and the other dear people, but with the parting from Boggley looming so near, I was absent-minded and callous, though I hope I didn’t appear so.  The Socotra is quite a tiny ship compared to the Scotia.  G. and I clambered on board, in great haste to find our cabin.  We found it already occupied by our cabin companion (she is Scotch and has artificial teeth and a fine, rich Glasgow accent, and (I think) is of a gentle and yielding disposition) and an enormous hat-box.

Boggley was with us, but when he saw we were going to be firm he fled,

“This,” said G., waving her hand towards the offending box, “must go into the baggage-room.”

“Certainly,” said the Glasgow woman.  “I’m sure I don’t know what it’s doing here.  Ma husband wrote the labels.”  And she actually began to drag it into the passage.

Seeing her so amenable to reason, we smiled kindly and begged her to desist.  But she said, “Not at all,” and smiled back in such a delightfully Glasgow “weel-pleased” way that my heart warmed to her.  I can see she will be a constant entertainment.

Mr. Townley introduced us to the captain, who looks kind, and who asked us to sit at his table, and then we all went in to breakfast.  In spite of our low spirits we enjoyed the meal.  G. created something of a fracas about a kidney which she ate and then said was bad, but she calmed down, and we enjoyed looking at the other passengers, speculating as to who and what they were.

Almost directly after breakfast our people had to go, and G. and I, very stricken, watched the launch as it steamed up the river till lost to sight behind a big vessel.  Since then, except for an interval in the cabin to get our eyes bathed into decency, we have sat on deck with aching heads, trying to read and write.  At first the heat was terrible.  We drooped like candles in the sun, we wilted like flowers, and G. gasped, “If all the voyage is going to be as hot as this, I’m done.”  Limp and wretched, I agreed with her.  Then we found we had put our chairs against the kitchen, which is up on deck in this ship.

No wonder we were warm!  We quickly found a cooler spot, and I have been writing a long letter to Boggley to send off with the pilot.  Isn’t he pure gold, my Boggley?  I know that you too “think nobly of the soul.”  He will be home in a year, and I am trying to tell myself that a year isn’t long.  Well, the Indian trip is over, and I have a lot, learned a few things, and made some friends—­best of them my faithful G. It is rather astonishing that I should have the joy of her company home again.  Many people, I am sure, expected she would remain in India, but I think she took the precaution to leave her heart at home, wise G. One thing you should be thankful for, there will be no more letters.  What a blessing people are nicer than their letters!  How good you have been about mine, how willing to take an interest in the people I met, in the places I saw, in everything I told you about; and when I was jocose, you pretended to be amused.  Ah, well!  Be cheerful, sir, our revels now are ended!