A moment later she had to contemplate the circumstance that her hostess was addressing her. Mrs. Innes wished to be introduced. Mrs. Innes, incarnate, conscious sensation, was smiling at her, saying that she must know so great a friend of her husband’s. He made so few friends, and she was so grateful to anybody who was good to him. Eyes and voice tolerably in rein, aware of the situation at every point, she had a meretricious daring; and it occurred to Madeline, looking at her, that she was after all a fairly competent second-class adventuress. She would not refuse the cue. It would make so little difference. ‘On the contrary, I am tremendously indebted to Colonel Innes. He has been so very kind about ponies and jhampanies and things. Simla is full of pitfalls for a stranger, don’t you think?’ And Miss Anderson, unclosing her fan, turned her reposeful head a little in the direction of three married schoolgirls voluble on her left. ‘Not when you get to know the language. You must learn the language; it’s indispensable. But of course it depends on how long you mean to stay.’ ‘I think I will learn the language,’ said Madeline. ‘But General Worsley told me you were leaving Simla in a fortnight.’ ‘Oh no. My plans are very indefinite; but I shall stay much longer than that.’ ‘It is Miss Anderson, isn’t it?--Miss Madeline Anderson, of New York--no, Brooklyn?’ Madeline looked at her. ‘Did not the General say so?’ she asked. ‘Yes, he did. But one looks to make quite sure.’ ‘I can understand that.’ Mrs. Innes leaned forward with one elbow on her knee. It was not a graceful attitude, but it gave the casual air to the conversation which was desirable. ‘What are you going to do?’ she said. ‘My plans are as indefinite as possible, really,’ Madeline returned. ‘I may spend the cold weather in Calcutta, or go into camp with the Dovedells--I should like that.’ ‘Mrs. Innes,’ cried the nearest schoolgirl, ‘we are coming tomorrow to see all the lovely things in your boxes, may we?’ ‘Do, duckies. But mind, no copying of them by durzies in the veranda. They’re all Paris things--Coulter’s--and you know he doesn’t copy well, does he? Oh, dear! here are the men--they always come too soon, don’t they? So glad to have had even a little chat, Miss Anderson. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. You know newcomers in India always make the first calls. I shall find you at home, sha’n’t I?’ ‘By all means,’ Madeline said. Mrs. Innes crossed the room, crying out that the heat was perfectly absurd for Simla, it must be cooler outside; and as Captain Valentine Drake followed her into the semi-darkness of the veranda, the three married schoolgirls looked at each other and smiled. ‘Don’t be naughty,’ said Captain Gordon, leaning over the sofa from behind. ‘They’re very dear friends, and they’ve been separated for two years.’ Madeline heard this as plainly as they did. She noted disdainfully how it all fell in.