“I always make a point of calling on new people—strangers,” she announced from over the edge of a large durbar group. “They must find it so desperately dull, and I’m an old resident. My brother is a doctor. Most of the neighbors don’t visit; they draw the line at the hotel, and never notice people in lodgings, since that awful scandal at Mrs. Tait’s, three years ago. I cannot—ahem—repeat the story, just now,” and she looked at me expressively; “but I will tell you all about it another time. I dare say the rectory people may come. At any rate”—casting an appreciative glance at Emma’s unex[72]pectedly elegant appearance—“I shall make a point of mentioning you to them.”

[72]

“Oh, thank you very much, but we are only here for a change,” protested Emma; “the doctors said I must have dry bracing air, and——”

“What have I got here?” interrupted our visitor, who had been routing on the chimney-piece, behind a fire-screen. “A large photograph of dear Lady Hildegarde Somers!” holding it in both hands as if it were some holy relic. “How did you come by it?” she demanded, in an impressive key.

“She gave it to me, of course,” was Emma’s simple reply.

Miss Skuce’s little eyes widened as she stood on the rug, clasping her treasure-trove, and contemplating Emma with an air of tragic interrogation.

[73]

[73]

“Then you know her?” she gasped out at last.

“Intimately. At least, she stayed in our house in India for six weeks, so I suppose I may say that I know her rather well.”

Miss Skuce was now compelled to seek a seat, and signed to my stepmother to continue.

“My husband and I had numbers of visitors in the cold weather; they came to see the Jam-Jam, and the old tombs and temples, and we put them up in our house, and got them shooting and sport.”

“What kind of sport?” questioned her listener.

“Sometimes tiger-shooting, sometimes hunting with cheetahs, sometimes elephant-catching or pigsticking.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Miss Skuce, who was visibly impressed.

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