Yet, in outward bearing, he was not a sentimental boy. The Sinclairs did
not run to sentiment; and the blood of two virile races--English and
Rajput--was mingled in his veins. Already his budding masculinity bade
him keep the feelings of 'that other Roy' locked in the most secret
corner of his heart. Only his mother, and sometimes Tara, caught a
glimpse of him now and then. Lady Sinclair, herself, never guessed that,
in the vivid imaginations of both children, she herself was the
ever-varying incarnation of the fairy princesses and Rajputni heroines
of her own tales. Their appetite for these was insatiable; and her store
of them seemed never ending: folk tales of East and West; true tales of
Crusaders, of Arthur and his knights; of Rajput Kings and Queens, in the
far-off days when Rajasthán--a word like a trumpet call--was holding her
desert cities against hordes of invaders, and heroes scorned to die in
their beds. Much of it all was frankly beyond them; but the colour and
the movement, the atmosphere of heroism and high endeavour quickened
imagination and fellow-feeling, and left an impress on both children
that would not pass with the years.

To their great good fortune, these tales and talks were a part of her
simple, individual plan of education. An even greater good fortune--in
their eyes--was her instinctive response to the seasons. She shared to
the full their clear conviction that schoolroom lessons and a radiant
day of summer were a glaring misfit; and she trimmed her sails, or
rather her time-table, accordingly.

"Sentimental folly and thoroughly demoralising," was the verdict of Aunt
Jane, overheard by Roy, who was not supposed to understand. "They will
grow up without an inch of moral backbone. And you can't say I didn't
warn you. Lady Despard's a crank, of course; but Nevil is a fool to