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 nasty creeping feeling in the air, that I get kind of chilled. The rest of that first day in Delhi we did not do much. We just explored our own camp, and got acclimatised. But later on we went over to the visitors' camp to see if Lady Manifold and Marjory had arrived. We had left the carriage outside, and were wandering about trying to find the Information Bureau to discover which of the maze of tents belonged to them, when we met our first American in Delhi. There was no mistaking her nationality. She just breathed out the States all round. She was alone, and looked as if she were a bit at sea. When she saw us she sailed at once towards us like a ship to port. 'Say,' she began, with that nasal twang that I knew was coming, 'say, can you tell me where the eating-house is?' Berengaria looked at her as if she had been a walrus at the Zoo, and then passed on, politely disclaiming all knowledge of the eating-house.

'We are quite strangers in this camp,' I said smilingly. 'But if you ask that young man,' I added wickedly, as I saw a shy, prim, typically British young man coming along behind, 'I have no doubt he will be able to tell you.' 'Say, can you tell me where the eating-house is?' we heard her asking the shy young man as we passed on. My only regret was that we could not linger to hear what that young man replied. Whether he knew where the eating-house was, or whether he