it appeared, as he approached, that he was
discoursing to the captain on the merits of Dostoievsky's novels. He is
no respecter of persons; he imposes his own conversation; and the
captain, though obviously puzzled, was polite. "Russians may be like
that," he was remarking as he passed, "but Englishmen aren't." "No,"
said my friend, "but don't you wish they were?" "I do _not_," said the
captain with conviction. I looked at the Frenchman. "There," I said,
"behold the system." "But your friend?" "Ah, but he, like myself, is a
pariah. Have you not observed? They are quite polite. They have even a
kind of respect--such as our public school boys have--for anyone who is
queer, if only he is queer enough. But we don't "belong," and they know
it. We are outside the system. At bottom we are dangerous, like
foreigners. And they don't quite approve of our being let loose in
India." "Besides, you talk to the Indians." "Yes, we talk to the
Indians." "And that is contrary to the system?" "Yes, on board the boat;
it's all very well while you're still in England." "A strange system--to
perpetuate between rulers and ruled an impassable gulf!" "Yes. But, as
Mr. Podsnap remarked, 'so it is.'"

We had penetrated to the bows of the ship and hung looking over.
Suddenly, just under the surf, there was an emerald gleam; another; then
a leap and a dive; a leap and a dive again. A pair of porpoises were
playing round the bows with the ease, the spontaneity, the beauty of
perfect and happy life. As we watched them the same mood grew in us till
it forced expression. And "Oh," I said, "the ship's a prison!" "No,"
said the Frenchman, "it's the system."

II

AJANTA

A dusty road running through an avenue across the great plateau of the
Deccan; scanty crops of maize and cotton; here and there low hills,
their reddish soil sparsely clothed with trees; to the north, a receding
line of mountains; elsewhere infinite space and blazing light. Our
"tonga," its pair of wheels and its white awning rolling and jolting
behind two good horses, passes long lines of bullock-carts. Indians,
walking beside them with their inimitable gait, make exquisite gestures
of abjection to the clumsy white Sahibs huddled uncomfortably on the
back seat. Their robes of vivid colour, always harmoniously blent, leave
bare the slender brown legs and often the breast and back. Children
stark naked ride on their mothers' hips or their fathers' shoulder. Now
and again the