"It was--rather a jar when he told me," she admitted, by way of
concession. "But truly, he _is_ different--if you'll only listen,
without fuming! His mother's a Rajput of the highest caste. Her father
educated her almost like an English girl. She was only seventeen when
she married Sir Nevil; and she lived altogether in England after that.
In everything but being her son, Roy is practically an Englishman. You
can't class him with the kind of people we associate with--the other
word out here----"

Very patiently and tactfully she put forward every redeeming argument in
his favour--without avail. Mrs Elton--broadly--had the right on her
side; and the gods had denied her the gift of discrimination. She saw
India as a vast, confused jumble of Rajahs and _bunnias_ and servants
and coolies--all steeped in varying depths of dirt and dishonesty, greed
and shameless ingratitude. It did not occur to her that sharp
distinctions of character, tradition, and culture underlay the more or
less uniform tint of skin. And beneath her instinctive antipathy, burned
furious anger with Roy for placing her, by his deceitfulness (it _must_
have been his) in the ironic position of having to repudiate the
engagement she had announced with such eclat only three weeks ago....

The moment she had recovered her breath, she returned unshaken to the
charge.

"That's very fine talk, my dear, for two people in love. But Roy's a
half-caste: that's flat. You can't wriggle away from the damning fact by
splitting hairs about education and breeding. Besides--_you_ only think
of the man. But are you prepared for your precious first baby to be as
dark as a native? It's more than likely. I know it for a fact----"

"Really, Mother! You're a trifle previous." Rose was cool no longer; a
slow, unwilling blush flooded her face. Her mother had struck at her
more shrewdly than she knew.

"Well, if you _will_ be obstinate, it's my duty to open your eyes; or,
of course, I wouldn't talk so to an unmarried girl. There's another
thing--any doctor will tell you--a particular form of consumption
carries off half the wretched children of these mixed marriages. A
mercy, perhaps; but think of it----! Your own! And you know perfectly
well the moral deterioration----"

"There's none of that about _Roy_." Rose grew warmer still. "And _you_
know perfectly well most of it comes from the circumstances, the stigma,
the type of parent. But you can say what you please. I'm of age.