Kolee caste.

And there the slim girl form of Bootea stood outlined, a delicate bit
of statuary, like something of marble that had come from the hand of
Praxiteles, the white muslin sari in its gentle clinging folds showing
against the now darkening wall of bamboo jungle. There was something
about the Gulab, magnetic, omnipotent, that subdued men, that enslaved
them; an indescribable subtlety of gentle strength, like the
bronze-blue temper in steel. And her eyes--no one can describe the
compelling eyes of the world, the awful eyes that in their fierce
magnetism act on a man like _bhang_ on a Ghazi or, like the eyes of
Christ, smother him in love and goodness. The _karait_ of India has a
dull red eye without pupil, of which it is the belief that if a man
gaze into it for a time he will go mad. To say that Bootea's eyes were
beautiful was to say nothing, and to describe their compelling force
was impossible.

So as they rested on the sullen eyes of Sookdee he quivered; and the
others stood in silence as Ajeet took Bootea by the arm saying, "Come,
my lotus flower," led her to the tent.

There the jamadar put his sinewy arms about the slender girl, and bent
his handsome face to implant a kiss on her red lips, but she thrust his
arms from her and drew back saying, "No, Ajeet!"

"Why, lotus--why, Gulab? Often from thy lips I have heard that there
is no love in thy heart for any man even for me, but is it not a lie,
the curious lie of a woman who resents a master?"

Ajeet in a mingling of awe and anger had dropped into the formal "thou"
pronoun instead of the familiar "you."

"No, Ajeet, it is the truth; I do not tell lies."

"But out there thou denounced those sons of depraved parents in defence
of Ajeet; thou bound up his hand as a mother dresses the wounds of a
child in her love--even mocked Bhowanee and the ordeal; then sayest
thou there is no love in thy heart for Ajeet."

"There is not; just the tie such as is between us, that is all. I
never learned love--I was but a pawn, a prize. Seest that, Ajeet?" and
Bootea laid a finger upon the iron bracelet on her arm--the badge of a
widow.

Ajeet Singh sneered: "A metal lie, a--"

"Stop!" The girl's voice was almost a scream of expostulation. "To
speak of that means death, thou fool. And thou hast sworn--"

Ajeet's face had blanched. Then a surge of anger re-flushed it.

"Gulab," he said presently, "take care that the love thou say'st is
dead--but whic