st! All the same----"

A pause. He, no less than Roy, found speech difficult. He had fancied
himself, by now, inured to this kind of jar--so frequent in the early
years of his daringly unconventional marriage. It seemed he was
mistaken. He had been vaguely on edge all the afternoon. What young Joe
had rudely blurted out, Mrs Bradley's manner had tacitly expressed. He
had succeeded in smothering his own sensations, only to be confronted
with the effect of it all on Roy--who must somehow be made to
understand.

"The fact is, old man," he went on, trying to speak in his normal voice,
"young Bradley and a good many of his betters spend years in India
without coming to know very much about the real people over there.
You'll understand why when you're older. They all have Indians for
servants, and they see Indians working in shops and villages, just like
plenty of our people do here. But they don't often meet many of the
other sort--like Mummy and Grandfather and Uncle Rama--except sometimes
in England. And then--they make stupid mistakes--just because they don't
know better. But they needn't be rude about it, like Joe; and I'm glad
you punched him--hard."

"So'm I. Fearfully glad." He stood upright now, his head erect:--proud
of his father's approval, and being treated as "man to man." "But,
Daddy--what are we going to do ... about Mummy? I _do_ want her to know
... it was for her. But I _couldn't_ tell--what Joe said. Could you?"

Nevil shook his head.

"Then--what?"

"You leave it to me, Roy. I'll make things clear without repeating Joe's
rude remarks. She'd have been up before this; but _I_ had to see you
first--because of the whacking!" His eye twinkled. "She's longing to get
at your bruises----"

"Oh nev' mind my bruises. They're all right now."

"And beautiful to behold!" He lightly touched the lump on Roy's cheek.
"I'd let her dab them, though. Women love fussing over us when we're
hurt--especially if we've been fighting for them!"

"Yes--they do," Roy agreed gravely; and to his surprise, his father drew
him close and kissed his forehead.

* * * * *

His mother did not keep him waiting long. First the quick flutter of her
footsteps; then the door gently opened--and she flew to him, her sari
blowing out in beautiful curves. Then he was in her arms, gathered into
her silken softness and the faint scent of sandalwood; while her lips,
light as butterfly wings, caressed the brui