"I will lull this watchful feminine tiger," the Major secretly
decided, as he began a brilliant sketch of the social life of the
strange land of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. "I presume, of course,
that you do not care to appear with a fifty-pound Marshall & Snell
grove outfit, as if you were the wife of an Ensign in a marching
regiment. I will give you the real life our women lead out there.
You could have secured a splendid London outfit by a little time
spent in making the detour."
"I wish to appear en Francaise, my true character," smiled Berthe.
"I never could sacrifice my Gaelic taste to the hideous color mixtures
and utilitarian ugliness of the English machine-made toilette. An
Englishwoman can only be trusted with a blue serge, a plain gray
traveling dress, or in the easy safety of black or white. They are
not the 'glass of fashion and the mold of form.' Now, Sir, let me
see how you have profited by your wandering in Beauty's gardens on
the Indus and Ganges?"
Alan Hawke knew very well at heart what the quickwitted woman would
know. He sketched with grace, the natural features, the climatic
conditions, the bizarre scenery of the million and a half square
miles where the venerable Kaisar-i-Hind rules nearly two hundred
millions of subjugated people. He portrayed all the light splendors
of Mohammedan elegance, the wonders of Delhi and Agra, he sketched
the gloomy temple mysteries of Hinduism, and holy Benares rose up
before her eyes beneath the inspiration of his brilliant fancy.
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