Vaishnava art--pure Hindu, in its mingling of restraint
and exuberance, of tenderness and fury; its hallowing of all life and
idealising of all love. Only the writing-table and swivel-chair were
frankly of the West, and certain shelves full of English books and
reviews.

"I _like_ your room," Roy announced after leisurely inspection. "But I
don't seem to remember----"

"You would be a miracle if you did! The room _you_ saw had plush
curtains, gilt mirrors and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct
'English-fashion' guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman. But of
late years I have seen how greatly we were mistaken, making imitation
England to honour our English friends. Some frankly told me how they
were disappointed to find in our houses only caricatures of middle-class
England or France. Such rooms are silent barriers to friendship:
proclaiming that East may go to the West but West cannot come to the
East."

"In a way that's true, isn't it?"

"Yes--in a way. This room, of course, is not like my inner apartments.
It is like myself, however; cultivated--but still Indian. It is my way
of preaching true Swadeshi:--Be your own self, even with English guests.
But so far I have few followers. Some are too foolishly fond of their
mirrors and chandeliers and gramophones. Some will not believe such
trifles can affect friendliness. Yet--strange, but true--too much
Anglicising of India instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen
the gulf."

Roy nodded. "I've heard that. Yet most of us are so keen to be friends.
Queer, perverse things--human beings, aren't they?"

"And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders of Earth!"
Setting both hands on Roy's shoulders he looked deeply into his eyes.
"Come and see me often, Dilkusha. It lifts my tired heart to have this
very human being so near me again."

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, Roy was riding homeward through a changed city;
streets and hills and sky wrapped in the mystery of encroaching dusk.

South and west the sky flamed, like the heart of a fire opal, through a
veil fine as gauze--dust no longer; but the aura of Jaipur. Seen afar,
through the coloured gloom, familiar shapes took on strange outlines;
moved and swayed, mysteriously detached, in a sea of shadows, scattered,
here and there, by flames of little dinner fires along the pavements.
The brilliant shifting crowd of two hours ago seemed to have sunk into
the e