“Life is very difficult, Sophy, my dear; death is easy, and I shall soon know all about it.”

“Oh, Aunt Flo, why do you say this?”

“Because, before long, I shall die.  Karl is full of great plans and talks of our wonderful future.  I see no future for myself in Europe; I shall remain behind when you and he go down the Irrawaddy—­but I am not afraid.  On the contrary, I look forward.”

“As for death, I hope you are mistaken, Aunt Flora, but I confess that yours is a most enviable frame of mind.”

“It is, dear, I suppose, from living so long in the East, I have imbibed some of the people’s ideas.  In all the world these Burmans cannot be matched for their radiant cheerfulness—­they make the best of the present, and, as they say, ‘merely die to live again.’  There is not one of them who does not believe in and speak of his past life, and look forward to a future existence; this is why they wear such an air of happiness and contentment.”

“And do you really believe there is anything in this comfortable faith, Aunt Flora?”

“Yes, my dear, I have a sincere confidence that my soul, not this miserable wicked body, will live again, and be given an opportunity of being better in another world.”

“Well, at any rate that is a consoling creed.  For my own part, I know little about Buddhism, but I can see that the Burmans are a religious people, much given to worship and offerings, and with a good deal of gaiety in their ceremonies; but, Aunt Flora, although they are delightfully picturesque, and so merry and cheerful, as a mass they are terribly pleasure-loving and lazy; no Burman will work if he can help it; even the women are difficult to get hold of.  Mrs. Blake, who is in the District, told me that her ayah, who never exerted herself, had put in for a year’s holiday and rest.”

“But what had that to do with religion, my dear?”

“Just this—­that they are as a race too indolant and easy-going to study any big question, or to take the trouble to think for themselves.”

“But what about the hundreds and thousands of holy priests who spend all their rives in profound meditation?  What do you say to that?  Come now.”

“I say that they live a life of incorrigible idleness; they have no need to maintain themselves; they just eat, and sit, and muse; everything is supplied to them, including their yellow robe and betel nut.  Their religion is selfish.”

“Well, well, I’m too stupid to argue, my dear child, my brain is like cotton wool; but I have my hopes, my sure hopes.  Karl is different.  He is cultured, he reads Marx and Hegel, and says we are like cabbages and have no future; when we go it is as a candle that is blown out.  Oh, here are visitors!  What a bore!  I shall not appear!  Run and tell the bearer.”

“Oh, but these are your own special old friends, Mrs. Vansittart and Mrs. Dowler. Do let them come in; they will amuse you—­poor dears, you know they always call after dark.”