over-populated Hindu South, was done with. Here was the land she knew
and loved, and before her lay the good life she understood, among
folk of her own caste and mind.

They were picking them up at almost every station now--men and women
coming in for the Christmas Week, with racquets, with bundles of
polo-sticks, with dear and bruised cricket-bats, with fox-terriers
and saddles. The greater part of them wore jackets like William's,
for the Northern cold is as little to be trifled with as the
Northern heat. And William was among them and of them, her hands
deep in her pockets, her collar turned up over her ears, stamping her
feet on the platforms as she walked up and down to get warm, visiting
from carriage to carriage, and everywhere being congratulated. Scott
was with the bachelors at the far end of the train, where they
chaffed him mercilessly about feeding babies and milking goats; but
from time to time he would stroll up to William's window, and murmur:
'Good enough, isn't it?' and William would answer, with sighs of pure
delight: 'Good enough, indeed.' The large open names of the home
towns were good to listen to. Umballa, Ludianah, Phillour, Jullundur,
they rang like the coming marriage-bells in her ears, and William
felt deeply and truly sorry for all strangers and
outsiders--visitors, tourists, and those fresh-caught for the service
of the country.

It was a glorious return, and when the bachelors gave the Christmas
ball, William was, unofficially, you might say, the chief and
honoured guest among the stewards, who could make things very
pleasant for their friends. She and Scott danced nearly all the
dances together, and sat out the rest in the big dark gallery
overlooking the superb teak floor, where the uniforms blazed, and the