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There was a stir of disapproval. Who was this ill-bred upstart, that he should criticize the leading Mohammedan landowner of the district? Mahmoud Ali, though sharing his opinion, felt bound to oppose it. “Mr. Ram Chand!” he said, swaying forward stiffly with his hands on his hips.

“Mr. Mahmoud Ali!”

“Mr. Ram Chand, the Nawab Bahadur can decide what is cheap without our valuation, I think.”

“I do not expect I shall make myself cheap,” said the Nawab Bahadur to Mr. Ram Chand, speaking very pleasantly, for he was aware that the man had been impolite and he desired to shield him from the consequences. It had passed through his mind to reply, “I expect I shall make myself cheap,” but he rejected this as the less courteous alternative. “I do not see why we should make ourselves cheap. I do not see why we should. The invitation is worded very graciously.” Feeling that he could not further decrease the social gulf between himself and his auditors, he sent his elegant grandson, who was in attendance on him, to fetch his car. When it came, he repeated all that he had said before, though at greater length, ending up with “Till Tuesday, then, gentlemen all, when I hope we may meet in the flower gardens of the club.”