“I should have known no better,” observed Eveena; “but being brought up at home, I learned to know all the plants in my father’s grounds, which were more various, I believe, than usual.”

“Then,” I said, “Eunane has a new life and a multitude of new pleasures before her.  Has this peristyle given you your first sight of flowers beyond those in the beds of your Nursery?  And have you never seen anything of the world about you?”

“Never,” she said.  “And Eveena’s excuse for me is, I believe, perfectly true.  The carve must have been stupid, but I knew no better.”

“Well,” I rejoined, “you must forgive the bird, as we must excuse you for spoiling our breakfast.  I will contrive that you shall know more of fruits and flowers before long.  In the meantime, you will probably have a different if not a wider view from this roof than from that of your Nursery.”

After all, Eunane’s girlhood, typical of the whole life of many Martial women, had not, I suppose, been more dreary or confined than that of children in London, Canton, or Calcutta.  But this incident, reminding me how dreary and limited that life was, served to excuse in my eyes the pettiness and poverty of the characters it had produced.  A Martial woman’s whole experience may well be confined within a few acres, and from the cradle to the grave she may see no more of the world than can be discerned from the roof of her school or her husband’s home.

Eunane, with the assistance of the ambau, busied herself in removing the remains of the meal.  The other five, putting on their veils, scampered up the inclined plane to the roof, much like children released from table or from tasks.  Turning to Eveena, who still remained beside me, I said—­

“Get your veil, and come out with me; I have not yet an idea where we are, and scarcely a notion what the grounds are like.”

She followed me to my apartment, out of which, opened the one she had chosen, and as the window closed behind us she spoke in a tone of appeal—­

“Do not insist on my accompanying you.  As you bade me always speak my thought, I had much rather you would take one of the others.”

“You professed,” I said, “to take especial pleasure in a walk with me, and this time I will be careful that you are not overtired.”

“Of course I should like it,” she answered; “but it would not be just.  Please let me this time remain to take my part of the household duties, and make myself acquainted with the house.  Choose your companion among the others, whom you have scarcely noticed yet.”

Preferring not only Eveena’s company, but even my own, to that of any of the six, and feeling myself not a little dependent on her guidance and explanations, I remonstrated.  But finding that her sense of justice and kindness would yield to nothing short of direct command, I gave way.

“You forget my pleasure,” I said at last.  “But if you will not go, you must at least tell me which I am to take.  I will not pretend to have a choice in the matter.”