"In a Goorkha regiment, Aunt Anna?" repeated the girl; "what is that? It
sounds as if he would have to black his face and wear a turban. It
suggests curry and gymkhanas (whatever they may be) and pyjamas and
bananas and other pickles. A Goorkha regiment."
There was a faint drop in her tone--on the last three words, which to
very keen ears might have signified reproach, but the hearer was not
keen--merely cunning, which is quite a different matter.
"Yes, dear. They tell me that these Indian regiments are much the best
for a young man who is likely to get on. There are so many more chances
of promotions and--er--er--distinction."
The girl was standing by the open window, and she turned her head without
otherwise moving, looking at the speaker with a pair of exceedingly
discriminating eyes.
"Bosh, my dear aunt!" she whispered confidingly to the blind-cord.
"Yes," pursued the lady, with the eager credulity of her first mother,
ever ready to believe the last speaker when belief is convenient--"Yes.
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