“No,” answered Nouna promptly. “Their dresses always drag on the ground one side, and they wear dreadful flat boots like Martha the servant. I like the gentlemen better.” “But you mustn’t judge people only by their dress, Nouna,” said the young husband, feeling rather uncomfortable. “I can’t judge them by anything else till I know them,” said Nouna fretfully. George was silent. He was disappointed to learn that she was so soon weary of the perpetual _tête-à-tête_ which had lost no charm for him; but he had the sense to own that his ambitions, even the daily meeting with his comrades at parade, made his life fuller than his young wife’s could possibly be. He resolved to call upon the Millards, who, anxious not to intrude upon the newly-married couple before they were wanted, had refrained from calling upon the bride until they should hear again from George. On the morning of the day he had fixed for his call, a note came for him from Captain Pascoe, asking him to join a party up the river in a couple of days. Nouna read the note over his shoulder. “Shall you go, George?” she asked with interest. “No, dear, how can I? I’ve got a little wife to look after now.” “But if you were to write and say no, you couldn’t come because you’d got a wife, perhaps he’d ask me too!” George had no doubt of this, believing indeed that this was the result Captain Pascoe had aimed at. “Captain Pascoe is not quite the sort of man I should like you to know, dear,” he said. “Isn’t he an English gentleman?” “Oh yes, but English gentlemen aren’t all angels, you know.” “And aren’t you ever going to let me know anybody who isn’t an angel?” “Well, darling, I don’t think anybody else is good enough.” A pause. George hoped she was satisfied for the present. She was still behind his chair, so that he could not see her face. At last she asked, in a low, rather menacing tone: “Are angels’ wings made of feathers, like birds’?” “I don’t know, dear, I suppose so,” said George laughing, and turning to look at her and pat her cheek. “Then if I met one I should pull them out,” she cried in a flame of fury, and before her husband could recover from his astonishment, she had fled out of the room. He followed her with a troubled countenance, and found her face downwards on the bed, sobbing her heart out. No remonstrances were of any use, she only murmured that she would like to be a nun, it was more interesting than to be a wife shut up and never allowed to speak to anybody. “But, Nouna, the Indian ladies are much more shut up than you are.” “They have beautiful wide palaces to live in. I shouldn’t care if I had a palace.” “Well, you know I can’t give you a palace, but if you will be good and leave off crying, I will take you on the river myself one day.” “Will you? When, when?” cried she, starting up excited, all her griefs forgotten. “I’ll see if I can take you to-morrow.”