It is quite like a game.
A servant comes in and presents me with a card inscribed with a name
unfamiliar, and I, saying something that sounds like "Salaam do," wait
breathless for what may appear. A man comes in. We converse.
I begin: "Where will you sit?" (As there are only four chairs in the
room, the choice is not extensive.)
THE MAN _(seated and twirling his hat)_: "You have just come out?"
MYSELF: "Yes, in the _Scotia_." Remarks follow about the voyage.
THE MAN: "What do you think of India?"
MYSELF: "Oh, rather nice, don't you think?"
THE MAN: "Oh, quite a decent place--what?"
Again the servant appears, this time with two cards. Again I murmur
the Open Sesame, and two more men appear. No. 1 gets up to go,
shakes hands with me in a detached way, and departs, and the same
conversation begins again with the new-comers, until they, in their
turn, leave when someone else comes in. It seems to be etiquette to go
away whenever another visitor arrives. I didn't understand this, and
when a man came whom I knew well in my childhood's days and, after a
few minutes' stay, got up to depart, I grabbed his hand and said, "Oh,
won't you stay and have a talk?" He, very nicely, stayed on, and we
did have a delightful talk; but Victor Ormonde, who happened to be
present, has never ceased to chaff me about it. When we dine with
them and get up to go he says in thrilling accents, with an absurdly
sentimental air, "Oh! _won't_ you stay and have a talk?"
I do think India makes very nice men.
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