But Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh mounted them with scarcely an
effort, as a man who could master Bagh well might, and at the top his
middle-aged back was straight and his eye clear. The cunning,
curtained lights did not distract him; so he did not make the usual
mistake of thinking that the Loveliness who met him was Yasmini.
Yasmini likes to make her first impression of the evening on a man
just as he comes from making an idiot of himself; so the maid who
curtsies in the stair-head maze of mirrored lights has been trained
to imitate her. But Ranjoor Singh flipped the girl a coin, and it
jingled at her feet.
The maid ceased bowing, too insulted to retort. The piece of silver--
she would have stooped for gold, just as surely as she would have
recognized its ring--lay where it fell. Ranjoor Singh stepped forward
toward a glass-bead curtain through which a soft light shone, and an
unexpected low laugh greeted him. It was merry, mocking, musical--and
something more. There was wisdom hidden in it--masquerading as
frivolity; somewhere, too, there was villainy-villainy that she who
laughed knew all about and found more interesting than a play.
Then suddenly the curtain parted, and Yasmini blocked the way,
standing with arms spread wide to either door-post, smiling at him;
and Ranjoor Singh had to stop and stare whether it suited him or not.
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