Sabhrai did not want to be rude to Madan; nor let him get away with saying things she did not like. She remonstrated gently, ‘Son, your father and uncle would not like to hear you talk like this.’

‘Auntie, you have old-fashioned ideas.’

‘I am an old woman.’

They had their tea without further conversation. Madan turned his chair away to look at the crowd and resumed waving and smiling to his friends.

The setting sun broke through the clouds and came streaming through the large bay windows of the restaurant. It was a magnificent view. Immediately below them was the unshapely mass of gray and red of the tin roofs of Simla’s bazaar. Kites dive-bombed into the narrow streets and reappeared with food in their talons. They fought in the air and went whirling down in pairs. Beyond the bazaar yawned an enormous valley with its terraced fields and tiny farm houses; in the centre of the valley was a silver stream with its banks flecked with white where the washermen had spread their clothes to dry. Beyond all these were the vast plains of Hindustan with the river Sutlej winding its way through the golden haze like a gilded serpent. The sun went down behind a range of low hills. The twilight spread over the city and the mountains like the hand of benediction. Some English people came across with their whiskey glasses to admire the scene; many Indians followed their example.

Sabhrai got up. She did not like to be surrounded by people smoking and drinking. The evening star was up in the deep blue sky and it was time for prayer once more.

The bill had to be paid so Madan suggested their going ahead. Champak volunteered to stay and come with him; it was her only chance to agree to explanations if any were called for. Sita went home with Sabhrai.

Madan and Champak came out in the brightly lit and crowded street. They went across to the ridge which was less crowded. There were many benches on the sides but they were all occupied.

‘Can’t we find any place where we can be alone for a few minutes?’ asked Champak, taking Madan’s hand.

‘Let us go to the tennis club,’ he replied. ‘After dark there is no one there.’ He marvelled at the woman’s daring.

They went down a steep road and came to the Club. The courts were absolutely dark and deserted. They found a bench and sat down. Madan pulled Champak onto his lap. He pressed his lips on hers and his hands sought the cord of her trousers. Champak pushed him back rudely and stood up. ‘I did not come for this,’ she hissed angrily. ‘I am not a bazaar woman who sleeps with men in the open.’

‘I am sorry,’ replied Madan tamely. ‘I thought you wanted to say something to me alone.’