"Good night!" she said simply. "Sleep well! Sweet dreams! Come,
Hasamurti—your hands are cleverer than the other women's."
Daughter of a king, and promised wife of a son of twenty kings, she took the best of the maids to undress her, without any formal mockery of excuse. Two of the other women were awake to see Tess into bed— no mean allowance for a royal lady's guest.
Very late indeed that night Tess was awakened by Yasmini's hand stroking the hair back from her forehead. Again there was no explanation, no excuse. A woman who was privileged to see and hear what Tess had seen and heard, needed no apology for a visit in the very early hours.
"What do you think of him?" she asked. "How do you like him? Tell me!"
"Splendid!" Tess answered, sitting up to give the one word emphasis.
"But why did you never tell me his name?"
"Did you recognize him?"
"Surely! At once—first thing!"
"No true-born Rajputni ever names her lover or her husband."
"But you knew that I know Prince Utirupa Singh. He came to my garden party!"
"Nevertheless, no Rajputni names her lover to another man or woman— calling him by his own name only in retirement, to his face."