“Well, I trust he is the only one of his species that has been thus honoured, and that it is not going to be a precedent.” “Don’t you like dogs?” inquired Jervis. “No, I’m desperately afraid of them, and they seem to know it. The only dog I could possibly bring myself to tolerate would be a dog without teeth! Well, I must be pushing on--I hope you are making yourself very agreeable to Miss Gordon, Mr. Jervis?” she added playfully. “I’m afraid not. My stock of ideas is rather low; perhaps you can suggest some novel and interesting topic.” “Your own life and adventures,” cried the lady, as she passed ahead of them; “try that.” “What were we talking about?” said Jervis. “Shall we go back to the last remark but six?” “Easier said than done,” rejoined his companion gaily; “we must start a fresh subject.” “Well, I doubt if my life and adventures would be of thrilling interest,” he continued, turning to Honor, and it struck her that she had never once heard her present companion allude in any way to his home or his belongings. This was a beautiful opening, if he would but avail himself of it. “Mrs. Dashwood has set me a stiff task--it is not every one’s fortune to have an adventurous career.” (If all tales were true, sensational events had largely punctuated the lady’s own history.) “Now, which would you rather have--interesting falsehoods, or very dull truths?” “Neither, I think.” “And what about _your_ life and adventures?” “Oh, I have spent most of my days in a quiet little village, and can scarcely recall a single incident, except that I once upset a donkey cart!” “I can go one better, as they say, for I have upset a coach!” then he coloured and added hastily, and as if he deprecated any questions, “I too have led a common-place life. I was born out here, and was not sent home until I was six, for which reason I find my native tongue has come back to me.” “It has indeed--I have often been amazed at your extraordinary fluency in talking Hindostani; I thought that you had a marvellous talent for languages.” “Which I have not, nor indeed for anything.” “Miss Paske says that you have a talent for silence,” said Honor demurely. “Miss Paske’s sayings are being quoted all over the place, with the weight of so many proverbs! She says women do _all_ their thinking in church. She declares that her sex lie from timidity--and nothing else. Shall I continue?” “No; I should prefer your own original remarks, to Miss Paske at second hand,” said Honor, “though I confess that I am responsible for introducing her into the conversation. After you came from India, what did you do?” “I went to school--from school to college--then I lived in London, off and on, till I came out here. Our joint lives and adventures don’t amount to much! I am always longing for some uncommon experience, but such things seem to fight shy of me.”