First they met Mrs. Rawley Plumston, a very tall, bony and dignified woman in gray, wearing a most flowery hat.  To every man of Morovenia Mrs. Plumston was the apotheosis of all that was undesirable in her sex, but they were exceedingly polite to her, for the reason that Morovenia owed a great deal of money in London and it was a set policy to cultivate the friendship of the British.

While Jeneka and Kalora were being presented to the consul’s wife, these same young men, the very flower of bachelorhood, stood back at a respectful distance and regarded the young women with half-concealed curiosity.  To be permitted to inspect young women of the upper classes was a most unusual privilege, and they knew why the privilege had been extended to them.  It was all very amusing, but they were too well bred to betray their real emotions.  When they moved up to be presented to the sisters they seemed grave in their salutations and restrained themselves, even though one pair of eyes, peering out above a very gauzy veil, seemed to twinkle with mischief and to corroborate their most pronounced suspicions.

Out of courtesy to his guests, Count Malagaski had made his garden-party as deadly dull as possible.  Little groups of bored people drifted about under the trees and exchanged the usual commonplace observations.  Tea and cakes were served under a canopy tent and the local orchestra struggled with pagan music.

Kalora found herself in a wide and easy kind of a basket-chair sitting under a tree and chatting with Mrs. Plumston.  She was trying to be at her ease, and all the time she knew that every young man present was staring at her out of the corner of his eye.

Mrs. Plumston, although very tall and evidently of brawny strength, had a twittering little voice and a most confiding manner.  She was immensely interested in the daughter of the Governor-General.  To meet a young girl who had spent her life within the mysterious shadows of an oriental household gave her a tingling interest, the same as reading a forbidden book.  She readily won the confidence of Kalora, and Kalora, being most ingenuous and not educated to the wiles of the drawing-room, spoke her thoughts with the utmost candor.

“I like you,” she said to Mrs. Plumston, “and, oh, how I envy you!  You go to balls and dinners and the theater, don’t you?”

“Alas, yes, and you escape them!  How I envy you!”

“Your husband is a very handsome man.  Do you love him?”

“I tolerate him.”

“Does he ever scold you for being thin?”

“Does he what?”

“Is he ever angry with you because you are not big and plump and—­and—­pulpy?”

“Heavens, no!  If my husband has any private convictions regarding my personal appearance, he is discreet enough to keep them to himself.  If he isn’t satisfied with me, he should be.  I have been working for years to save myself from becoming fat and plump and—­pulpy.”