Moreover, Mr.Pollard wished to become better acquainted with the boy than would be easily possible once the term was in full swing.

For he was something more of an experiment than the ordinary Indian princeling from a State well under the thumb of the Viceroy and the Indian Council.

This boy came of the fighting stock in the north.

To leave him tramping about a strange drawing-room alone for over an hour was not the best possible introduction to English ways and English life.
Mr.Pollard opened the door and saw a slim, tall boy, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the floor, walking up and down in the gloom.
"Shere Ali," he said, and he held out his hand.

The boy took it shyly.
"You have been waiting here for some time," Mr.Pollard continued, "I am sorry.