Quicksands by B.M. Croker — Read

Our modest ménage at No. 30 was a very happy one, at any rate for the first three months. We were like a pair of children playing at housekeeping, and often when we sat down to dinner at our daintily arranged table we would nod and laugh at one another, for somehow it all seemed unreal and too good to be true. Here was indeed "a place in the sun."

I looked carefully after Ronnie's comforts, ordered his favourite dishes, and was always up early, ready to give him _chotah hazri_ in our shady veranda before he rode off to parade. I did my utmost to entertain his friends, especially Roger Arkwright, who soon became my friend as well. He was a tall fair young man, with square shoulders and a pleasant square face. He came in and out as often as he pleased and we called him "The tertium quid." I wondered if, occasionally, his visits were not nicely timed so as to meet Mabel and Emily Grey -- especially Mabel -- who were often with me, practising new songs or just running over merely to idle and talk. However that may be, Roger Arkwright gave me valuable help with our garden. We had a splendid show of roses in pots, and a respectable amount of lettuce and tomatoes. He also took a personal and greedy interest in my flock of ducks, who every morning, after their early breakfast, departed _en masse_ for some distant pond, returning quacking and hungry at sundown. So punctual were they that one could almost set a watch by these worthy and business-like birds.