“Are you quite sure you want me?” I said dubiously.  “Young married people make a kind of heaven for themselves, and do not want old maids looking over the wall.”

“But you must go with us,” said Frank, man-like, never seeing anything but the uppermost surface of a question.

“Not at all.  I’m quite strong-minded enough to stay on board ship; or, if that would not do in this heathen place, the missionaries are always ready to entertain strangers.  A week in the missionhouse would make me for ever a shining light in the sewing circle at home.

“A woman of so many resources would be welcome anywhere.  For my part, an old maid is a perfect Godsend.  The genus is unknown here, and the loss to society immense,” said Mr. Rayne.

“But what shall I do when Mrs. Rayne and my sister-in-law are comparing notes about the perfections of their husbands?”

“Walk on the verandah with me and convert me to woman suffrage.”

Mr. Rayne had his barouche waiting on shore, and drove us first to the bandstand, where, in the coolness of sunset, all the Bombay world meet to see and to be seen.  When the band paused, people drove slowly round the circle, seeking acquaintance.  Among them one equipage was perfect—­a small basket-phaeton, and two black ponies groomed within an inch of their lives.  My eyes fell on the ponies first, but I saw them no more when the lady who drove them turned her face toward me.

She wore a close-fitting black velvet habit and a little round hat with long black feather.  Her hair might have been black velvet, too, as it fell low on her forehead, and was fastened somehow behind in a heavy coil.  Black brows and lashes shaded clear gray eyes—­the softest gray, without the least tint of green in them—­such eyes as Quaker maidens ought to have under their gray bonnets.  Little rose colored flushes kept coming and going in her cheeks as she talked.

All at once I thought of Queen Guinevere,

    As she fled fast thro’ sun and shade,
      With jingling bridle-reins.

“Mr. Rayne, do you see that lady in black, with the ponies?”

“Plainly.”

“If I were a man, that woman would be my Fate.”

“I thought women never admired each other’s beauty.”

“You are mistaken.  Heretofore I have met beautiful women only in poetry.  Do you remember four lines about Queen Guinevere?—­no, six lines, I mean: 

    “She looked so lovely as she swayed
      The rein with dainty finger-tips,
    A man had given all other bliss,
    And all his worldly worth for this,
    To waste his whole heart in one kiss
      Upon her perfect lips.

“I always thought them overstrained till now.”

“I perfectly agree with you,” said Mr. Rayne:  “I knew we were congenial spirits.”  Then he said a word or two in a diabolical language to his groom, who ran to the carriage which I had been watching and repeated it to the lady:  she bowed and smiled to Mr. Rayne, and soon drew up her ponies beside us.