Here Aunt Khôjee--who with the most innocent of vanities had spent part of her absence in putting on a very stiff new pink net veil, which during the rest of the visit refused to stop on her head, and to the old lady's intense discomfiture left her sparse grey hairs indecently exposed at crucial moments--reappeared with the cardamoms, to Jack Raymond's great relief; though he soon discovered that the real horror of the situation was only just beginning. For, seated decorously apart, yet with her half-averted face alight with smiles and interest, she began on a series of questions which made his heart sink within him, since he knew Lesley of old. And sure enough it was not long before the latter said, aggrievedly, 'You might translate what she is saying. After all, I did come to visit her, you know!' He left the path of truth, then, desperately, with the result that Lesley commissioned him to make the proper reply to such Oriental periphrasis--something, _he was to be sure_, that would please the dear old thing. Then he realised that he was hopelessly emmeshed, for, of course, Auntie Khôjee wanted a reply to her question; and it was not what she had desired, at all. 'She doesn't look a bit pleased,' remarked Lesley, _de haut en bas_. 'Dear me! I wish I could speak. I know I could do better than that! And I hate being dependent.' 'I wish you could,' said Jack Raymond grimly. 'I don't want to be a go-between!' His evident ill-temper mollified her. 'Well! at any rate, you might try again, and say something else.' So he did; and he and Aunt Khôjee had quite an animated passage, while Lateefa from his kites listened, and looked knowing. 'Well!' remarked Lesley at last, quite angrily. 'I don't see what was the use in my coming at all! You might at least give me a hint of what you are talking about! It is very rude.' His temper went then altogether. 'If you want to know,' he said, still more grimly, 'she was asking when we are going to be married.' Lesley gasped. 'Married!'--she echoed indignantly, yet conscious of a curious desire to smile and feel happy which must be squashed firmly--'well! if she does, Mr. Raymond, you can tell her--_never!_' Her dignity was tremendous. 'I have told her so three times,' replied Jack Raymond gravely, 'but she won't believe it; she says----' 'I don't care what she says,' retorted Lesley quickly. 'She must be _made_ to believe it. Tell her--tell her about the _râm-rucki_, and all that. She will understand then.' 'She may,' assented Jack dubiously; 'but it is a little--ahem--mixed up----isn't it?' A suspicion that the situation was beginning to amuse him made her say-- 'Not at all! Of course she will understand. She gave you a _râm-rucki_, and why--why shouldn't I?' 'No reason at all. I'm awfully glad you did.' He looked it, and Lesley felt once more that absurd desire to smile and feel happy as she sat listening, watching the withered old face, waiting for the answer.