"She is, and as nice a girl as ever stepped," chimed in Mrs. Rouat with a gratified air, "though I allow she's a bit stand-offish in manner for her station in life," she added apologetically, noting her niece's defiant, sulky air. "But things is going to look up now thatt I've come. I'm going to give them a good lift up before I've done. Some fine parties and some nice drives to the fashionable beach will set them up wonderful." Mrs. Rouat rolled her eyes upon her niece, who still sat with a sullen air; Mr. Morpeth made no comment on the programme. "And so you live all alone in this veree fine house?" continued Mrs. Rouat, now fixing her eyes interrogatively on Mr. Morpeth's face. "Ah, wouldn't this grand bungalow have pleased Rosina! She was thatt fond of style! Ah, well, she's gone, but it was a thousand peeties you didn't keep hold on thatt child--a fine boy he was. But Rosina had set her heart on sending him across the black water to make an Englishman of him, and so you let Flo take him. Oh, it was a peety! Just think what a comfort he might have been to you now." Mrs. Rouat's benevolent face looked with concern on the bent frame of the acquaintance of her youth. "What's become of him? I hope he is still in the land of the livin'?" she asked, seeing Mr. Morpeth's face grow grey and drawn. He seemed to hesitate whether he should break the silence. At length, with evident effort, he replied: "No, my son is not dead. He still lives." Then, determining to change the subject, he turned to Leila and fixed his searching eyes on her. "And you take care of your mother in Salamander Street?" he said encouragingly. "Mrs. Baltus is quite able to take care of herself," she returned. "I live with her because I've been jilted and have nowhere else to live," said the girl, tossing her head. "Oh, my gracious, what rubbishee stuff is this?" cried her aunt with uplifted hands. "Never did I hear the like." Deciding that since Leila was so sulky and her host so "stuck-up," she would rather enjoy the hired bandy in bowling along the Madras roads than remain longer surrounded by those awe-inspiring books. She rose to take leave, much to the relief of her niece, who later recounted to her mother that "it was quite a wasted hour. The man was as stiff as a poker and wished Aunt Tilly and her twaddle at the bottom of the sea!" Mrs. Rouat took her seat among the cushions in the bandy with a sense of disappointment. Her visit had evidently not been a pleasure to her old acquaintance. "Sure, I wanted nothing more from David Morpeth but a hearty word for the sake of old times!" she sighed. "Maybe, Aunt Tilly, but the man's so used to Eurasian beggars he could only credit us with being on some such whining errand."