I know enough now to denounce him."
In council with himself, standing Captain Barlow firmly on his feet to
face the realities, he realised the impossibility of being anything
more to Bootea than just a Sahib who had by fate been thrown into her
path temporarily. And then, feeling the sway, the compelling force of
a fascinating femininity he almost trembled for himself. Weaker
sahibs--gad! he knew several, one a Deputy Commissioner. A beautiful
little Kashmiri girl had nursed him through cholera when even his own
servants had fled. The Kashmiri, who had the dainty flower-like
sweetness of a Japanese maid, and practically the same code, had lived
in his protection before this. After the nursing incident he had
married her, with benefit of clergy, and the result had been hell, a
living suicide, ostracism. A good officer, he still remained Deputy
Commissioner, the highest official of the district, but the social
excellence was wiped out--he was a pariah, an outcast. And the girl,
who now could not remain just a native, could not attain to the dignity
of a Deputy-Commissioner Memsahib.
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