"But why such a long time? You must come again soon. Come next year. You and I love each other. You teach me things I did not know, and you never irritate me. I love you. You must come back next year!"
Tess shook her head.
"But why?"
"They say the climate isn't good for them until they're eighteen at least— some say twenty."
"Oh! Oh, I envy you! What will you call him? It will be a boy—it is sure to be a boy!"
"Richard will be one name, after my husband."
"And the other? You must name him after me in some way. You can not call a boy Yasmini. Would Utirupa sound too strange in America?"
"Rupert would sound better."
"Good! He shall be Rupert, and I will send a gift to him!"
(That accounts for the initials R. R. B. on a certain young man's trunk at Yale, and for the imported pedigree horse he rides during vacation— the third one, by the way, of a succession he has received from India.)