ch Bombay, they'll be going down on their knees and imploring us
to travel with them."

At table, as it happened, from next morning's breakfast the Meadowcrofts
sat next to us. Hilda was on one side of me; Lady Meadowcroft on the
other; and beyond her again, bluff Yorkshire Sir Ivor, with his cold,
hard, honest blue North Country eyes, and his dignified, pompous
English, breaking down at times into a North Country colloquialism. They
talked chiefly to each other. Acting on Hilda's instructions, I took
care not to engage in conversation with our "exclusive" neighbour,
except so far as the absolute necessities of the table compelled me. I
"troubled her for the salt" in the most frigid voice. "May I pass you
the potato salad?" became on my lips a barrier of separation. Lady
Meadowcroft marked and wondered. People of her sort are so anxious to
ingratiate themselves with "all the Best People" that if they find
you are wholly unconcerned about the privilege of conversation with
a "titled person," they instantly judge you to be a distinguished
character. As the days rolled on, Lady Meadowcroft's voice began to melt
by degrees. Once, she asked me, quite civilly, to send round the ice;
she even saluted me on the third day out with a polite "Good-morning,
doctor."

Still, I maintained (by Hilda's advice) my dignified reserve, and took
my seat severely with a cold "Good-morning." I behaved like a high-class
consultant, who expects to be made Physician in Ordinary to Her Majesty.

At lunch that day, Hilda played her first card with delicious
unconsciousness--apparent unconsciousness; for, when she chose, she was
a consummate actress. She played it at a moment when Lady Meadowcroft,
who by this time was burning with curiosity on our account, had paused
from her talk with her husband to listen to us. I happened to say
something about some Oriental curios belonging to an aunt of mine in
London. Hilda seized the opportunity. "What did you say was her name?"
she asked, blandly.

"Why, Lady Tepping," I answered, in perfect innocence. "She has a fancy
for these things, you know. She brought a lot of them home with her from
Burma."

As a matter of fact, as I have already explained, my poor dear aunt is
an extremely commonplace old Army widow, whose husband happened to get
knighted among the New Year's honours for some brush with the natives on
the Shan frontier. But Lady Meadowcroft was at the stage where a title
is a title; and the