It was rather sweet to watch the little family groups, the mother assuring a bored, indifferent infant that this was its own daddy, and the proud father beaming on both.

The self-conscious bridegrooms sidling up to their blushing brides afforded us much amusement.  Some had not seen each other for five years.  I wonder if one or two didn’t rue their bargains!  It seems to me a terrible risk!

I could have gone on watching the people for a long time, but Boggley was anxious to be off; so after tearful farewells and many promises to write had been exchanged, we departed.

The special Providence that looks after casual people has guided Boggley to quite a nice house in a nice part of the town.  Many Government people who are in Calcutta only for the cold weather—­I mean those of them who are burdened not with wealth but women-folk—­find it cheaper and more convenient to live in a boarding-house.  Does that conjure up to you a vision of Bloomsbury, and tall grey houses, and dirty maid-servants, and the Passing of Third Floor Backs?  It isn’t one bit like that.  This boarding-house consists, oddly enough, of four big houses all standing a little distance apart in a compound.  They are let out in suites of rooms, and the occupants can either all feed together in the public dining-room or in lonely splendour in their own apartments.  We have five rooms on the ground floor.  Of the two sitting-rooms one is almost quite dark, and is inhabited by a suite of furniture, three marble-topped tables on which Boggley had set out the few photographs and trifles which he hasn’t yet lost, and a sad-looking cabinet; the other opens into the garden, and is a nice cheerful room.  The dark room we have made Boggley’s study; as he only uses it at night, it doesn’t matter about the want of light, and there is a fine large writing-table which holds stacks of papers.  We got the marble-topped tables carried into the cheery room and covered them with tablecloths from a shop in Park Street, bought rugs for the floor and hangings for the doors, and with a few cushions and palms and flowers the room is quite pretty and home-like.  I like the chairs, enormous cane things with long wooden arms which Boggley says are meant for putting one’s feet on, and most comfortable.

Boggley’s bedroom is next his study, but I have to take a walk before I come to mine, out of the window,—­or door, I’m never sure which it is,—­down some steps, then along a garden-walk, round a corner, and up some more steps, where I reach first a small ante-room and then my bedroom.  Like the other rooms, it is whitewashed and has a very high ceiling.  Some confiding sparrows have built a nest in a hole in the wall, and—­and this is really upsetting—­there are ten different ways of entering the room, doors and windows, and half of them I can’t lock or bar or fasten up in any way.  What I should do if a Mutiny occurred I can’t think!  My bed with its mosquito-curtains stands like a little island in a vast sea of matting, and there are two large wardrobes, what they call almirahs, a dressing-table, and two chairs.  It is empty and airy, and that is all that is required of a bedroom.