appeared to make the game so diverting to them.
"Georgie, you'll never guess!" cried Hermy.
"The Guru: the Om, of high caste and extraordinary sanctity," cried Ursy.
"The Brahmin from Benares," shrieked Hermy.
"The great Teacher! Who do you think he is?" said Ursy. "We'd never seen him before——"
"But we recognised him at once——"
"He recognised us, too, and didn't he run?"——
"Into The Hurst and shut the door——"
Georgie's deeper calm suddenly quivered like a jelly.
"My dears, you needn't howl so, or talk quite so loud," he said. "All Riseholme will hear you. Tell me without shouting who it was you thought you recognised."
"There's no think about it," said Hermy. "It was one of the cooks from the Calcutta Restaurant in Bedford Street——"
"Where we often have lunch," said Ursy. "He makes the most delicious curries."
"Especially when he's a little tipsy," said Hermy.
"And is about as much a Brahmin as I am."
"And always said he came from Madras."
"We always tip him to make the curry himself, so he isn't quite ignorant about money."
"O Lord!" said Hermy, wiping her eyes. "If it isn't the limit!"
"And to think of Mrs Lucas and Colonel Boucher and you and Mrs Quantock, and Piggy and all the rest of them sitting round a cook,"
