That is how we feel, do we not, Beatrice?" She
half turned to the girl standing at her side, as though seeking to draw
her into the conversation.
"It is indeed new for _me_," the latter answered shortly, and with slight
emphasis on the personal pronoun.
"I was about to remark that this is scarcely your first visit to India,"
Mrs. Carmichael put in. "I understood that your late husband had a
government appointment somewhere in the South?"
Mrs. Cary's heavy face flushed, though whether with heat or annoyance it
was not easy to judge.
"Of course--a very excellent appointment, too--but the place and the
people!" She became confidential and her voice sank, though beyond
her daughter there was no one within hearing. "Between you and me,
Mrs. Carmichael, the people were _dreadful_. You know, I am not
snobbish--indeed I must confess to quite democratic tendencies, which
my family always greatly deplores--but I really couldn't stand the
people. I had to go back to England with Beatrice. The place was filled
with subordinate railway officials. Don't you hate subordinates, dear
Mrs. Carmichael?"
Mrs. Carmichael stared, during which process her eyes happened to fall
on Beatrice Cary's half-averted face. She was surprised to find that
the somewhat thin lips were smiling--though not agreeably.
"I really don't know what you mean by 'subordinates,'" Mrs. Carmichael
said, in her uncompromising way.
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