“Mrs. Ringrose, I believe.” “Ringrose, Ringrose,” hunting through the leaves with feverish haste. “Ye-es, here it is.” “James--Walter--Ringrose--he is a member of council in Calcutta, and just _one_ week senior to P.!” and she gazed at her niece with a face almost devoid of colour, and the expression of a naughty child who is desperately ashamed of herself. “So I’ve been in a tantrum, and missed my dinner and a pleasant evening, all for nothing! Well, to be sure, I’ve been a fine old fool,” throwing the book on the table. “But what brings Calcutta people up here?” she demanded pettishly. “I think she is sister to some one in Shirani, and her husband has gone on to the snows, and left her here. Dear Aunt Sara,” continued Honor playfully, “why do you trouble your head about precedence? How can it matter how you go in to a meal, or where you sit?” “My dear child, it’s in my very blood. I can’t help it; it is meat and drink to me; it is what a lover is to a girl, a coronet to a duchess, a medal to a soldier--it’s the outward and visible sign of P.’s deserts--and mine. And the sight of another woman sitting in my lawful place just chokes me. ‘A woman takes rank according to her husband,’ that seemed to be ringing in my ears all the evening. How was I to know her husband was in council too? However, I went in to dinner, that’s one comfort.” (It had not been much comfort to her cavalier). “At first I was in two minds to go straight home. I remember hearing of three ladies at a party, who each expected to go in with the host, and when he took one, the others got up and walked off supperless.” “I think they were extremely foolish--they ought to have taken each other in arm-in-arm; it’s what I should have done,” said Honor emphatically. “Yes, young people don’t care; but I can no more change than a leopard his skin, and a nigger his spots--well, you know what I mean. I am not always such a stickler, though--for instance, this very winter, when I happened to go into the ladies’ club at Alijore, and no one stood up to receive me, I took no notice, though I was so _hurt_ that I scarcely closed an eye that night. Kiss me, dearie, and forgive me, as one of the party, for breaking up so early, and spoiling every one’s pleasure” (a supreme flight of imagination). “Maybe some day you will be touchy too.” “Perhaps I may, but not about rank and precedence. Surely there is no precedence in heaven.” “I’m not so certain of that,” rejoined Mrs. Brande; “an archangel is above an angel. However, I may leave my proud thoughts behind, for I shall have a lowly place--if I ever get there at all. Now, dear, I’m just starving; a morsel of fish and a spoonful of aspic was all I had. So call Bahadar Ali to get me some cold turkey and ham, and a glass of claret. Maybe you would take a pick too?” “No indeed, thank you. I had a capital dinner.”