Against the last, all that England and Oxford had given her rose up in revolt ...  But the discarded, subconscious Aruna was centuries older than the half-fledged being who hovered on the rim of the nest, distrustful of her untried wings and the pathless sky.  That Aruna had, for ally, the spirit of the ages; more formidable, if less assertive, than the transient spirit of the age.  And the fledgling Aruna knew perfectly well that the Englishman of her alternative was, confessedly—­Roy.  His mother being Indian, she innocently supposed there would be no trouble of prejudice; no stupid talk of the gulf that she and Dyan had set out to bridge.  The fact that Dyan had failed only made her the more anxious to succeed....

Soon after arriving, she had taken up hospital work in the women’s ward, because Miss Hammond was kind; and her educated self had need of occupation.  Her other self—­deeply loving her grandfather—­had urged her to try and live at home,—­so far as her unregenerate state would permit.

As out-of-caste, she had been exempt from kitchen work; debarred from touching any food except the portion set aside for her meals, that were eaten apart in Sir Lakshman’s room—­her haven of refuge.  In the Inside, she was at the mercy of women’s tongues and the petty tyranny of Mataji; antagonistic as ever; sharpened and narrowed with age, even as her grandfather had mellowed and grown beautiful, with the unearthly beauty of the old, whose spirit shines visibly through the attenuated veil of flesh.  Aruna, watching him, with clearer understanding, marvelled how he had preserved his serenity of soul through a lifetime of Mataji’s dominion.

And the other women—­relations in various degrees—­took their tone from her, if only for the sake of peace:—­the widowed sister-in-law, suavely satirical; a great-aunt, whose tongue clacked like a rice-husker; two cousins, correctly betrothed to unseen bridegrooms, entitled to look askance at the abandoned one, who was neither wife nor mother; and two children of a poor relation—­embryo women, who echoed the jeers of their elders at her English friends, her obstinacy in the matter of caste and the inevitable husband. Hai! hai! At her age, what did she fear?  Had the English bewitched her with lies?  Thus Peru, aged nine, jocosely proceeding to enlighten her; egged on by giggles and high-pitched laughter from the prospective brides.  For in the zenana reticence is not, even before children.  Aruna herself had heard such talk; but for years her early knowledge had lain dormant; while fastidiousness had been engendered by English studies and contact with English youth.  Useless to answer.  It simply meant tears or losing her temper; in which case, Mataji would retaliate by doctoring her food with red pepper to sweeten her tongue.

Meanwhile, sharpened pressure in the matter of caste rites and rumours of an actually maturing husband, had brought her very near the end of her tether.  Again Thea was right.  Her brave impulse of the heart had only been just in time.  And hard upon that unbelievable good fortune followed the news that Roy was coming.