On that topic he could not yet trust himself; and Roy, leaning forward impulsively, laid a hand on his knee.

“Grandfather, I have promised Aruna—­and I promise you—­that somehow, I will get hold of him; and bring him back to his senses.”

Sir Lakshman covered the hand with his own.  “True son of Lilamani!  But I fear he may have joined some secret society; and India is a large haystack in which to seek one human needle!”

“But Aruna has written again.  She is convinced he will answer.”

Sir Lakshman sighed.  “Poor Aruna!  I am not sure if I was altogether wise letting her go to the Residency.  But I am deeply grateful to Mrs Leigh.  India needs many more such English women.  By making friends with high-born Indian women, it is hardly too much to say they might, together, mend more than half the blunders made by men on both sides.”

Thus, skilfully, he steered clear of Aruna’s problem that was linked with matters too intimately painful for discussion with a grandson, however dear.

So absorbed was Roy in the delight of reunion, that not till he rose to go did he take in the details of the lofty room.  Everywhere Indian workmanship was in evidence.  The pictures were old Rajput paintings; fine examples of Vaishnava art—­pure Hindu, in its mingling of restraint and exuberance, of tenderness and fury; its hallowing of all life and idealising of all love.  Only the writing-table and swivel-chair were frankly of the West, and certain shelves full of English books and reviews.

“I like your room,” Roy announced after leisurely inspection.  “But I don’t seem to remember——­”

“You would be a miracle if you did!  The room you saw had plush curtains, gilt mirrors and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct ‘English-fashion’ guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman.  But of late years I have seen how greatly we were mistaken, making imitation England to honour our English friends.  Some frankly told me how they were disappointed to find in our houses only caricatures of middle-class England or France.  Such rooms are silent barriers to friendship:  proclaiming that East may go to the West but West cannot come to the East.”

“In a way that’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes—­in a way.  This room, of course, is not like my inner apartments.  It is like myself, however; cultivated—­but still Indian.  It is my way of preaching true Swadeshi:—­Be your own self, even with English guests.  But so far I have few followers.  Some are too foolishly fond of their mirrors and chandeliers and gramophones.  Some will not believe such trifles can affect friendliness.  Yet—­strange, but true—­too much Anglicising of India instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen the gulf.”

Roy nodded.  “I’ve heard that.  Yet most of us are so keen to be friends.  Queer, perverse things—­human beings, aren’t they?”

“And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders of Earth!” Setting both hands on Roy’s shoulders he looked deeply into his eyes.  “Come and see me often, Dilkusha.  It lifts my tired heart to have this very human being so near me again.”