CHRISTMAS MORNING
It was the strangest Christmas Day Olga had ever known, but she certainly had no time to be homesick.
She was roused by Nick scratching seductively at her window from the verandah, and, admitting him, she found him waiting to present a jeweller's box which contained a string of moonstones exquisitely set in silver. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and she was delighted with it.
Through the medium of her ayah she had purchased a carved sandal-wood box from the bazaar for Nick, which she now presented, modestly hoping he didn't hate the smell.
"I adore it," declared Nick, sniffing it loudly. "It's just the East to me. I shall steep my ties in it. Many thanks, Olga mia! Thine ancient uncle values the gift for the sake of the giver." He kissed her, and sat down on the edge of the bed, dangling his feet in a pair of violently coloured Oriental slippers. "I see His Excellency has sent us a thing like a clothes-basket full of fruit. Very kind of him, but a trifle overwhelming. There is no mail in yet, but some local parcels have arrived which the khit is sorting with the face of a judge. Ah, here comes your little lot!" as the ayah softly opened the door. "Shall I remove myself?"
"Of course not, Nick! Smoke a cigarette while I open them. They can't be anything very much."
The ayah, smiling broadly, laid two parcels on the table by Olga's bedside. A third one, which was very small, she dropped with a mysterious gesture into her hand.
"What can this be?" questioned Olga. "Sambaji, what is it?"
But Sambaji shook her head. "Miss sahib, how should I know?"
Olga suddenly turned crimson. She held out the tiny packet to Nick.