“Do you know anybody in the station?” he inquired.
“No, not a soul! I lie low all the time. I associate with Mrs. de Castro’s friends—sergeants’ wives and the wives of telegraph clerks, and so on.”
“Mrs. de Castro’s friends!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and I like them,” I said, “they know that I have some trouble and are most truly kind and sympathetic. It’s a very good thing to see another side of life.”
“By Jove, Eva, you have seen a good many sides of life, what with Beke, the old professor, and Mrs. Hayes-Billington, and now my crash—your experience has been extraordinarily varied.”
“I said that I know nobody here, and no one knows me, but the other Sunday in church I thought I caught a glimpse of Sally Payne. I don’t think she recognised me, and I sneaked out before the sermon. She has been here, because in reading the Bangalore Herald I saw among the list of guests at the West End Hotel, ‘Miss Payne and maid.’ I was always fond of Sally,” I added, “and I think she liked me. Do you remember we arrived in Secunderabad on the very same day?”
“I wish she could take you out of Bangalore,” said Ronnie. “Because my life is spoiled there is no reason that yours should be. You have helped me over the first bad bit, and I shall rub along all right now. If I have any luck I might get something taken off my sentence. The superintendent talked about putting me in the office to do the jail accounts, but I’d rather have my present job. I’m more independent, and I’d hate having to sit and write all day long.”
“Are they troublesome, your ward?” I asked.
“No, not with me. You see, I understand order and discipline from being in the Service. I stand no nonsense, and soon wheel them into line, but they are a rough lot. Some such powerful murderous-looking brutes.”
I was telling Ronnie about the superintendent’s wife, how she had taken me out to drive, and invited me to sit in her garden as often as I liked, when a warder entered, salaamed, and said: