"Mona is the image of her mother," she said. "Ye-e-s," said Sir Douglas, availing himself of his wife's relationship to look at Mona very frankly. "She reminds me a good deal of what you were at her age." "Nonsense!" said Mona hastily. "Remember I am not used to flattery." "To receiving or to paying it?" "To neither;" and she turned a look of very honest and almost childlike admiration on her aunt. Sir Douglas looked pleased, although he himself had long ceased to pay his wife compliments. "There's a great deal of your father in your face, too," he said. "You have got his mouth. Ah, he was a good fellow! I could tell you many a story of our Indian life--a man in a thousand!" "You could tell me nothing I should more dearly like to hear," said Mona, with eager interest. "Ah, well--some day, some day." A native servant announced dinner, and Sir Douglas gave Mona his arm. "What! another scene from the 'Arabian Nights'?" she said as they entered the dining-room. "It is clear that a very wonderful genius presides over your household." "You are going to have an Indian dinner, too," said Lady Munro. "Nubboo makes all the _entrées_ and soups and sauces. He is worth half-a-dozen English servants." Mona looked up at the dark bearded face under the voluminous white turban, but she could not tell whether Nubboo had heard the remark. All the philosophy of Buddh might lie behind those sad impenetrable eyes, or he might be thinking merely of the _entrées_; it was impossible to say. If the whole occasion had not seemed to her, as she said, a bit out of the 'Arabian Nights,' she would have thought it sacrilege that a man with such a face should be employed in so trivial an occupation as waiting at table. "When I look at Nubboo I can almost believe myself a baby again," she said. "He seems like a bit of my dream-world." The feeblest ghost of a smile flitted across the man's face, as he moved noiselessly from place to place. "It must be a dream-world," laughed her aunt. "You cannot remember much of that!" "I don't;" and Mona sighed. Lady Munro and Mona kept the ball going between them during dinner. Evelyn only spoke now and then, to tone down one of her mother's most piquant and highly coloured remarks; and she did this with a hidden sense of humour which never rose to the surface in her face. Sir Douglas spoke as much as courtesy absolutely demanded, but no more. The new beetle was evidently perplexing him profoundly. Lady Munro's feeling for her niece was one of mingled pride, affection, disgust, and fear--disgust for the life-work she had chosen, fear of her supposed "cleverness." Lady Munro despised learned women, but she was not at all willing that they should despise her. She exerted herself to talk well, but even Mona's evident admiration could not put her quite at her ease. "How is it we have seen so little of you, Mona?" she said, when they had left Sir Douglas to his wine. "Where were you when we were last at home?"