"A Happy New Year," said Orde to his guest. "It's the first you've
ever spent out of England, isn't it?"
"Yes. 'Happy New Year," said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine.
"What a divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown
cold fog hanging over London now!" And he rubbed his hands.
It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his
schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The
one had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of
the great Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods,
had been whirled into a similar position in the English scheme.
Three successive elections had not affected Pagett's position with a
loyal constituency, and he had grown insensibly to regard himself
in some sort as a pillar of the Empire, whose real worth would be
known later on. After a few years of conscientious attendance at
many divisions, after newspaper battles innumerable and the
publication of interminable correspondence, and more hasty
oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think upon, it
occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in
Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger
lyre and address himself to the problems of Imperial
administration with a firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general
invitation extended to him by Orde some years before, Pagett had
taken ship to Karachi, and only over-night had been received with
joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of Amara.
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