We were walking in the Circular Road then with Winifred in front
leading her Pekingese by its blue ribbon, and we had it almost to
ourselves except for a few natives passing slow and dignified on
their own occasions, for fashionable Peshawar was finishing its
last rubber of bridge, before separating to dress for dinner, and
had no time to spare for trivialities and sunsets.
"So when I came to three-and-twenty," she said slowly, "I felt I
must break away from our narrow life. I had a call to India
stronger than anything on earth. You would not understand but
that was so, and I had spent every spare moment in teaching
myself India - its history, legends, religions, everything! And I
was not wanted at home, and I had grown afraid."
I could divine years of patience and repression under this plain
tale, but also a power that would be dynamic when the authentic
voice called. That was her charm - gentleness in strength - a
sweet serenity.
"What were you afraid of?"
"Of growing old and missing what was waiting for me out here. But
I could not get away like other people.
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