He seemed at once angry and ashamed.
None the less he was the next morning the complete tourist doing India at express speed during a cold weather.

He visited the Museum, he walked through the Elephant Gate into the bazaar, he was rowed over the lake to the island palaces; he admired their marble steps and columns and floors and was confounded by their tinkling blue glass chandeliers.

He did the correct thing all through that morning and early in the afternoon climbed into the little train which was to carry him back to Jarwhal Junction and the night mail to Bombay.
"You will have five hours to wait at the junction, Mr.Thresk," said the manager of the hotel, who had come to see him off.

"I have put up some dinner for you and there is a dak-bungalow where you can eat it." "Thank you," said Thresk, and the train moved off.

The sun had set before he reached the junction.