ing each other the contrast between them
was significant of the old Bengal and the new. The silly, light-minded
girls in England who had found the younger man's attractions irresistible
and raved over his dark skin and the fascinating suggestion of the Orient
in him, should have seen the pair now. The son, ultra-English in his
costume, from his sun-hat to his riding-breeches and gaiters, and the old
Bengali, ridiculously like him in features, despite his shaven crown with
one oiled scalp-lock, his bulbous nose and flabby cheeks, and teeth stained
red by betel-chewing. On his forehead were painted three white horizontal
strokes, the mark of the worshippers of Siva the Destroyer. His only
garment was a dirty old _dhoti_ tied round his fat, naked paunch.

He grinned at his son's ill-temper and replied briefly:

"The Rajah wishes to see thee, son."

"Why? Is there anything new?"

"I do not know. Thou art angry at being torn from the side of the English
girl. Art thou to marry her? Why not be satisfied to wed one of thine own
countrywomen?"

The younger man spat contemptuously.

"I would not be content with a fat Hindu cow after having known English
girls. Thou shouldest see those of London, old man. How they love us of
dark skin and believe our tales that we are Indian princes!"

The father leered unpleasantly.

"Thou hast often told me that these white women are shameless. Is it
needful to pay the price of marriage to possess this one?"

"I want her, if only to anger the white men among whom I live," replied his
son sullenly. "Like all the English out here they hate to see their women
marry us black men."

"There is a white man in the Palace who is not like that."

"A white man in the Palace?" echoed his son. "Who is he? What does he
here?"

"A Parliamentary-_wallah_, who is visiting India and will go back to tell
the English monkeys in his country what we are not. He comes here with
letters from the _Lat Sahib_."

"From the Viceroy?"

"Yes; thou knowest that any fool from their Parliament holds a whip over
the back of the _Lat Sahib_ and all the white men in this land. This one
hath no love for his own country."

"How knowest thou that?"

"Because the _Dewan Sahib_ loves him. Any foe of England is as welcome to
the _Dewan_ as the monsoon rain to the _ryot_ whose crops are dying of
drought. Thou wilt see this one, for he is ever with the _Dewan_, who has
ordered that thou goest to him before seeing the