“Indeed?” I answered.  My tone was one of utter unconcern in her cousin’s history.  “Miss Wade, will you take Bombay ducks with your curry?” In public, I thought it wise under the circumstances to abstain from calling her Hilda.  It might lead to misconceptions; people might suppose we were more than fellow-travellers.

“You have had relations in Burma?” Lady Meadowcroft persisted.

I manifested a desire to discontinue the conversation.  “Yes,” I answered, coldly, “my uncle commanded there.”

“Commanded there!  Really!  Ivor, do you hear?  Dr. Cumberledge’s uncle commanded in Burma.”  A faint intonation on the word commanded drew unobtrusive attention to its social importance.  “May I ask what was his name?—­my cousin was there, you see.”  An insipid smile.  “We may have friends in common.”

“He was a certain Sir Malcolm Tepping,” I blurted out, staring hard at my plate.

“Tepping!  I think I have heard Dick speak of him, Ivor.”

“Your cousin,” Sir Ivor answered, with emphatic dignity, “is certain to have mixed with nobbut the highest officials in Burma.”

“Yes, I’m sure Dick used to speak of a certain Sir Malcolm.  My cousin’s name, Dr. Cumberledge, was Maltby—­Captain Richard Maltby.”

“Indeed,” I answered, with an icy stare.  “I cannot pretend to the pleasure of having met him.”

Be exclusive to the exclusive, and they burn to know you.  From that moment forth Lady Meadowcroft pestered us with her endeavours to scrape acquaintance.  Instead of trying how far she could place her chair from us, she set it down as near us as politeness permitted.  She entered into conversation whenever an opening afforded itself, and we two stood off haughtily.  She even ventured to question me about our relation to one another:  “Miss Wade is your cousin, I suppose?” she suggested.

“Oh, dear, no,” I answered, with a glassy smile.  “We are not connected in any way.”

“But you are travelling together!”

“Merely as you and I are travelling together—­fellow-passengers on the same steamer.”

“Still, you have met before.”

“Yes, certainly.  Miss Wade was a nurse at St. Nathaniel’s, in London, where I was one of the house doctors.  When I came on board at Cape Town, after some months in South Africa, I found she was going by the same steamer to India.”  Which was literally true.  To have explained the rest would have been impossible, at least to anyone who did not know the whole of Hilda’s history.

“And what are you both going to do when you get to India?”

“Really, Lady Meadowcroft,” I said, severely, “I have not asked Miss Wade what she is going to do.  If you inquire of her point-blank, as you have inquired of me, I dare say she will tell you.  For myself, I am just a globe-trotter, amusing myself.  I only want to have a look round at India.”

“Then you are not going out to take an appointment?”