"I don't know," put in Dora again, "but I have a sort of lurking
conviction that Jem will have to wear a turban and red morocco boots."

"But," pursued Mrs. Glynde, with that courage which cometh with a red
patch on either cheek, "I always thought these Indian regiments were
meant for people who are badly off."

The Rector gave a short laugh.

"You are not so very far wrong, my dear," he admitted. "And no one can
say that Jem is badly off. He will be very rich some day."

The Rector assumed an air of superior discretion, to which he usually
treated his women-folk when he thought fit to consider that they were
touching on matters beyond their jurisdiction.

"Some more tea, please, mother," put in Dora appropriately. "Excuse my
appetite. I suppose it is the autumn air."

There was a short silence, during which Mrs, Glynde sought to propitiate
her angered spouse with sodden toast and a second brew of tea.

"I always said," observed the Rector at last, "that your cousin was a
fool."

And in some indefinite way Mrs. Glynde felt that she was once more
responsible.