“I mean this: an English woman becomes wearied of her husband, and prefers another to him. The man who is preferred is called a ‘co-respondent.’ Straightway they go before the Kasi--the Magistrate, and, after much discussion, it is decided at what price the co-respondent shall buy the woman. The money is then paid to the husband.” This gave me a sort of shock. “People of my race,” he continued, calmly, “do differently. When a woman prefers another to her husband--they kill her.” I asked if he were married. He said “No.” [Sidenote: Plurality of Wives.] “Do you,” I said, “consider that a plurality of wives is to be desired?” “Among people of my race,” he replied, “a plurality of wives is lawful; but that which is lawful is not always expedient.” “In what way is it inexpedient?” I asked. “Firstly, there is the question of expense. Secondly, a plurality of wives is a source of constant annoyance and anxiety. One wife will live in peace with her husband; but with two or more, there is no peace: for ever they are quarrelling.” [Illustration] CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST SITTING. Morning prayers. Early tea. The weather. Breakfast. The first sitting for the Amîr’s portrait: difficulties to contend with. The Courtier’s criticism. The Amîr’s rebuke. The Deputation. Conversation with the Amîr: the climate of England and Australia: differences in the time of day: the cause of clouds. Awe of the Courtiers. The favourite Page-boy’s privileges. The newspaper paragraph: the Amîr’s comment. Serious incident at a sitting. The Captain’s toothache. Present of a rifle from the Amîr. The shooting expedition and its dangers. Courage of the “Burma policeman.” The eccentric rider. The singing Afghan. The scenery of Mazar. Salutations in the market place. The meeting with Prince Amin Ullah. A day or two after the vaccination of the Prince, His Highness sent word that he would be prepared to give me a sitting for his portrait on the following day. Paint-box, canvas, and easel were therefore taken to the Palace at once. The next morning I woke up as usual about six, opened the windows of the inner room and the top sash of one of the outer windows, to let in the light and air. I could hear Hafiz, the compounder, who was a Priest, reciting aloud his prayers in the servants’ room. It took him, as a rule, an hour and a half to two hours to say his prayers in the early morning. During my illness I had had the Armenian sleep on the floor of my room, and the noise I made in opening the windows woke him. “Sir, how do you do?” said he. “I open the windows,” I said. “That is how I do.” “Sir, why you not call me? I open windows.” “Open them, then,” I said. “Sir!” said he, “my wish is not I get up.” I went to the door of the servants’ room. Hafiz stopped his prayers to say, “Sir?” I told him to bring me some tea. He boiled the water, and brought me some tea in a very short time, then went on with his prayers.