"How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck--head of
goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like a
costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir Dugald
Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments,
and all powerful."
"And all my fervent admirers," said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. "Sir Henry
Haughton raves about me. But go on."
"One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just a mob
of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon won't weld
the Departments together and make you mistress of India, dear. And these
creatures won't talk administrative 'shop' in a crowd--your salon--because
they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They have
forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the women"--
"Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their last
nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning."
"You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the subalterns
can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views admirably, if you
respected the religious prejudices of the country and provided plenty of kala
juggahs.
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