A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in the air.

“Oh, Rose—­there you are.  I’ve had the shock of my life!” Waving away her jhampannis, she sank into an adjacent cane chair that creaked and swayed ominously under the assault.  “It was at Mrs Tait’s.  My dear—­would you believe it?  That fine fiance of yours—­after worming himself into our good graces—­turns out to be practically a half-caste.  A superior one, it seems.  But still—­the deceitfulness of the man!  Going about looking like everybody else too!  And grey-blue eyes into the bargain!”

At that Rose fatally smiled—­in spite of genuine dismay.

“I can’t see anything funny in it!” snapped her mother.  “I thought you’d be furious.  Did you ever notice——?  Had you the least suspicion?”

“Not the least,” Rose answered, with unruffled calm.  “I knew.”

“You knew?  Yet you were fool enough to accept him—­and wilfully deceive your own mother!  I suppose he insisted, and you——­”

“No. I insisted.  I knew my own mind.  And I wasn’t going to have him upset——­”

“But if I’m upset it doesn’t matter a brass farthing?”

“It does matter.  I’m very sorry you’ve had such a jar.”  Rose had some ado to maintain her coolness; but she knew it for her one unfailing weapon.  “Of course, I meant to tell you later; in fact, as soon as he came up to settle things finally——­”

“Most con_sider_ate of you!  And when he does come up, I propose to settle things finally——­” She choked, gulped, and glared.  She was realising....  “The position you’ve put me in!  It’s detestable!”

Rose sighed.  It struck her that her own position was not exactly enviable.  “I’ve said I’m sorry.  And really—­it didn’t seem the least likely....  Who was the officious instrument of Fate?”

“Young Joe Bradley, of the Forests.  We were talking of the riots and poor Major Desmond, and Mrs Tait happened to mention Roy Sinclair.  Mr Bradley asked—­was he the artist’s son; and told how he once went to tea there—­when his mother was staying with Lady Despard—­and had a stand-up fight with Roy.  He said Roy’s mother was rather a swell native woman—­a pucca native; and Roy went for him like a wild thing, because he called her an ayah——­”

Again Rose smiled in spite of herself.  “He would!”

“Would he, indeed!  That’s all you think of—­though you know I’ve got a weak heart.  And I nearly fainted—­if that’s any interest to you!  The Bradley boy doesn’t know—­about us.  But Mrs Tait’s a perfect little sieve.  It’ll be all over Simla to-morrow.  And I was so pleased and proud——­” Her voice shook.  Tears threatened.  “And it’s so awkward—­so undignified ... backing out——­”

“My dear mother, I’ve no intention whatever of backing out.”

“And I’ve no intention what_ever_ of having a half-caste for a son-in-law.”