does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General
Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr.
Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.'

'And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. 'Sir
Henry Haughton raves about me. But go on.'

'One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're
just a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians
say? Your salon won't weld the Departments together and make
you mistress of India, dear. And these creatures won't talk
administrative ''shop" in a crowd your salon because they are so
afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They have
forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the
women '

'Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of
their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.'

'You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the
subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views
admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country
and provided plenty of kala juggahs.'

'Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a
salon! But who made you so awfully clever?'

'Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I
have preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion
thereof '