“This sounds very romantic,” said Miss Quested, who was exceedingly fond of Mrs. Moore, and was glad she should have had this little escapade. “You meet a young man in a mosque, and then never let me know!”
“I was going to tell you, Adela, but something changed the conversation and I forgot. My memory grows deplorable.”
“Was he nice?”
She paused, then said emphatically: “Very nice.”
“Who was he?” Ronny enquired.
“A doctor. I don’t know his name.”
“A doctor? I know of no young doctor in Chandrapore. How odd! What was he like?”
“Rather small, with a little moustache and quick eyes. He called out to me when I was in the dark part of the mosque—about my shoes. That was how we began talking. He was afraid I had them on, but I remembered luckily. He told me about his children, and then we walked back to the club. He knows you well.”
“I wish you had pointed him out to me. I can’t make out who he is.”
“He didn’t come into the club. He said he wasn’t allowed to.”