SMOKE FROM THE FIRE
"It always used to be regarded as anything but a model State," smiled
Major Hunt-Goring, as he lay in a long chair and watched Daisy's busy
fingers at work on a frock for Peggy. "I suppose our friend Nicholas
Ratcliffe has changed all that, however. A queer little genius—Nick."
"He is my husband's and my greatest friend," said Daisy.
"Really!" Hunt-Goring laughed silkily. "Do you know, Mrs. Musgrave, that's the fifth time you have mentioned your husband in as many minutes? If I remember aright, he used not to be so often on your lips."
Daisy glanced up momentarily. "And now," she said, "he is never out of my thoughts."
"Really!" Hunt-Goring said again. He looked at her very attentively for a few seconds before he relaxed again with eyes half-closed. "That is très convenant for you both," he observed. "I enjoy the unusual spectacle of a wife who is happy as well as virtuous."
Daisy stitched on in silence. Privately she wondered how she had ever come to be on intimate terms with the man, and condemned afresh the follies of her youth.
"Have you been Home since I had the pleasure of your society at Mahalaleshwar I will not say how many years ago?" asked Hunt-Goring, after a pause.
"I went Home the following year," said Daisy. "We thought—we hoped—it would make our baby boy more robust to have a summer in England."
"Oh, have you a boy?" said Hunt-Goring, without much interest.