we rumbled up and came to a noisy halt a little old woman shuffled out of the doorway directly facing the steps; and as I descended from the gharry she exclaimed in a shrill, querulous voice: