‘He’s a student. Not that it amounts to a defect, you know’--she was as jealous already as if she possessed the things--‘only a sign to read by. I should be grateful for more signs. Why should a student come to Simla?’ ‘To teach, perhaps,’ I suggested. Naturally one sought only among reasons of utility. ‘It’s the Kensington person who teaches. When they have worked in the ateliers and learned as much as this they never do. They paint fans and menu cards, and starve, but they don’t teach.’ Sir William Lamb, Member of Council for the Department of Finance, was borne by the stream to our sides. The simile will hardly stand conscientious examination, for the stream was a thin one and did no more than trickle past, while Sir William weighed fifteen stone, and was so eminent that it could never inconvenience him at its deepest. Dora detached her gaze from the pictures and turned her back upon them; I saw the measure of precaution. It was unavailing, however. ‘What have we here?’ said Sir William. Dora removed her person from his line of vision, and he saw what we had there. ‘The work of a friend of yours?’ Sir William was spoken of as a ‘cautious’ man. He had risen to his present distinction on stepping-stones of mistakes he conspicuously had not made. ‘No,’ said Dora, ‘we were wondering who the artist could be.’ Sir William looked at the studies, and had a happy thought. ‘If you ask me, I should say a child of ten,’ he said. He was also known as a man of humour. ‘Miss Harris had just remarked a certain immaturity,’ I ventured. ‘Oh, well,’ said Sir William, ‘this isn’t the Royal Academy, is it? I always say it’s very good of people to send their things here at all. And some of them are not half bad--I should call this year’s average very high indeed.’ ‘Are you pleased with the picture that has taken your prize, Sir William?’ asked Dora. ‘I have bought it.’ Sir William’s chest underwent before our eyes an expansion of conscious virtue. Living is so expensive in Simla; the purchase of a merely decorative object takes almost the proportion of an act of religion, even by a Member of Council drawing four hundred pounds a month. ‘First-rate it is, first-rate. Have you seen it? “Our Camp in Tirah.” Natives cooking in the foreground, fellows standing about smoking, and a whole pile of tinned stores dumped down in one corner, exactly as they would be, don’t you know! Oh, I think the Committee made a very good choice indeed, a very good choice.’ Sir William moved on, and Dora was free to send me an expressive glance. ‘Isn’t that just LIKE this place?’ she demanded. ‘Let me see, the Viceroy’s medal, the Society’s silver medal, five prizes from Members of Council. Highly Commended’s as thick as blackberries, and these perfectly fresh, original, admirable things completely ignored. What an absurd, impossible corner of the earth it is!’