“I’ve avoided,” said Miss Quested. “Excepting my own servant, I’ve scarcely spoken to an Indian since landing.”
“Oh, lucky you.”
“But I want to see them.”
She became the centre of an amused group of ladies. One said, “Wanting to see Indians! How new that sounds!” Another, “Natives! why, fancy!” A third, more serious, said, “Let me explain. Natives don’t respect one any the more after meeting one, you see.”
“That occurs after so many meetings.”
But the lady, entirely stupid and friendly, continued: “What I mean is, I was a nurse before my marriage, and came across them a great deal, so I know. I really do know the truth about Indians. A most unsuitable position for any Englishwoman—I was a nurse in a Native State. One’s only hope was to hold sternly aloof.”
“Even from one’s patients?”
“Why, the kindest thing one can do to a native is to let him die,” said Mrs. Callendar.
“How if he went to heaven?” asked Mrs. Moore, with a gentle but crooked smile.
“He can go where he likes as long as he doesn’t come near me. They give me the creeps.”