“You are a treasure, my sweet child,” she remarked; “I have so often longed for a companion of my own class and nation.  All my neighbours are German; here in Kokine is a German colony; they all dine and have music, and gossip together, and I am rather out of it.  Of course, I speak German, but not very fluently.  There are two or three uncommonly smart women who speak English as well as you do, and their children have English names; but all the same, they hate us in their secret hearts and often give me a nasty scratch; so I needn’t tell you that I don’t open my heart to them.  The English live in another direction—­down the Halpin Road, or out by the Royal lakes, and I have really grown too lazy and careless to go among them.  Besides, what is the good?  My friends return to England, new people come, but as for poor me—­I stay on for ever.”

“And, of course, you would like to go home, Aunt Flora, would you not?”

“For some things, yes!  But how can I leave Karl?  Also, I feel that this country has got such a hold upon me—­oh, such a hold!” And she closed her eyes and sighed profoundly.

Three whole weeks had elapsed since Sophy arrived, and during that time she had not been outside the compound.  Herr Krauss had departed up country and taken the car with him; in the meanwhile Sophy had contrived to carry out some improvements, and induced her aunt to dismiss and replace several worthless servants.  There had been a grand cleaning, dusting, and polishing; the drawing-room was rearranged, the compound cleared and tidied, flowers decorated the sitting-rooms—­and the hens had been interned.

All this Sophy had not contrived to manage without assistance and advice; several German ladies had been to call, to inspect, to offer instruction, and to criticise.  There was Mrs. Muller, a remarkably pretty, smart young woman (wife of the head of an important firm, who spoke English perfectly, played bridge and the violin).  She and Sophy had an interesting musical talk, and arranged about duets and practisings; it was she who helped with regard to weeding out the staff, finding substitutes, and engaging a dirzee to mend and make.  Augusta Muller was a born administrator, and the head of the neighbouring community.  Another visitor was Frau Wendel, a dowdy middle-aged woman, who wore a hideous check cotton gown (much too short), green spectacles, and velvet boots; she stared hard at Sophy and asked her many personal questions.  There was also the Baroness—­a little lady with small patrician features, faded light hair and a brisk manner; and last, but by no means least, Frau Wurm, who daily arrived to fulfil a promise to Herr Krauss, and every morning, for one solid hour, imparted to Sophy instruction in the management of native servants, the reckoning of bazaar accounts, the coinage—­rupees and pice—­and the proper way to keep house linen and stores.  She also gave her lessons in cooking on the oil stove in the veranda—­not invalid delicacies, but dishes that were favourites with the master of the house, including confitures and Russian salad.