The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) by Barbara Cartland Page A

strange between them when Major Meredith showed his authority so obviously, and she had been too shocked and tongue-tied to do or say anything while he was still there.
    Unhappy, still angry and yet at the same time deeply depressed at what had just taken place, Orissa undressed and got into her bunk to lie with sleepless eyes staring in the darkness.
    She was half-afraid the following evening that Mr. Mahla would not come for their lesson.
    It was in fact the one thing she looked forward to every day.
    There was something soothing in talking in the lovely, eloquent language with its flowery, extravagant phrases; its soft vowels and words which were sheer poetry.
    Even to speak in Urdu made Orissa feel that she had almost reached the end of her journey; that soon she would be home and know once again the warmth and love that she had missed so much these past years.
    It was hard for her to realise she was not going to find her mother waiting for her, nor was she going to the Province of Orissa, where she had been bo rn .
    She had been to Delhi only once or twice in her life and she could hardly remember the ancient Mogul City. She had the feeling that it might now be very Social.
    For most of her years in India their home had been further North in the Punjab at Lahore—or at the City of Roses, Kapurtala, with its pink villas and the peaks of the Himalayas.
    But it did not really matter where she went, Orissa thought, so long as she was again in the country where she belonged.
    She need not have worried about Mr. Mahla.
    He arrived punctually at nine o’clock, greeted her quietly and with his usual exquisite courtesy as if nothing untoward had occurred the night before.
    “I am so pleased to see you,” Orissa said. “How is your family? They are well, I hope?”
    She asked, as she always did, out of conventional politeness, but tonight Mr. Mahla instead of thanking her for her concern, replied:
    “I am very worried.”
    “Worried?” Orissa asked. “Why?”
    “My wife is not well. She had many pains all last night and today.”
    “Has she seen a doctor?”
    Mr. Mahla shook his head.
    “No. She will not do so. You understand, my wife does not understand English ways. She could not be examined by a man or even speak to one about her ailments.”
    “I understand, of course I understand,” Orissa replied, knowing that such a thing would shock a Hindu woman and offend her modesty.
    “I do not know what to do!” Mr. Mahla said. “My wife cries all the time. The pain is very bad.”
    “I expect she has eaten something that disagrees with her,” Orissa replied. “Would you like me to visit her?”
    “It is very kind of you to suggest it, but it is not possible for a lady in your position to come down to the Third Class Deck.”
    “But of course I can,” Orissa answered. “Tell me again exactly what your wife is feeling.”
    Mr. Mahla explained to Orissa his wife’s symptoms in some detail, and she was quite certain that the trouble was strange food combined with a touch of fever which was very prevalent in the heat of the Red Sea.
    “I will tell you what I will do,” Orissa said. “I will speak to the Ship’s Doctor and get some medicine from him which will at least alleviate your wife’s pain. We will then go down and see her and afterwards we can come back here again to have our lesson.”
    “It is very kind, very gracious of you,” Mr. Mahla exclaimed. “But I do not like to impose on your good nature.”
    ‘It is no imposition,” Orissa smiled. “Just wait here while I go and find the doctor.”
    She found Dr. Thompson in his surgery.
    Usually at this time he was in the Saloon, but apparently one of the passengers had cut his thumb on a broken glass and the doctor was bandaging it.
    “I will not be a minute, Mrs. Lane,” he said cheerfully when he saw Orissa.
    She already knew Dr. Thompson because Lady Critchley had insisted on his examining Neil after the child had been so sea-sick passing