CHAPTER 1.III.
Mrs.Morgan, wife of a judge of the High Court of Bombay, and I sat amidships on the cool side in the Suez Canal.

She was outlining 'Soiled Linen' in chain-stitch on a green canvas bag; I was admiring the Egyptian sands.

'How charming,' said I, 'is this solitary desert in the endless oasis we are compelled to cross!' 'Oasis in the desert, you mean,' said Mrs.Morgan; 'I haven't noticed any, but I happened to look up this morning as I was putting on my stockings, and I saw through my port-hole the most lovely mirage.' I had been at school with Mrs.Morgan more than twenty years agone, but she had come to the special enjoyment of the dignities of life while I still liked doing things.

Mrs.Morgan was the kind of person to make one realize how distressing a medium is middle age.

Contemplating her precipitous lap, to which conventional attitudes were certainly more becoming, I crossed my own knees with energy, and once more resolved to be young until I was old.
'How perfectly delightful for you to be taking Cecily out!' said Mrs.
Morgan placidly.
'Isn't it ?' I responded, watching the gliding sands.
'But she was born in sixty-nine--that makes her twenty-one.