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Major Farnol said, “No, nothing.”
    “Of course not!” But Savanna’s voice was not so loud from drink alone; he was far too emphatic. “Ridiculous! Their Majesties will be as safe here in India as in Buckingham Palace. Correct, Farnol?”
    I saw Farnol’s jaw stiffen, but he nodded. “Of course.”
    Then dinner was finished and the ladies rose to be banished as we always were. The port and the cigars were already being produced, but as we went out the door Lady Westbrook turned to one of the servants. “I’ll have a large port in the drawing-room. Better bring a small decanter.”
    I sat with Lady Westbrook and the Ranee for half an hour, then I excused myself and went up to bed. I had been riding that afternoon and was genuinely tired. As I reached the gallery that led to the bedrooms I pulled up startled. Major Farnol sat in the shadows, in a large chair against the wall of the corridor.
    “Oh! I thought you were still downstairs with the other gentlemen.”
    “I just wanted to say goodnight, Miss O’Brady.” He stood up, towering over me. He wore a tail- coat, the dinner jacket had not become universal with gentlemen, but the suit looked as if he had had it a long time; it was shiny and tight and he looked, well, caged in it. “Will you be going down with us on the Durbar Train? May I have the pleasure of escorting you?”
    “Only if you will tell me if you think King George is in danger of being assassinated.” I’m afraid I was rather a direct person in those days. Perhaps I still am.
    “I thought you were interested only in Lola Montez?”
    “I have all the material I need on her. I’m a newspaperwoman, Major Farnol. A plot to assassinate a king is a story I’d give my right arm for.”
    “Both arms?”
    We did not use the word corny in those days. “Major Farnol, I expected better than that of you. I’m not some high school girl panting to be taken.”
    He smiled, then abruptly sobered. “All right, no flirting. No, Miss O’Brady, I know nothing about any assassination plot.”
    “I think you are a liar, Major.” I gave him what I hoped was a sweet smile.
    “All the time.”
    “Goodnight, Major.”
    I left him then, but I knew we were going to be talking to each other a lot over the next few days, whether he was a liar or not. In the course of her life a woman will meet a man, or several men if she is fortunate, with whom she feels an instant current of attraction. I had felt that way about Richard Harding Davis, but he was already married; I had also been strongly attracted to a well-known matinée idol, but he was in love with himself at the time and no woman can compete with that. I didn’t think Major Farnol would ever be in love with himself but he did strike me as being very self-contained, with few doubts about himself or anyone else, which can be just as frustrating for a woman. My trouble was that, being Boston Irish, I had such little mystery about me that might raise a doubt or two in his or any other man’s mind. A woman who loves love as much as I did, and still do, can be too honest for her own good.
    But I was not thinking about love that night. I undressed in the big bedroom I’d been given and was brushing my hair when I heard voices in the corridor outside. Moments earlier I had heard voices down at the front of the house; that would have been the Ranee, Lady Westbrook and the Nawab and the Baron going home. Then the big house had been suddenly silent till I heard the raised voices out in the corridor.
    I opened my door an inch and peered out. It was not a lady-like thing to do, but a newspaperwoman was not expected to be a lady; it was an implied contradiction in terms. Major Savanna, looking very much the worse for drink, was standing arguing with Major Farnol, whom I could not see.
    “You will not mention this ridiculous theory of yours again till we get down to Delhi! There you can do what you damn well please!”
    “Keep your voice down, Savanna. This isn’t