“Oh, yes, I see,” replied Noreen vaguely, puzzled by Ida’s remark about her husband.  She had seen the Civil Servant at the wedding and remembered him as a stolid, middle-aged, and apparently uninteresting individual.  But the girl was still ignorant enough of life not to understand why a woman after two years of marriage should be thankful that her husband was far away from her and wish him farther.

“But I’m not going to let Bertie monopolise me up here,” continued Mrs. Smith, taking off her hat and pulling and patting her hair before the mirror.  “I like a change.  I’ve come here to have a good time.  I think I’ll go in and cut you out with Captain Charlesworth.  He’s awfully attractive.”

“You are quite welcome to him, dear,” said the girl.

“Oh, wait until you see the fuss the other women make of him.  He’s a great catch; and all the mothers here with marriageable daughters and the spins themselves are ready to scratch each other’s eyes out over him.”

“Don’t be uncharitable, Ida dearest.”

“It’s a fact, darling.  But I warn you that he’s not a marrying man.  He has the reputation of being a terrible flirt.  I don’t think you’ll hold him long.  He’s afraid of girls—­afraid they’ll try to catch him.  He prefers married women.  He knows we’re safe.”

Noreen said nothing, but began to open and unpack her trunks.  In India, the land of servants, where a bachelor officer has seven or more, a lady has usually to do without a maid, for the ayah, or native female domestic, is generally a failure in that capacity.  In the hotels Indian “boys” replace the chambermaids of Europe.

Ida rattled on.

“Of course, Bertie’s awfully useful.  A tame cat—­and he’s a well-trained one—­is a handy thing to have about you, especially up here.  You need someone to take you to races and gymkhanas and to fill up blanks on your programme at dances, as well as getting your ricksha or dandy for you when they’re over.”

Noreen laughed, amused at the frankness of the statement.

“And where is the redoubtable Captain Bain, dear?”

“You’ll see him soon.  I let him off today until it’s time for him to call to take us to the Amusement Club.  He was anxious to see you.  He wanted to come with me to the station, but I said he’d only be in the way.  I knew Miguel would be much more useful in getting your luggage.  Bertie’s so slow.  Still, he’s rather a dear.  Remember, he’s my property.  You mustn’t poach.”

Noreen laughed again and said: 

“If he admires you, dear, I’m sure no one could take him from you.”

“My dear girl, you never can trust any man,” said her friend seriously.  Then, glancing at herself in the mirror, she continued modestly: 

“I know I’m not bad-looking, and lots of men do admire me.  Bertie says I’m a ripper.”

She certainly was decidedly pretty, though of a type of beauty that would fade early.  Vain and empty-headed, she was, nevertheless, popular with the class of men who are content with a shallow, silly woman with whom it is easy to flirt.  They described her as “good fun and not a bit strait-laced.”  Noreen knew nothing of this side of her friend, for she had not seen her since her marriage, and honestly thought her beautiful and fascinating.