beaks were turned with preposterous solemnity on Leigh. He felt as though he were in some strange dream.
"My parrot," she said. "Boney. I fetched him from India over seventy years ago. He's had two or three different bodies, but the soul's the same. Moves from one body to another. Transmigration of souls. Ever hear of that? We learned all about that sort of thing in the East. . . . He can speak Hindu, too, can't you, Boney?"
The parrot cried, in a nasal voice: "Dilkhoosa! Dilkhoosa!"
"He's making love to me! Ah, you old rascal, Boney! Again—again—say it again! Dilkhoosa—Heart's delight!"
"Dilkhoosa!" cried the parrot, pecking at the hairs on her chin. "Nur Mahal!"
"Hear him! Light of the Palace, he's calling me. Nur Mahal. Say it again, Boney!"
"Nur Mahal!" rapped out the parrot. "Mera lal!"
Finch, very much pleased by Leigh's evident delight in the scene, observed: "I've never seen him in such a good humour. He's usually swearing or sulking or screaming for food."
"Life's a game," said Mrs. Whiteoak, sententiously. She peered up into Leigh's face with a quizzical, mocking light in her eyes. Her hand hovered above the board as though she were about to make a move, a steady red beam settling on one of her rubies. Wakefield watched her eagerly. Boney made little guttural noises and thrust forward his green breast.
But the play was not made. Slowly her chin sank, her lace cap drooped toward the board, and a gusty breath whistled between her lips.
"She's asleep," said Finch.
"Oh, bother!" exclaimed the little boy. "Just when I was going to beat her!"
Finch looked at his watch. "A quarter to four. If we're going to see Renny before tea," he said, hesitatingly, "we had better look him up. Is he at the stables, Wake?"
"Yes. May I come too?"
