‘Yes, he did. But one looks to make quite sure.’
‘I can understand that.’
Mrs. Innes leaned forward with one elbow on her knee.
It was not a graceful attitude, but it gave the casual air to the conversation which was desirable.
‘What are you going to do?’ she said.
‘My plans are as indefinite as possible, really,’ Madeline returned. ‘I may spend the cold weather in Calcutta, or go into camp with the Dovedells—I should like that.’
‘Mrs. Innes,’ cried the nearest schoolgirl, ‘we are coming tomorrow to see all the lovely things in your boxes, may we?’
‘Do, duckies. But mind, no copying of them by durzies in the veranda. They’re all Paris things—Coulter’s—and you know he doesn’t copy well, does he? Oh, dear! here are the men—they always come too soon, don’t they? So glad to have had even a little chat, Miss Anderson. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. You know newcomers in India always make the first calls. I shall find you at home, sha’n’t I?’
‘By all means,’ Madeline said.
Mrs. Innes crossed the room, crying out that the heat was perfectly absurd for Simla, it must be cooler outside; and as Captain Valentine Drake followed her into the semi-darkness of the veranda, the three married schoolgirls looked at each other and smiled.