[FEROZA.]
Two hen sparrows quarrelling over a feather, while a girl watched them listlessly; for the rest, sunshine imprisoned by blank walls, save where at one end a row of scalloped arches gave on two shallow, shadowy verandah-rooms, and at the other a low doorway led to the world beyond. But even this was veiled by a brick screen, forced by the light into unison with the brick building behind. The girl sat with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, and her little, bare, brown feet moulding themselves in the warm, sun-steeped dust of the courtyard. In the hands clasped round her green trousers she held an unopened letter from which the London post-mark stared up into the brazen Indian sky. She was waiting to have it read to her--waiting with a dull, almost sullen patience, for the afternoon was still young. It was old enough, however, to make a sheeted figure in the shadow sit up on its string bed and yawn because siesta time was past.
"Still thinking of thy letter, Feroz? Bismillah! I'm glad my man doesn't live in a country where the women go about half naked."
"Who told thee so, Kareem? The Meer sahib said naught."
A light laugh seemed prisoned in the echoing walls. "Wah! How canst tell? 'Tis father-in-law reads thy letters. Inaiyut saith so. He saw them at Delhi dancing like bad ones with--"
"Peace, Kareema! Hast no decency?"
"Enough for my years, whilst thou art more like a grandam than a scarce-wed girl. Why should not Inaiyut be a man? A husband is none the worse for knowing a pretty woman when he sees one."
She settled the veil on her sleek black head and laughed again. Feroza Begum's small brown face hardened into scorn. "Inaiyut hath experience and practice in the art doubtless, as he hath in cockfighting and dicing."
"Now, don't gibe at him for that. Sure 'tis the younger son's portion amongst us Moguls. Do I sneer at thy Meer amusing himself over the black water amongst the mems?"
"The Meer is not amusing himself. He is learning to be a barrister."