But one face stood out from the rest--the calm countenance of Ralph Dacre's magnificent Sikh servant clad in snowy linen, who stood at the carriage door and gravely bowed himself before her, stretching an arm to protect her dress from the wheel.
"This is Peter the Great," said Dacre's careless voice, "a highly honourable person, Stella, and a most efficient bodyguard." "How do you do ?" said Stella, and held out her hand.
She acted with the utmost simplicity.

During her four weeks' sojourn in India she had not learned to treat the native servant with contempt, and the majestic presence of this man made her feel almost as if she were dealing with a prince.
He straightened himself swiftly at her action, and she saw a sudden, gleaming smile flash across his grave face.

Then he took the proffered hand, bending low over it till his turbaned forehead for a moment touched her fingers.
"May the sun always shine on you, my _mem-sahib!_" he said.
Stella realized afterwards that in action and in words there lay a tacit acceptance of her as mistress which was to become the allegiance of a lifelong service.
She stepped into the carriage with a feeling of warmth at her heart which was very different from the icy constriction that had bound it when she had arrived at the church a brief half-hour before with Tommy.
Her husband's arm was about her as they drove away.

He pressed her to his side.

"Oh, Star of my heart, how superb you are!" he said.