Raynier was wondering over several things. He was wondering how anyone living could stand Tarleton for life--as his wife did; how anyone could stand him for a week, or two or three--as his guest was doing; or for two or three hours--as he himself was trying to do. Then, constantly observing Hilda Clive--opposite him, for they were a party of four--he was wondering how it was that she had held out so little attraction to him hitherto. For nearly three weeks they had been pent up together in the close proximity of shipboard--yet he had hardly been aware of her existence. While he was looking after her at Bombay, she had seemed more attractive, but not much. Yet now, meeting her again and unexpectedly, he was conscious of this or that subtle trait which interested him. Still, why had he not discovered it before? Time, opportunity--all had been favourable. He supposed it was that the recollection of Cynthia Daintree had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and that he had been passing through a misogynistic stage accordingly. "I don't believe these `budmashes' are as quiet as they seem," Tarleton was saying. "Or if they are, it's because they are hatching devilment. I've been longer among them than you have, Raynier, and Mushim Khan isn't the sort to turn into a lamb all of a sudden, as he seems to have done lately." They were talking over Raynier's visit to the Nawab, and Tarleton, as usual, was contradictious. "What is the Nawab like, Mr Raynier?" said Hilda Clive. "Rather a fine-looking man--in fact, very." "And is his palace very splendid?" Raynier stared. "Very splendid?" he repeated--"Oh, I see! The idea is quite a natural one. But, as a matter of fact, he hasn't got any `palace' at all. He lives in a mud-walled village." "No. Not really?" "Miss Clive thinks he ought to wear a crown and go about blazing with jewels," said Tarleton. "Well, that isn't an inexcusable mistake," rejoined Raynier, "considering the ideas people generally associate with his title. You see, Miss Clive, the Gularzai are almost savages--fine savages, but still savages--something akin to our ideas of the desert Arab." "Well, they can't help that, can they?" struck in Tarleton, apparently for no earthly reason, unless that nobody had dreamed of saying they could. "I should like to see something of these people in their own homes," said the girl. "They must be rather interesting. I admire these I see walking about the station. It is a fine type of face. Are they Gularzai, Mr Raynier?" "Fine type of face!" cut in Tarleton. "Why, they're the most villainous-looking scoundrels unhung. Any one of them would cut your throat for eight annas." "A good many are Gularzai, Miss Clive," answered Raynier. "But all these mountain tribes are very much alike in appearance."