116 RIFLE AND SPEAR WITH THE RAJPOOTS. 



in English fashion, and beyond, a dining-room with the 

 table laid for dinner with silver, glass, china, flowers, fruit, 

 champagne in ice, in fact everything one sees every night 

 at home, but sees without noticing it. It seems nothing 

 then ; but when for weeks our house has been a little tent, 

 our china and glass enamelled iron, and our table linen of 

 a dubious yellow hue, rough-washed in the nearest brook, 

 it is surprising how these little creature-comforts appeal to 

 one. The clean white damask-covered table is a perfect 

 dream of luxury, the brightly lighted interior a glimpse 

 of another world. 



Of course I expected to be shown into a room full of 

 smartly dressed English people, and entered the house 

 meditating rather sadly on my own draggled home-spun, 

 and dusty travel-worn appearance. But to my surprise 

 not a soul appears. Rahman suggests that I should go 

 up-stairs. I find a prettily arranged drawing-room, with 

 bed, dressing and bath rooms opening off, but not a single 

 human being in sight. I begin to think of the fairy tale 

 of the traveller wandering in the wood, who chances on a 

 palace where for days he is waited on by invisible hands, 

 till a white cat tells him she is a Princess under a spell, and 

 begs him to cut off her tail — when suddenly she becomes 

 a lovely lady surrounded by her court. This must be 

 that palace ! 



But Alan arrives and gives a more prosaic explanation. 



