“No; so far I am only acquainted with the bazaar prices, the gorgeous flowers, delicious fruit and futurist insects!”
“Well, women do most of the business and do it well; the men are a lazy, loafing lot; very genial and sporting, fond of cock-fighting and gambling—absolutely regardless of expense or debt. Mrs. Salter is rich; if you will look round now you will see her—the little woman with the yellow fan and diamond comb; notice her blazing ear-rings; and yet I have seen the same lady with her petticoats kilted high, standing knee-deep in a rice cart and diving with both hands into the grain to test its quality!”
“That is a very pretty girl with flowers in her hair, beside her,” remarked Sophy; “look, she is nodding to you. Who is she?”
“Her name is Ma Chit; she is Mrs. Salter’s cousin. Sometimes she drops in when I am there; the Salters live close to my chummery. I have a munshi now and I am learning Burmese.”
“And—and I am learning German!”
“How do you hit it off with your uncle?”
“Please don’t call him my uncle.”
“Then I am answered.”
Sophy laughed and coloured brilliantly.
“I suppose so. We do not coalesce; our ideas, age and country are different; he is hard as a rock, brusque and overbearing—but amazingly clever and energetic. He seems to hold so many threads in his hands, to deal with such numbers of people; his correspondence is enormous; his office, when he is at home, is surrounded and stormed by all sorts of people—Mohammedans, Chinese, Burmese, all waiting on his good pleasure and his nod. I scarcely see anything of him except at meals, and then he is too much taken up with eating to have time to spare for conversation; but we meet in one spot—music-land! He plays the violin; we do Beethoven together and are great friends; then when the piano closes——” she paused.