It was her first real letter
to him, although she had written him a few short notes from Malpura. It was
interesting and clever, without any attempt to be so, and Dermot was
surprised at the accuracy of her judgment of men and things and the
vividness of her descriptions. He noticed, moreover, that the social
gaieties of Darjeeling did not engross her. She enjoyed dancing, but the
many balls, At Homes, and other social functions did not attract her so
much as the riding and tennis, the sight-seeing, the glimpses of the
strange and varied races that fill the Darjeeling bazaar, and, above all,
the glories of the superb scenery where the ice-crowned monarch of all
mountains, Kinchinjunga, forty miles away--though not seeming five--and
twenty-nine thousand feet high, towers up above the white line of the
Eternal Snows.
Dermot was critically pleased with the letter. Few men--and he least of
all--care for an empty-headed doll whose only thoughts are of dress and
fashionable entertainments. He liked the girl for her love of sport and
action, for her intelligence, and the interest she took in the varied
native life around her. He was almost tempted to think that her letter
betrayed some desire for his companionship in Darjeeling, for in it she
constantly wondered what he would think of this, what he would say of that.
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