"Oh, is it really? I thought it was a _sauté du lit_." "You can have it copied if you like," kindly ignoring such deplorable ignorance. "Thank you," said Angel, demurely, "but it is not a style which would suit me." "No, dear, perhaps you _are_ a little too thin. I see you are having tea out here," continued the uninvited guest. "How delightful! I daresay some of my friends will drop in to inquire how I got over my scare—you won't mind?" "No, of course not; I shall be delighted to see them. Excuse me for a moment, while I take this telegram to Philip," and Mrs. Waldershare was left for a moment alone with Sam and John. They both disliked her most cordially. She jeered at John, and made rude remarks about his figure—he was extremely sensitive to ridicule. She sat in Sam's favourite chair, and had once flung him off her lap with a violence that hurt him. Then they abhorred the atmosphere of heliotrope and pearl powder, and felt instinctively that the intruder hated animals, and was a "human" to be most carefully avoided. As they sat glaring at the interloper, and exchanging their opinions of her, the lady's friends appeared in a hired landau, Sir Capel, General Bothwell, and Mrs. Alley-Lacy, who was profanely known as Mrs. Laissez-Aller, an exuberant, talkative woman of uncertain age and proclivities, but who was obviously rich, agreeable, and beautifully dressed, and had come to India, she declared, solely on account of her health. She could not endure the English climate, and India was an interesting change from Egypt, where she had wintered hitherto. Mrs. Lacy might be classed as "an hotel lady," for she had no permanent home and no permanent ties, and seemed well acquainted with all the principal hostelries in Europe. The third visitor was General Bothwell, retired; a wiry, dapper little man, with a large authoritative-looking nose, a voice to correspond, and a pointed snow-white beard. He entertained an extremely high opinion of R. Bothwell, K.C.B., who once upon a time had carried out an insignificant but successful expedition—and had lived upon his reputation ever since. He was a terrible correspondent, the high priest of bore, and his chief enjoyment in life consisted in asking questions, expounding his views, and proclaiming what ought to be done under certain circumstances. He had mentally conducted every recent campaign, and, according to his own account, all the chief men at the War Office were his personal friends, and he was their valuable adviser. A widower with ample means, and ample time on his hands, he had just run down to re-visit his old haunts in order to ascertain how the great Indian Empire was getting on without him. The General had made Mrs. Waldershare's acquaintance at the Imperial Hotel and admired her from a paternal standpoint; her attitude to him and others was that of serene friendliness and warm interest. "Oh, how could you desert us, Mrs. Waldershare?" said Sir Capel, accosting her dramatically.