What! was it possible! his companion continued; had he forgotten that the afternoon was to see the realisation of their long-cherished project of founding an Anglo-Vernacular College? It came back to Chris then, and he hastened to deny what had really been the case; whereupon Râm Nâth went on, mollified. At the last moment, it seemed, some one had remembered that Lady Arbuthnot--who had kindly consented to lay the stone--ought to be presented with a bouquet; and Hâfiz Ahmad had claimed the honour for his wife, thereby raising so much jealousy in Shark Lane that he, Râm Nâth, thought the only solution of the difficulty was to intrust the giving to Mrs. Chris, as wife of the Vice-President of the Managing Committee (Chris heard himself so described with a sense of absolute bewilderment); only, of course, it might not, perhaps, be convenient now. Chris came back to sudden perception of the other's meaning. 'She will be very glad,' he said quickly; 'I will tell her when I go home.' It was done in a moment; but Chris felt his dream to be madder than ever as he realised that his afternoon's occupation would be standing in a frock-coat simpering, while Viva presented a bouquet. How prettily she would do it! How beautifully she would be dressed! Then in the evening? In the evening would the Swâmi come and ask for an answer? Meanwhile, Râm Nâth was full of relief. That would settle the difficulty; really a most serious one, since nothing must mar the harmony of the memorable occasion. It would be singularly appropriate too, because, in order to ensure a large attendance, it had been arranged to hold an Extraordinary Chapter of the 'National Guild for Encouraging Comradeship,' to which most of the English officials and their wives belonged. In fact, it was to be a memorable occasion, and one that would fully justify our popular Lieutenant-Governor in, for the nonce, waving his rule against Sunday ceremonials in order to allow all employees to be present. Having here cut in on the lines of the speech he had prepared for the afternoon, Râm Nâth was fluency itself, and went on and on quite contentedly, while Chris, absorbed in that vision of himself in a frock-coat, listened without hearing. After all, which was the real Krishn Davenund, which the ideal? One was the older certainly; but change must come to all things. They had reached the river steps by this time, and he paused--making Râm Nâth pause also--to look down on a scene which had not changed a hair-breadth in essentials for thousands of years. Yet Chris Davenant's eye noted one change of detail, in a moment, as a woman passed him on her way to fill her waterpot. There was a new sort of amulet on her wrist; an amulet made out of a brass cartridge casing. He glanced round quickly to see if other women were wearing it, and, by so doing, recognised rather a momentous fact; namely, that there were singularly few women to be seen, and that all who were, belonged to the working class.