Mr. Tottenham had ten days to spend with us. He knew the place
well; it belonged to the province to whose service he was dedicated,
and he claimed with impressive authority the privilege of showing it
to Cecily by degrees--the Hall of Audience today, the Jessamine
Tower tomorrow, the tomb of Akbar another, and the Deserted City yet
another day. We arranged the expeditions in conference, Dacres
insisting only upon the order of them, which I saw was to be
cumulative, with the Taj at the very end, on the night precisely of
the full of the moon, with a better chance of roses. I had no
special views, but Cecily contributed some; that we should do the
Hall of Audience in the morning, so as not to interfere with the
club tennis in the afternoon, that we should bicycle to Akbar's tomb
and take a cold luncheon--if we were sure there would be no snakes--
to the Deserted City, to all of which Dacres gave loyal assent. I
endorsed everything; I was the encouraging chorus, only stipulating
that my number should be swelled from day to day by the addition of
such persons as I should approve. Cecily, for instance, wanted to
invite the Bakewells because we had come out in the same ship with
them; but I could not endure the Bakewells, and it seemed to me that
our having made the voyage with them was the best possible reason
for declining to lay eyes on them for the rest of our natural lives.
'Mamma has such strong prejudices,' Cecily remarked, as she
reluctantly gave up the idea; and I waited to see whether the
graceless Tottenham would unmurmuringly take down the Bakewells.
How strong must be the sentiment that turns a man into a boa-
constrictor without a pang of transmigration! But no, this time he
was faithful to the principles of his pre-Cecilian existence. 'They
are rather Boojums,' he declared. 'You would think so, too, if you
knew them better. It is that kind of excellent person that makes
the real burden of India.' I could have patted him on the back.