Of her mother she had no memory.

She had died at her birth.

Her father was all the world to her; and when at last he had travelled home on a brief leave and taken her from her quiet English life to the strange, swift existence of the land of his exile, her soul had overflowed with happiness.
Nevertheless, she had not been carried away by the gaieties of this new world.

The fascinations of dance and gymkhana had not caught her.
The joy of being with her father was too sacred and too precious to be foregone for these lesser pleasures, and she very speedily decided to sacrifice all social entertainments to which he could not accompany her.

She rode with him, camped with him, and became his inseparable companion.