"No, no," indignantly. "I'm not like that. Grandmamma was furious at first, but I talked her round in two days. Dr. Marsh is a gentleman, cultivated, and presentable. He has a large practice. Granny began to see reason and to calm down. It was partly over an Italian Prince that we came to grief: Granny was so insistent, so shamelessly throwing me at his head, I could not endure it. He got on my nerves—and so did Aix. The dressing four times a day, the baths, the gossip, the gambling. I said to myself, I really must get away from all this, or I shall develop into a woman like granny. Granny can have one of the Lorraine girls to launch into life instead of me—she is not half so stiff-necked or headstrong." "Are you stiff-necked and headstrong?" "Oh, yes, so Miss Morton used to say. A friend of mine, Mrs. Friske, heard my groans and lamentations, and said, 'Why don't you go out to your guardian? He is elderly; your home is really with him. India is much better than this.' We talked it all over one night—she is very quick, clever, and impulsive—and I thought it out, and made up my mind to leave granny. I would not have done it so suddenly, but that one evening we had a terrible scene, oh——" and she caught her breath sharply. "I can never forget the things she dared to say of my—mother. We had not spoken of her before. I just packed up all my smart French frocks, sold my ring, Mrs. Friske took my passage from Marseilles, and away we went on board the _Arabia_. It was all so easy. We had a delightful time—lots of nice people coming out—and Mrs. Friske chaperoned me to Basaule Junction. In spite of the awful state of the hills, I came on straight, the wretched ayah gibbering and screaming behind me, for I particularly wanted to arrive before grandmamma's letter." Angel drew a long breath, and said, "That's all—I've finished. Now it is your turn to speak, cousin Philip. Since I am here, what are you going to do with me?" and she looked up at him with a gaze of amused expectation. "I shall take you down to Marwar to-morrow," was his prompt reply, "and as soon as the monsoon is over, send you—home." "No, no, no, Philip," she remonstrated in a piteous key. "I won't go back. I realise now," putting her cigarette into the ash-tray, "that I have been—mad. I'd no idea you were so young." As she spoke she faltered a little, and a sudden wave of colour dyed her cheeks. It was her first and sole token of embarrassment. "You are not the grey-haired fatherly person I expected to see. You were getting grey years ago, and I thought—you'd be different. I've so much imagination—I've an excellent memory. I remembered how good you were to me when I was an odious, friendless child, and I—imagined—that you—would be pleased—to have me."