Netta Ermsted smiled at her like a wayward child.  “I like saying nasty things about people,” she said.  “It amuses me.  Besides, they’re nearly always true.  Do tell me what you think of that latest hat erection of Lady Harriet’s!  I never saw her look more aristocratically hideous in my life than she looked at the Rajah’s garden-party yesterday.  I felt quite sorry for the Rajah, for he’s a nice boy notwithstanding his forty wives, and he likes pretty things.”  She gave a little laugh, and stretched her white arms up, clasping her hands behind her head.  “I have promised to ride with him in the early mornings now and then.  Won’t darling Dick be jealous when he knows?”

Mrs. Ralston uttered a sigh.  There were times when all her attempts to reform this giddy little butterfly seemed unavailing.  Nevertheless, being sound of principle and unfailingly conscientious, she made a gallant effort.  “Do you think you ought to do that, dear?  I always think that we ought to live more circumspectly here at Bhulwana than down at Kurrumpore.  And—­if I may be allowed to say so—­your husband is such a good, kind man, so indulgent, it seems unfair to take advantage of it.”

“Oh, is he?” laughed Netta.  “How ill you know my doughty Richard!  Why, it’s half the fun in life to make him mad.  He nearly turned me over his knee and spanked me the last time.”

“My dear, I wish he had!” said Mrs. Ralston, with downright fervour.  “It would do you good.”

“Think so?” Netta flicked the ash from her cigarette with a disdainful gesture.  “It all depends.  I should either worship him or loath him afterwards.  I wonder which.  Poor old Richard!  It’s silly of him to stay in love with the same person always, isn’t it?  I couldn’t be so monotonous if I tried.”

“In fact if he cared less about you, you would think more of him,” remarked Mrs. Ralston, with a quite unusual touch of severity.

Netta Ermsted laughed again, her light, heartless laugh.  “How crushingly absolute!  But it is the literal truth.  I certainly should.  He’s cheap now, poor old boy.  That’s why I lead him such a dog’s life.  A man should never be cheap to his wife.  Now look at your husband!  Indifference personified!  And you have never given him an hour’s anxiety in his life.”

Mrs. Ralston’s pale blue eyes suddenly shone.  She looked almost young again.  “We understand each other,” she said simply.

A mocking smile played about Mrs. Ermsted’s lips, but she said nothing for the moment.  In her own fashion she was fond of the surgeon’s wife, and she would not openly deride her, dear good soul.

“When you’ve quite finished that,” she remarked presently, “there’s a tussore frock of my own I want to consult you about.  There’s one thing about Stella; she won’t be wanting many clothes, so I shall be able to retain your undivided attention in that respect.  I really don’t know what Tessa and I would do without you.  The tiresome little thing is always tearing her clothes to pieces.”