“And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve and white 'cloud' over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, venerable feet and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri. Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below there.” She pointed through the pines, toward the Cemetery, and continued with vigorous dramatic gesture--“Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel--or list is it?--that they put into the tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of them.” “Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that idiotic manner! Recollect, every one can see you from the Mall.” “Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!” She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite grace. “Now,” she continued, “he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell me all about it--softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to throw up his Commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child.” “Never again,” said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, “shall you tiffin here! 'Lucindy, your behavior is scand'lus.'” “All your fault,” retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, “for suggesting such a thing as my abdication. No! Jamais--nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any woman I choose until I d-r-r-rop or a better woman than I puts me to shame before all Simla--and it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm doing it!” She swept into the drawing-room, Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm round her waist. “I'm not!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, defiantly, rummaging for her handkerchief. “I've been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired.” Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. “I've been through that too, dear,” she said. “I remember,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. “In '84 wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season.” Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinxlike fashion. “I became an Influence,” said she. “Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they cast me out for a skeptic--without a chance of improving my poor little mind, too.”