In earlier days a preface to a novel with no direct historical source always seemed to me somewhat out of place, since I believed that the author could be indebted solely to his own imagination. I have learned, however, that even in a novel pur sang it is possible to owe much to others, and I now take the opportunity which the despised preface offers to pay my debt--inadequately it is true--to Mr. Hughes Massie, whose enthusiastic help in the launching of this, my first serious literary effort, I shall always hold in grateful remembrance.
he girl standing at her side, as though seeking to draw her into the conversation.
"It is indeed new for me," the latter answered shortly, and with slight emphasis on the personal pronoun.
"I was about to remark that this is scarcely your first visit to India," Mrs. Carmichael put in. "I understood that your late husband had a government appointment somewhere in the South?"
Mrs. Cary's heavy face flushed, though whether with heat or annoyance it was not easy to judge.
"Of course--a very excellent appointment, too--but the place and the people!" She became confidential and her voice sank, though beyond her daughter there was no one within hearing. "Between you and me, Mrs. Carmichael, the people were dreadful. You know, I am not snobbish--indeed I must confess to quite democratic tendencies, which my family always greatly deplores--but I really couldn't stand the people. I had to go back to England with Beatrice. The place was filled with subordinate railway offici