“How un_kind_ you are about news, Richard! Fancy your not telling us that before! And I think you and Rhoda are _quite_ wrong about the cloak. If _you_ had died suddenly of cholera in a a dâk-bungalow in the wilds and _I_ was left with next to nothing, I would accept little presents from friends in the spirit in which they were offered, no matter _what_ my position had been!” “I daresay you would, my dear. But if I—hello! Exchange is going up again—if I catch you wearing cast-off mourning for me, I’ll come and hang around until you burn it. By the way, I saw Doyle last night at the Club.” “The barrister? Did you speak to him?” asked Mrs. Daye. “Yes. ‘Hello!’ I said: ‘thought you were on leave. What in the world brings you up here?’ Seems that Pattore telegraphed askin’ Doyle to defend him in this big diamond case with Ezra, and he came out. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Pattore’s in Calcutta, Ezra’s in Calcutta, diamond’s in Calcutta, an’ you’re in Darjiling. When I’m sued for two lakhs over a stone to dangle on my tummy I won’t retain you!’” “And what did Mr. Doyle say to that, papa?” his daughter inquired. “Oh—I don’t remember. Something about never having seen the place before or something. Here, khansamah—cheroot!” The man brought a box and lighted a match, which he presently applied to one end of the cigar while his master pulled at the other. “Well,” said Mrs. Daye, thoughtfully dabbling in her finger-bowl, “about this statue or whatever it is to Mr. Church—if it were a mere question of inclination—but as things are, Richard, I really don’t think we can afford more than fifty. It isn’t as if it could do the poor man any good. Where are you going, Rhoda? Wait a minute.” Mrs. Daye followed her daughter out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and put an impressive hand upon Rhoda’s arm at the foot of the staircase. “My dear child,” she said, with a note of candid compassion, “what do you think has happened? Your father and I were discussing it as you came down, but I said ‘Not a word before Rhoda!’ They have made Lewis Ancram Chief Commissioner of Assam!” The colour came back into the girl’s face with a rush, and the excitement went out of her eyes. “Good heavens, mummie, how you—— Why shouldn’t they? Isn’t he a proper person?” “Very much so. _That_ has nothing to do with it. Think of it, Rhoda—a Chief Commissioner, at his age! And you _can’t_ say I didn’t prophesy it. _The_ rising man in the Civil Service I always told you he was.” “And I never contradicted you, mummie dear! My own opinion is that when Abdur Rahman dies they’ll make him Amir!” Rhoda laughed a gay, irresponsible laugh, and tripped on upstairs with singular lightness of step. Mrs. Daye, leaning upon the end of the banister, followed her with reproachful eyes.