through the shutters I slid warily to the floor, and having washed
and dressed, sat on my dressing-bag and conversed amiably with the
Americans. I found them charming and most entertaining, simple, quiet
people; not the shrill-voiced tourist _jât_ at all. They had been
travelling, so they told me, with a sort of dreary satisfaction, for
two years, and they had still about a year to do. It sounded like hard
labour! The poor dears! I can't think why they did it. They would have
been so much happier at home in their own little corner of the world.
I can picture them attending sewing bees, and other quaint things
people do attend in old-fashioned New England storybooks. They had a
servant with them whom they addressed as Ali, a bearded rascal who
evidently cheated them at every turn, and who actually came into their
presence with his shoes on!

I didn't know till I met these Americans that I was such a wit--or
perhaps wag is a better word. I didn't try to be funny, I didn't even
know I was being funny, but every word I said convulsed them.

The "Mommer" said to me:

"Child, are you married?"

"No," I said, surprised. "Why?"

"I was just thinking what a good time your husband must have!"

When we reached Siliguri I was surprised to find everything glistening
with frost, and the few natives who were about had their heads wrapped
up in shawls as if they were suffering from toothache. We got some
breakfast in the waiting-room, and then took our places in the