companion's attention, for the next moment he was salaaming to her in
some stately Oriental manner. There was nothing to be done for the
moment except return these salutations, as she could not yell an aside
to Mrs Quantock, screaming out "Who is that Indian"? for if Mrs
Quantock heard the Indian would hear too, but as soon as she could, she
turned back towards the house again, and when once the lilac bushes
were between her and the road she walked with more than her usual
speed, in order to learn with the shortest possible delay from Peppino
who this fresh subject of hers could be. She knew there were some
Indian princes in London; perhaps it was one of them, in which case it
would be necessary to read up Benares or Delhi in the Encyclopaedia
without loss of time.




Chapter TWO


As she traversed the smoking-parlour the cheerful sounds that had once
tinkled from the collar of a Flemish horse chimed through the house,
and simultaneously she became aware that there would be _macaroni au
gratin_ for lunch, which was very dear and remembering of Peppino.
But before setting fork to her piled-up plate, she had to question him,
for her mental craving for information was far keener than her appetite
for food.

"_Caro_, who is an Indian," she said, "whom I saw just now with
Daisy Quantock? They were the other side of il piccolo Avon."