The cries and bloodthirsty
screams of triumphant vengeance died slowly in the distance, the grey
moonlight resumed its peaceful sovereignty. Only here and there were
dark stains its silver could not wash away.
CHAPTER II
THE DANCING IS RESUMED.
"Oh, I love India--adore it, simply!" Mrs. Cary exclaimed, in the tone of
a person who, usually self-controlled, finds himself overwhelmed by the
force of his own enthusiasm. "There is something so mystic, so enthralling
about it, don't you think? I always feel as though I were wandering
through a chapter of the _Arabian Nights_ full of gorgeous princes,
wicked robbers, genii, or whatever you call them. Isn't it so with you,
Mrs. Carmichael?"
Her hostess, a thin, alert little woman with a bony, weather-beaten face,
cast an anxious glance at the rest of her guests scattered about the
garden.
"There aren't any robbers about here--except my cook," she said
prosaically. "My husband wouldn't allow such a thing in his department,
and in mine he is no good at all. As for the princes, we don't see
anything of the only one this region boasts of. He may be gorgeous, but I
really can not say for certain."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Cary, with a placid smile. "You have been in fairyland too
long, dear Mrs. Carmichael. That's what's the matter with you. You are
beginning to look upon it as a very ordinary, everyday place. If you only
knew what it is to come to it with a virgin heart and mind-thirsting for
impressions, as it were.
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