Joe Bradley opened his mouth as well as his eyes, which made him look
plainer than ever.

"Golly! what a tale! White people don't have ayahs for Mothers--not in
my India. I s'pose your Pater married her out there?"

"He didn't. And I tell you she's _not_ an ayah."

Roy's low voice quivered with anger. It was as if ten thousand little
flames had come alight inside him. But you had to try and be polite to
visitors; so he added with a virtuous effort: "She's a really and truly
Princess--so there!"

But that unspeakable boy, instead of being impressed, laughed in the
rudest way.

"Don't excite, you silly kid. I'm not as green as you are. Besides--who
cares----?"

It flashed on Roy, through the blur of his bewildered rage, that perhaps
the Boy-from-India was jealous. He tried to speak. Something clutched at
his throat; but instinct told him he had a pair of hands....

To the utter amazement of Tara, and of the enemy, he silently sprang at
the bigger boy; grabbed him unscientifically by the knot of his superior
neck-tie and hit out, with more fury than precision, at cheeks and eyes
and nose----

For a few exciting seconds he had it all his own way. Then the
enemy--recovered from the first shock of surprise--spluttered wrathfully