The Rector held strong views on the rare virtue of minding one's own
business, and in loyalty to such, deemed it right to refrain from
mentioning his opinion as to the wisdom of selecting a native branch of
the military service for the heir to Stagholme.

The supper passed pleasantly enough in the discussion of general topics
all bordering on the great question they had at heart. They were like
people seeking for each other in the dark around the edge of a pit--the
pit being India. Dora, and Dora alone, laughed and treated matters
lightly. Mrs. Glynde blundered several times, and stepping backwards over
an abyss of years, called the new soldier "darling" more than once. Twice
she required helping out by Dora, and on the second occasion something
was said which Jem remembered afterwards with a stolid British memory.

"Jem," said the girl, buttering a biscuit with a light hand, "you should
write a diary. All great men write diaries which their friends publish
afterwards."

"I do not think," replied Jem, with that contempt for the pen which the
possession of a new sword ever justifies, "that writing a diary is much
in my line."

"Ah, you can never tell till you try. Of course it would not be published
straight off. Some literary person would be hired to cross the t's and
dot the i's."

There was a little pause. Dora glanced at Jem Agar, and something made
him say:

"All right. I'll try."