“My marriage!” It was clear he did not yet grasp the truth.  “Really, Mummy, that’s a trifle previous.  I’m not even thinking of marriage.”

“No, Stupid One!  But out there you might come to think of it!  No man can tell when Kama, godling of the arrows, will throw magic dust in his eyes.  You might meet other cousins—­like Aruna, and there would come trouble, because”—­she faced him steadily and he saw the veiled blush creep into her cheeks—­“that kind of marriage—­for you—­must not be.”

Now he understood; and, for all her high resolve, she thrilled at the swift flash of anger in his eyes.

“Who says—­it must not be?” he demanded with a touch of heat.  “Aunt Jane—­confound her!  When I do marry, it will be to please myself—­not her!”

“Oh, hush, Roy—­and listen!  You run away too fast.  It is not Aunt Jane—­it is I who am saying must not, because I know—­the difficult thought in Dad’s heart.  And I know it is right——­”

“Why is it right?” He was up in arms again.  Obstinate—­but how lovable!—­“Why mayn’t I have the same luck as he had—­if it comes my way?  I’ve never met a girl or woman that could hold a candle to you for all-round loveliness.  And it’s the East that gives you—­inside and out—­a quality, a bloom—­unseizable—­like moonlight——­”

“But, my darling!  You make me blush!” She drew her sari across her face, hiding, under a veil of lightness, her joy at his outspoken praise.

“Well, you made me say it.  And I’m not sentimentalising.  I’m telling a home truth!”

His vehemence was guarantee of that.  Very gently he drew back the sari and looked deep into her eyes.

“Why should we only tell the ugly ones, like Aunt Jane?  Anyway, I’ve told you my truest one now—­and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“No need.  It is a jewel I will treasure in my heart.”

She dropped the veil of lightness, giving him sincerity for sincerity as he deserved.  “But—­Ancient one, have you seen so many girls and women in your long life——?”

“I’ve seen a pretty good mixture of all sorts—­Oxford, London, and round here,” he insisted unabashed.  “And I’ve had my wits about me.  Of course they’re most of them jolly and straight.  Good fellows in fact; talking our slang; playing our games.  No harm, of course.  But it kills the charm of contrast—­the supreme charm.  They understand that in India better than we do here.”

The truth of that last Lilamani could not deny.  Too clearly she saw in the violent upheaval of Western womanhood the hidden germs of tragedy, for women themselves, for the race.