Myself: "Yes, in the Scotia." Remarks follow about the voyage.
The Man: "What do you think of India?"
Myself: "Oh, rather nice, don't you think?"
The Man: "Oh, quite a decent place—what?"
Again the servant appears, this time with two cards. Again I murmur the Open Sesame, and two more men appear. No. i gets up to go, shakes hands with me in a detached way, and departs, and the same conversation begins again with the new-comers, until they, in their turn, leave when someone else comes in. It seems to be etiquette to go away whenever another visitor arrives. I didn't understand this, and when a man came whom I knew well in my childhood's days and, after a few minutes' stay, got up to depart, I grabbed his hand and said, "Oh, won't you stay and have a talk?" He, very nicely, stayed on, and we did have a delightful talk; but Victor Ormonde, who happened to be present, has never ceased to chaff me about it. When we dine with them and get up to go he says in thrilling accents, with an absurdly sentimental air, "Oh! won't you stay and have a talk?"
I do think India makes very nice men. Almost every man I have met has been delightful in his own
