“I would not!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, fiercely. “I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with.” “The Topsham girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's--a 'Scandal Point' by lamplight.” “There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.” “There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India; and a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of dirt on the hillsides--here one day and blown down the khud the next. We have lost the art of talking--at least our men have. We have no cohesion”-- “George Eliot in the flesh,” interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly. “And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no influence. “Come into the veranda and look at the Mall!” The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. “How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck--head of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.” “And all my fervent admirers,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. “Sir Henry Haughton raves about me. But go on.” “One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative 'shop' in a crowd--your salon--because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the women”-- “Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.” “You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and provided plenty of kala juggahs.” “Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a salon! But who made you so awfully clever?” “Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof”--