compound liquor in silence, the
while the spectacled eyes continued their scrutiny.

"Odd thing--the Indian climate," continued the stranger in ruminating
fashion. "Changes the constitootion. Never know _which_ way you'll go,
but it's bound to be one. _You'll_ grow fat!"

That roused Katrine. Her head twisted round, indignant colour stained
her cheeks.

"I _shan't_! I shouldn't dream of such a thing... Far more likely--"

"Excuse me--no! I've had experience. Some dwindle to skeletons, but
not your build. Niece of mine sailed with me two years ago.
Twenty-two-inch waist. Put on a stone in three months. All her bodices
altered. Two stones more since then, and a double chin. Looks like her
own mother. But of course if you take much exercise... Some of the
civil appointments are quite good. If you keep horses, and ride each
morning--"

"Just so," assented Katrine. "Just so." She was discomposed by the
prospect of obesity, the more so as Dorothea's excessive thinness would
seem to confirm the assertion that the climate was extreme in its
effects. A moment passed in the earnest consideration of the
disadvantages of fat _versus_ lean, then the grey-haired one plunged
boldly into autobiography:

"My husband was a judge. Mannering. Bombay. Thousand a year pension,
but not a penny to leave behind. No use any one making up to _met_ Got
a boy in the Indian Cavalry. Going out now to pay him a call. Nice
boy. Was, at least, when I saw him last. May have changed, of course."

Katrine's looks became suddenly infused with interest.

"Then our destinations are not far apart. Do you know--have you any
friends in the--Regiment?"

"Not--one--soul!" said the stranger emphatically, and in a manner which
seemed to imply that nothing would induce her to consent to such an
entanglement. She hunched up the pillows behind her back, and continued
forcibly. "Detest the military. Always did. Quite against my wishes
that the boy went in; but there I am--silly fool! proud as any one of
'em, when I see him dressed up... Stinting myself for his gold lace!
Well, well, we're all fools at heart, my dear, every man jack of us, and
women too... When are you going to take your bath?"

The catechism was over for the moment. Katrine staggered out of bed,
robed herself in a dainty blue dressing-gown and smoothed her dark
locks, uneasily conscious that not a ribbon, a lace, or a French knot
itself escaped the scrutin