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in that there is no disguising it, no elevating it into tragedy. It is more than merely painful, it is
disgusting.
But meanwhile, was it true, what he suspected? Had Verrall really become Elizabeth’s lover?
There is no knowing, but on the whole the chances were against it, for, had it been so, there would
have been no concealing it in such a place as Kyauktada. Mrs Lackersteen would probably have
guessed it, even if the others had not. One thing was certain, however, and that was that Verrall had as
yet made no proposal of marriage. A week went by, two weeks, three weeks; three weeks is a very
long time in a small Indian station. Verrall and Elizabeth rode together every evening, danced together
every night; yet Verrall had never so much as entered the Lackersteens’ house. There was endless
scandal about Elizabeth, of course. All the Orientals of the town had taken it for granted that she was
Verrall’s mistress. U Po Kyin’s version (he had a way of being essentially right even when he was
wrong in detail) was that Elizabeth had been Flory’s concubine and had deserted him for Verrall
because Verrall paid her more. Ellis, too, was inventing tales about Elizabeth that made Mr
Macgregor squirm. Mrs Lackersteen, as a relative, did not hear these scandals, but she was growing
nervous. Every evening when Elizabeth came home from her ride shewould meet her hopefully,
expecting the ‘Oh, aunt! What do you think!’–and then the glorious news. But the news never came,
and however carefully she studied Elizabeth’s face, she could divine nothing.
When three weeks had passed Mrs Lackersteen became fretful and finally half angry. The thought of
her husband, alone–or rather, not alone–in his camp, was troubling her. After all, she had sent him
back to camp in order to give Elizabeth her chance with Verrall (not that Mrs Lackersteen would have
put it so vulgarly as that). One evening she began lecturing and threatening Elizabeth in her oblique
way. The conversation consisted of a sighing monologue with very long pauses–for Elizabeth made
no answer whatever.
Mrs Lackersteen began with some general remarks, apropos of a photograph in the Tatler, about
these fast modem girls who went about in beach pyjamas and all that and made themselves so
dreadfully cheap with men. A girl, Mrs Lackersteen said, should never make herself too cheap with a
man; she should make herself–but the opposite of ‘cheap’ seemed to be ‘expensive’, and that did not
sound at all right, so Mrs Lackersteen changed her tack. She went on to tell Elizabeth about a letter
she had had from Home with further news of that poor, poor dear girl who was out in Burma for a
while and had so foolishly neglected to get married. Her sufferings had been quite heart-rending, and
it just showed how glad a girl ought to be to marry anyone, literally anyone. It appeared that the poor,
poor dear girl had lost her job and been practically starving for a long time, and now she had actually
had to take a job as a common kitchen maid under a horrid, vulgar cook who bullied her most
shockingly. And it seemed that the black beetles in the kitchen were simply beyond belief! Didn’t
Elizabeth think it too absolutely dreadful? Black beetles!
Mrs Lackersteen remained silent for some time, to allow the black beetles to sink in, before
adding:
‘Such a pity that Mr Verrall will be leaving us when the rains break. Kyauktada will seem quite
empty without him!’
‘When do the rains break, usually?’ said Elizabeth as indifferently as she could manage.