Star of India

Maud Verrall threw down her tennis racket; she said she was tired--a polite excuse for the termination of a game that afforded her no excitement. Stella Carrington was not a sti...

"I got your letter," wrote Stella to Maud Verrall, "and am awfully glad about your news, though at the time it made me feel simply green with envy. How little I thought I should...

The disappearance of the pearls caused general commotion throughout the Commissioner's establishment. Perforce the police were called in to make investigations, and Mr. Piggott...

During the afternoon a woman had arrived with a dead, monkey-like infant in her arms and a dilapidated little family clinging to her skirts, only herself to curl up and die in t...

Slowly, monotonously for Philip the months dragged on, unmarked by any special events of a personal character. At intervals he heard from Miss Baker. First she reported her safe...

The rustic portion of the congregation shouted the familiar hymn with laborious goodwill, overpowering the more cultivated voices that rose from the chancel and the front pews--...

Tea in the drawing-room was over. Mrs. Carrington sat erect, motionless as usual. Augusta and Ellen were pretending to knit; in reality their whole attention was given to Colone...

Lady Lane-Johnson looked about her handsome drawing-room with critical gaze. She moved a bowl of roses to a more effective position, loosened a sheaf of Madonna lilies in a crys...

Miss Baker could ride; not a doubt about that, thought Philip. She sat squarely in her saddle, hands down, right shoulder well back; her habit skirt was very short, she wore a s...

Now the hot weather had set in unusually, as it were, malevolently early. Areas none too fertile at the best of times reverted to parched deserts, wells and river-beds dried, ca...

It was the day of Mrs. Crayfield's first garden party. What struck Stella as an extraordinary form of invitation had gone forth by hand: a notice, with "Mrs. Crayfield at Home,"...

The Cuthells' successor was reported to be a bachelor. Of course, Mrs. Piggott professed to have knowledge of his history even before he arrived in the station. She told Mrs. Cr...

Colonel Crayfield stood silent, motionless, until all sound of Philip Flint's exit had ceased. When, with a dazed effort, Stella looked up at her husband, his face reminded her...

When Mrs. Antonio pronounced Rassih to be "a very hot place," her words at the time had conveyed little to Stella of what to expect. The heat grew fiercer than she could have be...

Very early next morning Colonel Crayfield was awakened by a crash. His bedroom was alight with the dawn; the lemon scent of magnolia blossom floated in at the open window. What...

Stella stood with him in the big drawing-room that looked dusty and neglected in the dim lamplight, trying to gather what had happened, what was likely to happen. From across th...

Flint laid the sheets of manuscript, the George Thomas Romance, on the wicker table that stood between himself and his hostess. The two were seated on the balcony, though it was...

"Oh! How slack I feel. Dances are the devil!" Maud Matthews yawned and stretched amid a nest of cushions in a long chair. "I'm sure I must look about sixty. Do I, Stella?"

Philip did not carry out his intention of leaving London as soon as escape could be accomplished without hurt to his parents' feelings. He felt as though helpless in the grip of...

Stella was careful to conceal from Robert the pleasure she found in her lessons with the white-bearded, horn-spectacled patriarch appointed her tutor. Having attained her desire...

As was only to be expected, Miss Baker had brought a photographic outfit with her to the Zenana Mission camp. Flint came across her next evening endeavouring to snap a little be...

The Swan Song of the Surima season took the form of a picnic--a truly ambitious entertainment given by a moneyed merchant from Calcutta, whose ideas of hospitality had apparentl...

A day or two later when Philip, preparatory to his departure from London, was choosing a fishing-rod in a well-known shop devoted to the requirements of anglers, a little lady d...

After all, Colonel Crayfield was driven to proposing in the kitchen garden. Stella was sent there, when luncheon was over, to pick more fruit for jam-making, that serious ceremo...

The sun poured upon the flat roof of the baking little rest-house, though the hour was yet early. Philip Flint lay limp and exhausted on a long chair in the veranda; the sharp "...