“Well, may I say something, just for once? I do not think she was really so dreadfully to blame—her children were taken away—she was so much alone—I cannot help feeling sorry for her.”
“What are you saying? Sorry for her!”
“Yes, she told me her story the night before I left; it was not so bad—but rather sad——”
“She threw dust in your eyes of course!” interrupted my companion, bristling up and speaking with great asperity. “Those abandoned creatures make themselves out to be martyrs of circumstances; and indeed, my dear, I should not be discussing such a woman with a girl like you. Now here we are, and there is James awaiting us.”
As she spoke, we were whirled in between two gate piers and came to a standstill before a solidly built bungalow, with a round, bowed sort of veranda. With hospitable agility, Colonel Soames sprang down the steps to greet me and handed me out of the victoria. He was a wiry little man, with keen granite grey eyes, a small sandy moustache, and a remarkably square jaw. Judging by his figure and youthful appearance, he might have been a mere captain instead of the officer commanding a notable regiment.
I was conducted into a perfectly appointed quarter, a C.O.’s bungalow—light, airy, and furnished to suit the climate. My room was not large, but looked most attractive, with its white bed, pink rugs, and pretty flowered chintz.
“Now make yourself quite at home,” said Mrs. Soames, “we have a few people dining, but, if you feel too tired after your journey, as soon as we go into the drawing-room, you can just slip away.”
Fortunately my clever ayah Mary had squeezed quite a goodly amount of raiment into a small trunk, and I was able to appear in a smart black evening gown, for which my hopeful aunt had paid no less a sum than twenty guineas. It seemed to me that there was a crowd in the drawing-room as I entered, but we only mustered twelve, including Ronnie and myself. I heard Mrs. Soames inform her guests that I was “just out from home!” Her tone and glance implied that I had arrived no later than yesterday, and I was plied with all sorts of questions by the two men between whom I sat at the dinner table with respect to the latest books, plays and news. As I gave rather vague and unsatisfactory answers, I’m afraid they looked upon me as a stupid sort of girl, or perhaps ascribed my lame replies to my strangeness in this new environment, or the fatigue of a journey from Bombay. So apparently my six weeks at Silliram were to be as though they were not, and I was beginning my career in Secunderabad with a smothered scandal and a secret!
The dinner party, as a dinner, was a great success. The cooking, waiting, appointments, and flowers could not have been bettered at Torrington; these native servants were certainly more deft and light-footed than Baker and his subordinates.
I slept soundly in the delightful “Europe” bed, between lavender scented sheets. This airy solid bungalow (pucka built) was a delicious change from the damp and mouldy “Dovecot.” The hours of the house were early and of military punctuality, and seven o’clock found me sitting in the veranda, having chota-hazri with my hostess, who was, as usual, full of animation and conversation.