You would have scores of them in your salon."
"I would not!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, fiercely. "I would tell the bearer to
darwaza band them. I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at the door to
turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with."
"The Topsham girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the salon.
Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, what would you
do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one accord begin to flirt.
Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's--a 'Scandal Point' by lamplight."
"There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view."
"There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons ought
to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India; and a salon, to be
any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your roomful would be
scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of dirt on the hillsides--
here one day and blown down the khud the next. We have lost the art of
talking--at least our men have. We have no cohesion"--
"George Eliot in the flesh," interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly.
"And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no
influence.
"Come into the veranda and look at the Mall!"
The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was abroad
to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog.
Pages:
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364