"How ridiculous you are!" she cried. "Of course not. And let me tell you
it is very nice of you to come this very first day when one was dying to
be welcomed. Miss Filbert came too, and we have been talking about our
respective walks in life. Let me introduce you. Miss Filbert--Captain
Filbert, of the Salvation Army--Mr. Duff Lindsay of Calcutta."

She watched with interest the gravity with which they bowed, and the
difference in it: his the simple formality of his class, Laura's a
repressed hostility to such an epitome of the world as he looked,
although any Bond Street tailor would have impeached his waistcoat, and
one shabby glove had manifestly never been on. Yet Miss Filbert's first
words seemed to show a slight unbending. "Won't you sit there?" she
said, indicating the sofa corner she had been occupying. "You get
the glare from the window where you are." It was virtually a command,
delivered with a complete air of dignity and authority; and Lindsay, in
some confusion, found himself obeying. "Oh, thank you, thank you," he
said. "One doesn't really mind in the least. Do you--do you object to
it? Shall I close the shutters?"

"If you do," said Miss Howe delightedly, "we shall not be able to see."

"Neither we should," he assented; "the others are closed already. Very
badly built these Calcutta houses, aren't they? Have you been long in
India, Miss--Captain Filbert?"

"I served a year up-country, and then fell ill and had to go home on
furlough. The native food didn't suit me. I am stationed in Calcutta
now, but I have only just come."

"Pleasant time of the year to arrive," Mr. Lindsay remarked.