illustrations--of more than earthly beauty. I got so disheartened
after a little when everyone I met had a complexion of rose and snow
(besides, I didn't believe it) that I shut it up. I found it was
nearly twelve o'clock, and Boggley hadn't arrived. I waited another
quarter of an hour, and then went in and ate some ham and eggs. One
o'clock, and the train came and went, but still no trace of the
laggard. Outside the station the blinding white road lay empty.
Nothing stirred, not even a native was visible; the whole world seemed
asleep in the heat. A pile of trunks lay on the platform addressed to
somewhere in Devonshire and labelled _Not wanted on the Voyage_. Some
happy people were going home. A far cry it seemed from this dusty land
to green Devonshire. I sat on the largest trunk and thought about it.
Two o'clock, three, four--the hours went past. I felt myself becoming
exactly like a native, sitting with my hands folded, looking straight
before me. If I hadn't been so anxious I shouldn't have minded the
waiting at all. Now and again I refreshed myself with a peep at the
babu, just to assure myself that I wasn't the only person left alive
in the world.

About five o'clock Boggley and his bicycle strolled into the station.
I had meant to be frightfully cross with him when he appeared--that is
to say, if he weren't wounded or disabled in any way--but somehow I
never can be very cross when I see him, the way he wrinkles up his
short-sighted eyes is so disarming.

He had absolutely no excuse except that he had run across old friends,
and they had persuaded him to stay to lunch, and then they had got
talking, and so on and so on. He was very repentant, but inclined to
laugh. I expect really he had forgotten for the time he had a sister.
He confessed he hadn't mentioned my existence till he was leaving, and