George was much astonished by the unexacting rapidity with which his wife was “taken up” by people to whom her mother’s foreign title meant nothing. For those officers who were married brought their wives, and no vagary either in Nouna’s dress or manner, no peculiarity in the arrangement of her rooms prevented them from making “a lion” of the fascinating little Indian, from imploring her to come to their receptions, enshrining her photograph--in an impromptu costume rigged up hastily with pins, out of a table-cloth and two antimacassars, and universally pronounced “so deliciously Oriental”--on their cabinets, and begging her scrawling signature for their birthday-books. It was not until some days after the stream of calls and invitations had begun to pour in upon the delighted Nouna that it occurred to George to remember that the pioneer of this invasion was Lord Florencecourt’s sister, the Countess of Crediton, a lady who combined her brother’s hardness of feature with a corresponding rigidity of mind which made her a pillar of strength to all the uncompromising virtues. When he did recall this circumstance, George felt more surprise than ever. No one but the Colonel himself, who had an enormous influence over his sister, could have induced her to take this step; and yet his attitude towards Nouna, on that awkward introduction which he had made no attempt to follow up by a call, had apparently been one of dislike but faintly tempered with the scantest possible courtesy. Why, his very endeavour to get Lauriston to exchange and put the Irish Channel between himself and his old friend was clearly born of the wish to get rid, not of the promising young lieutenant, but of the dark-complexioned wife! An incident which happened when the Colonel did at last make his tardy call only increased the mystery of his conduct. It was a hot August afternoon. The wide, tiled hall had in the centre a marble basin holding a pyramid of great blocks of ice, which melted and dripped slowly; large-leaved tropical plants filled all the corners; the walls, which were stencilled in Indian designs, were hung with huge engraved brass trays, and trophies of Asiatic armour. A low, broad seat covered with thin printed cotton stuff, so harmoniously coloured as to suggest some dainty and rare fabric, ran the length of one side. An Indian carpet covered the staircase, the side of which was draped with the richest tapestry. The simplicity, beauty, and coolness of the whole effect was unusual and pleasing to most unimaginative British eyes, but George, who came out into the hall on hearing the Colonel’s voice, saw him glance round at plants and trophies with an expression of shuddering disgust. “You don’t admire my wife’s freaks of decoration, I see, Lord Florencecourt,” said George, smiling. Then, a new idea crossing his mind, he asked quickly: “Have you been to India?” Lord Florencecourt shot a rapid, piercing look at him. “Yes, it’s a d--d hole,” he answered briefly.