It must be confessed that Penelope was not a success when she returned to Alibad as the Commandant’s wife, and therefore the _burra memsahib_ of the place. The town is still famous in legend as the only station in India where the ladies squabble over giving, instead of taking, precedence. Long afterwards Lady Haigh congratulated herself on having been the means of averting bloodshed on one occasion, when a visiting official, finding himself placed between two ladies of equally retiring disposition, decided to offer his arm to the baronet’s wife. “I saw thunder in Colonel Keeling’s eye,” said Lady Haigh (Major Keeling had received the news of his promotion shortly before the wedding), “so I just curtsied to the General, and said, ‘Mrs Keeling is the chief lady present, sir,’ and he accepted the hint like a lamb.” But at the time, or rather, in the privacy of a call the next morning, she had taken Penelope to task. “You don’t put yourself forward enough, Pen,” she said. “Do you think that if I had been _burra mem_, the poor General would have had a moment’s doubt as to the person he was to take in to dinner? You make yourself a sort of shadow of your husband--never do anything on your own responsibility, in fact. Why, when the history of the province comes to be written, people will dispute whether Colonel Keeling ever had a wife at all!” “Will they?” said Penelope, momentarily distressed. “Oh, I hope not, Elma. I should like them to say that there was one part of his life when he got on better with the Government, and left off writing furious letters even when he was unjustly treated, and was more patient with people who were stupid. Then if they ask what made the difference, I should like to think that they will say, ‘Oh, that was when his wife was alive.’” “My dear Pen, you are not allowing yourself a very long life.” Penelope coloured. “I daresay it’s silly,” she said; “but that is how I feel.” CHAPTER XXVI. “FOR THINE AND THEE.”