The chief part of the conversation was sustained by Mr. Lepell and Pussy, who, though a little daunted by the entrées and coloured wine glasses, was much elated to find herself dining in the big house. Her host noted how she was improved; she had ceased to giggle at the end of every sentence, and was really quite a pretty girl, with her liquid dark eyes, beautiful teeth and radiant smile. Mr. Lepell was astonished when he realized that this sparkling, happy-looking guest was only little Pussy Chandos! They were discussing dreams, and during a lull in the talk her thin staccato tones were heard saying: "Oh, I do dream such strange dreams! They seem so real! Two or three times I dream of Dominga--always the same; she walks through my room in her hat with a wrap on her arm--just as if she was there. Last week I dreamt of her, and I called out, and she put her finger on her lips and was gone. Now, what can it mean, do you think?" One of the khidmutgars in waiting caught the eye of his mate. _They_ knew, but this by-play was lost on the company--with one exception. "Did you tell your sister of these visions?" inquired Salwey. "Oh, yes; and she said it was only nightmare. I think I had been having too much curried fish--I'm awfully fond of curry; when I see curry I must eat it." "Now, Brian," said his aunt, "you have scarcely opened your lips--do amuse us! What are you looking so glum about? If you are thinking of the usurers, I will allow you to take a short canter on your hobby." "It's nothing to joke about, Aunt Liz," rejoined Salwey, suddenly rousing himself. "You know old Hirzat Sing--they have sold him up at last!" "Oh, no! Poor old fellow--he has been in difficulties for years!" "Yes," assented her husband; "he borrowed money for his son's wedding, and it was his ruin. His son is dead, and he has been getting deeper and deeper into debt every year. A slave to the soil and the money-lender--working from dawn to dark to keep himself and his wife alive--and feed the daughter of the horse-leech." "One would suppose he could throw off the yoke, and the strangling hundred per cent., and go elsewhere," said Mrs. Lepell. "He is too old," replied Salwey, "and he would say, 'Kahn jaga?'--whither shall I go? He clings to his ancestral acres with the extraordinary love of home, which is a passion in a Hindoo. There is a saying, 'The rent is heavy, the debts are many, but still he loves his field.' Now that Hirzat Sing is getting infirm and stiff, and his wife is blind, he is of no further use to the soucar, who has thrust him from his home, after making hundreds, aye, thousands of rupees out of him. The original debt was but two hundred and fifty; now he will end his days as a bazaar mendicant, after slaving for sixty years." "This is very bad, Brian; can you do nothing?"