"Oh, Mr. Worsley, I've found you at last! Why ever did you take him to the most forsaken part of the garden, Mrs. Goldring?—especially seeing he comes so seldom; I'm always anxious to impress the Collector favourably——"
"Which you succeed in doing," said Mr. Worsley, with a courtly bow, relieved that histête-à-têtewas having such a definite interruption, for he was doubtful if he had attained his end in getting rid of the irate lady.
"I've just come to ask you if you will take dinner with Samptor and me to-night, and bring that charming Mr. Cheveril with you. The Judge has just been saying what an acquisition he will be to our little circle, and I'm sure we're all of the same mind—now we've seen him," wound up the audacious little lady, stealing a glance at Mrs. Goldring's discomfited countenance.
The Collector was inwardly much gratified that Mrs. Samptor should have bestowed on his new Assistant such a timely and hearty certificate in the hearing of his detractor, but not even his sense of gratification could induce him to accept her proposal of dining out. He was too wedded to his own surroundings either in camp or bungalow to be persuaded to exchange them of an evening, but he softened his refusal by saying: "Mr. Cheveril will no doubt be delighted to be your guest one evening before long, meanwhile, till his luggage arrives, he has consented to be mine."
"Oh, well, I shall wait till he takes possession of his own solitary bungalow, then I shall secure him! Oh dear, if that isn't a big goat trespassing among my precious crotons," and, tucking up her skirts, the little lady darted after the intruder.
The Collector stood watching her with a comical smile on his face, while Mrs. Goldring gazed with sullen contempt on what she afterwards described as "Mrs. Samptor's vulgar antics."
Not content with protecting the crotons, the agile lady was bent on chasing the trespasser from the compound, but the Indian black goat was more than a match for her. Scrambling up a tree, he clung there, looking down triumphantly; but the owner of the trampled crotons was not to be outdone. Up she scrambled after him, though it was only on receiving some stinging cuffs that the goat acknowledged himself beaten and made off.
"Wonderful person that! When would you or I have energy to perform such a feat, Mrs. Goldring?" said the Collector, shaking with laughter as he went forward to proffer assistance. Mrs. Samptor, however, disclaimed his help and alighted airily on the ground, making him an elegant curtsey with outspread skirts.
"Well done, Mrs. Samptor! My only regret is that your husband did not witness the acrobatic performance. Mrs. Goldring and I were too small an audience."
The Judge's wife scorned the imputation of being one of the spectators of such a scene. In fact, she afterwards explained, she tried to shut her eyes during its progress. She moved off in majestic solitude, filled with even more resentment against the little woman than she felt against the Collector for his scathing rebuke.
Mrs. Samptor, meanwhile, was unconscious of treachery. Of the chameleon type, she had no scruples in changing her point of view when brought face to face with the frank young civilian; moreover, his gracious acceptance of her hospitality had quite won her heart.
"Let Mrs. Pate say what she likes, that boy is not an East Indian, Harry!" she whispered to her husband. "Anyhow, I'll not believe it! I'm off to warn Mrs. Goldring not to say a word about it to the Collector. She'll catch it if she does, if I'm not mistaken. I can see from the look of his eyelids that he has taken a fancy to the young man already"; and off she had bounded to the croton walk, to perceive, however, that she had come too late. "The fat was in the fire," she narrated to her husband that evening as they sat in the verandah after dinner. "I couldn't help the woman mismanaging him, could I now, Harry? If she'd had eyes in her head she could have seen the Collector was as pleased with the boy as a child with its latest toy. It really wasn't my fault if she brought down his wrath upon herself, was it now?"
The jailer was too deep in his after dinner nap to make any response, but Mrs. Samptor was used to forego responses, and frequently counted them as spoken when the only reply was a snore.
Mrs. Samptor divined rightly. The Collector's first impressions of his new Assistant were deeply favourable, and they arose partly from the very point which Mrs. Goldring deemed would prove fatal—the disclosure of his alleged social disabilities. Mark Cheveril had not been in Madras for more than three days without hearing remarks concerning his future chief which would have caused some natures to have assumed from the outset a defensive attitude. But no sooner had he entered the Collector's bungalow than he felt drawn to the lonely man, careless in dress and manner, hardly rising to greet his visitor from the long armed chair where he lounged, smoking a cheroot, surrounded by two faithful dogs. In a few moments Mark was occupying a similar chair by his side, being introduced to his dogs and his cheroots, and feeling completely at home.
Crotchety, querulous, quarrelsome, Felix Worsley might be, as alleged; but somehow the young man felt instinctively that whatever his faults of manner and circumstances, "in him there nothing common was or mean." The man was a noble English gentleman to the core. Mistakes he might have made in governing his allotted territory, but they would prove mistakes of head not of heart. Before his Trichy smouldered in ashes, Mark's heart had already gone out to his chief with the liking of quick magnetism meeting a response, and it brought a light into Felix Worsley's eyes seldom visible there in these later days.
How different, for instance, had been Alfred Rayner's reception of his avowal of mixed blood from that of the man by whose side he sat, telling him that his link with the country had already fostered sympathy with the people of his native land!
"Well, it begins to dawn on me now that I'm very near the end," was the Collector's slowly enunciated reply. "A downright enthusiast like you is what we need here. No doubt, Cheveril, I'll often be for your holding the reins tight, but I'll try to give you as much rope as I can, my boy. I'm weary and baffled—dead tired of the whole game of life long ago. But it must go on—even Mrs. Samptor's tea-party."
With that he had risen from his chair, and on the way thither had shared with the new-comer kindly but illuminating comments on the little circle, so that when Mark stood on Mrs. Samptor's lawn he seemed to know them all.
The game of croquet, which he had been playing with Mrs. Samptor as partner, was triumphantly finished, much to the little lady's satisfaction; and Mark was now eager to avail himself of his freedom to listen to the Judge's conversation. This was followed by the Superintendent's annals of the jail, which he undertook to show him over one day before long.
"We must get you interested in your nearest surroundings before the Collector carries you off on tour through his territory," he said, with a good-natured smile.
"Yes, charity begins at home, as I try to remind the Collector sometimes when he turns a deaf ear to my petitions for the town," rejoined the doctor, who stood by his side. He was a short man with broad shoulders, though hollow-chested, and with an eager face, deep set eyes, and high cheek-bones—a typical Celt, thought Mark, glancing at him, noting the air of feverish energy with which he spoke, and contrasting it with Samptor's Saxon calm.
"I tell you what it is—our Collector is too fond of the far-away bits of his district, and inclined to belittle his nearest plot—our teeming town down there."
"Is your work in the town, Dr. Campbell?" asked Mark.
"He does plenty there, anyhow. Morning, noon, and night he's at work among the Puranapore people," interrupted Mr. Samptor, looking down with a kindly smile upon the eager little man.
"As District Surgeon my work is ostensibly among the English, but you see, Mr. Cheveril, what a little flock we have here since they've taken our regiment away. Of course I'd be delighted to have the chance of attending this big man here, but he never even sneezes; 'so what I do?' as the servants say. I try my hand at a little work among the Indians, and have got a dispensary in the heart of the town."
"Ah, thereby hangs a tale, doesn't it, Dr. Campbell?" broke in Mrs. Samptor, always with ears alert.
"I'll tell you how it is, Mr. Cheveril, this man spends his time, his money, and himself in fact, over these ungrateful black creatures. Came here for an easy post because his health wasn't good, and does more work than any other doctor on the plains of India!"
"All Mrs. Samptor's embroidery, I hope you understand," said Dr. Campbell, smiling.
"Well, if it were English folk he was helping I shouldn't so much mind, but these treacherous, seditious natives, I cannot away with! And there are such swarms of them, I try to suggest to the doctor that his time would be well occupied in helping to get rid of scores."
"Hardly a doctor's point of view, Mrs. Samptor! Unfortunately there is too much of that among the people themselves. The mortality is awful, even when there is no epidemic or plague, not to speak of their own feuds, which are decimating at times."
"The balance of power seems always wavering between the Hindus and Mahomedans in the most curious way," remarked Mr. Meakin, the young engineer. "Which is uppermost just now? Which is your jail full of at the present moment, Samptor?"
"That's an official question the jailer may not be disposed to answer," said the doctor. "However, I happen to know too well who has the upper hand—and why"; and the doctor began pulling his black moustache furiously.
"Come now, Campbell, we must not talk shop with the new Assistant on the very evening of his arrival," returned Samptor.
"If I thought the Collector would dose him well with it in office hours I would forbear, but——" The doctor shook his head doubtfully.
"All the same," said the big man with an air of decision. "Our Collector is a great symbol of authority in countless villages through which he drives or rides leisurely, smoking his eternal cheroot, halting to dispense justice with unrivalled sagacity and kindliness. I'm often with him, so I know. The people worship him, and he has a wonderful bird's-eye view of the whole region, I assure you"; and the jailer glanced admiringly at the man he was defending as he strolled along the lawn, his arm linked in the little Judge's.
"'A bird's-eye view'! Yes, I grant you he may possess that, but he has a terribly cavalier way of dealing with caste prejudices, for instance. And you know, Samptor, what a standing grievance that omsque is."
"Ay, well, that perhaps was a pity," said the big man, looking down at his boots. "But everybody makes a mistake at times," he added, glancing at the doctor's face, on which a cloud rested.
"The Collector should have known that trouble was bound to come when he granted a site for that mosque so near the Hindu burning ground. And now, though the Mussulmans are the intruders, they, forsooth, are petitioning to have the burning ground removed to another spot. Infamous plotting, I call it!"
"Yes, there seems to be a good deal of bad feeling between the Hindus and the Mahomedans just now, I notice," said the engineer.
"Fanned by Zynool and his crew," returned the doctor, with an impatient gesture. "Can't think how the Collector favours that Mussulman so much. They have his ear somehow, some say through that clever butler of his. As for the disturbance the Hindus make with their processions during the hours of prayer in the mosque, anyone who has listened to a Mahomedan yelling with a cracked voice. 'Allah eh-eh-eh,' must admit that his outward forms of worship are quite as disturbing as a tom-tom and the blowing of the conch."
"Well, doctor, if you had stood at the door of the Mosque as I've done on duty, and heard the Hindu population out with their goddess Mariyamina and listened to the howling and tom-toming fit to break the drum of your ear, and that when the place was filled with Mussulmans at their prayers during the sacred feast of Ramazan, you would have felt that they had good reason to complain. Why, though their lips were moving in prayer, they were itching to be at the throats of the Hindus! If it had not been for the Collector's courage that day in standing at the Mosque door all the time the procession was passing, there must have been bloodshed, and he did that in the interest of the Hindus even more than for the other side. I can tell you, Campbell, there's many a Hindu in Puranapore remembers that day and knows what the Collector saved them from. It would have made a picture to see him as he stood there," ended the jailer, with a look of admiring recollection in his eyes; and Mark Cheveril felt as if he, too, had seen that picture.
"Well, they're warming up for riots again down there, sure enough," said the doctor, shaking his head. "No saying what you may come in for, Mr. Cheveril. See you keep an open mind, anyhow."
"And don't, like the doctor, be wholly given over to a belief in the mild Hindusversusthe Mussulmans," said Samptor with a laugh, as he laid his big palm on the doctor's shoulder.
Mark had found the foregoing conversation a little enigmatical. His hero—born of two hours ago—was not evidently quite without flaw, but as evidently he was able to inspire many of those nearest him with a liking and a loyalty which is not always the portion of the ruler of an Indian territory.
As he walked by his side between the cactus hedges on the darkening road and listened to his talk, Mark felt that whatever his faults might be, Felix Worsley, Collector of Puranapore, had become to him already a fascinating personality.
The houses of the English official residents in Puranapore were all in fairly close neighbourhood, though each was surrounded by its own ample compound. They were mostly thatched bungalows with deep verandahs. The Judge's house was the only "up-stair" house, as the natives call a house of two storeys. It was also the largest in the station, being usually appropriated by the Collector; but Mr. Worsley, being solitary, had given it to the Goldrings, and elected to live in a small flat-roofed bungalow, grey and colourless, with a pillared verandah unrelieved by creepers like those which adorned Mrs. Samptor's entrance. The Government office stood a little further down the road, a group of grey stone buildings of the Georgian period, surrounded by a grove of cocoanut palms. At one end a great banyan tree, with its branches growing downwards on the brown grass and its dense foliage of glossy green, made a chosen retreat for the various native witnesses and the police peons in attendance at the Court House. There they squatted, ate betel-nut, and chattered in their native Tamil; while a group of crows perched near listened to all with their heads to one side, always ready to pounce on any food within their reach.
The ancient town itself was quite a mile distant from the European quarter, not even a mud village intervened, so the English residents were more divided than usual from the native population. To none was this topographical isolation more welcome than to the Collector.
"It is, in fact, my reason for preferring to camp in this sleepy hollow," he explained to his new Assistant as they walked homewards after Mrs. Samptor's tea-party. "You don't know what a relief it is to be out of reach of all the tom-toms and shrill street cries and the constant hum of the bazaars, not to speak of the vile odours."
"I quite took a liking to the scent of the charcoal fumes of the little native villages studded about the Madras roads," said Mark.
"I loathe them and all Indian scents—even the scent of the garlands they bedeck one with at theirtomashasare odious to me, and I hasten to seek relief in a cheroot. But I confess I have a liking for my Kutchery on horseback. One can mow down a lot of cases, listen to scores of grievances in the open, under a good spreading tree. Everything comes before one on tour, you will find. In fact, we are reckoned a kind of terrestrial providence, expected to redress every grievance from a murrain among the cattle to a rival claim on a water-spout in the bazaar. Our territory includes many thousand square miles. It's no joke! But being obliged to itinerate is, after all, the saving grace of a civilian—it's a sort of vagabondage which I like—or did before the spring went out of me," added the Collector with a gloomy air. "Take my advice, Cheveril, choose the Revenue in preference to the Judicial side of the civilian's life. I can see it will suit you best. I believe our good little Judge there would grow several inches taller if he went on tour, and was not so devoted a slave to his cases and abstracts and his blue books. Much of that red-tape business will be your bitter portion for some time to come, young man, I warn you!"
"My apprenticeship, no doubt! I expect these files are useful to beginners, though they seem to spell drudgery later on."
"Very neatly put, they do spell drudgery with a vengeance! They ought not to be piled on the shoulders of Indian officials as they are. In fact, they're more often like the lash of the slave-driver than decent business. I wish some of our young reformers would organise a big bonfire of them—say simultaneously throughout the length and breadth of India—a sort of red-tape mutiny! But remember, some men live and move and have their being in those said files! They are poetry to Goldring, for instance, and to some of the younger men, I notice. I suspect it is the old sinners like me that chafe most against that side of the work."
"Well, I'm curious to know what my experience of it all will prove," said Mark. "I don't think I'll ever find much poetry in files, though, after all, it depends on their subject-matter."
"Yes, tragical enough tales are often compressed into blue books, and comedies too, for that matter. You'll find things go on very methodically in our Revenue Office down there, Cheveril. I've got some excellent Mahomedan clerks who do their part like clock-work. I confess I prefer them to Hindus. They are more manly for one thing, and one gets a shade nearer to some understanding of them than with the subtle though childish Hindu. But I am in the minority here. The doctor is always shaking his head over the Mussulman population in the town, declaring they have the upper hand. Well, I own as far as Moideen is concerned, he has the upper hand of me. There he is anxiously looking out for us, in case we are going to be late and his dinner should fall short of the perfection he aims at."
"What a commanding figure he is, I noticed him whenever I drove up to your door. So he is a Mahomedan! He certainly contrasts favourably with my Hindu, who has got a cringing air I don't like."
"There's no cringing in my major-domo! He once rather affronted me years ago. A lady, rather an old campaigner, happened to be dining with us, and thought Moideen had spilt wine on her dress. Pointing it out to the man, she said witheringly: 'You ape!' For once Moideen, who was then in the dew of his youth, forgot his manners. Beating his breast and with flashing eyes he shouted: 'I not one ape, I one man!' It was an unpleasant moment, I really feared the furious Mussulman might do the lady some injury. But age and experience have sobered him. He has developed into the most perfect of servants. I've no doubt he caters well for himself as well as for me, as Mrs. Samptor sometimes attempts to hint, but I suddenly become stone deaf. There are some truths one can't afford to listen to. 'Where ignorance is bliss,et cetera!'"
"Don't you think there's a good deal of fallacy in that couplet, Mr. Worsley? It's like pulling the blinds down when one's garden is being ravaged by a black goat—like the culprit Mrs. Samptor was chasing this afternoon."
"Just a case in point! For my part, I much prefer having the blinds down to scrambling up a tree to fight with a goat as that little lady did. Yet I admire her pluck! Well, here we are, Cheveril, in my den where I keep the blinds down metaphorically as well as literally as much as possible," said the Collector, as he walked up the broad grey steps of his bungalow which looked a more cheerful abode when brilliantly lit than in the daytime. "Moideen knows I'm a lover of light. He illuminates for me every night as if I were a light-keeper."
The dingy dining-room was transformed, lit up by tall candelabra; the candles all shaded by glass. The table glittered with exquisitely kept old English silver plate, flowers artistically arranged, glancing cut-glass, spotless English damask; "no country tablecloths my master having," Moideen was wont to boast to the other boys of the station. "I making list to best shops in London, no bazaar bobbery here."
But not all the handsome table appointments, the perfect cooking, the faultless waiting of Moideen and his satellites could banish from the young Assistant's mind the thought that his chief was a weary, disenchanted man, and all the talk of the evening only served to deepen that impression.
Next morning, when he stood in the writing-room, into which the drawing-room of the house had been converted, and where Mr. Worsley always sat, he noticed that on the shelves for books there was an entire absence of any kind of literature, only a few old magazines and newspapers, and some rows of blue books, though according to his avowal on the previous evening, these were his special detestation. Some books on sport there were, but not a single volume of poetry, history, or even a novel. Mark felt glad to remember that his own boxes were bringing a fairly liberal supply of mental food, and that he had arranged for the due arrival of his favourite magazines. How good it would be if the Collector came to find in his bungalow a source of pleasure which was certainly absent from his own! What a happiness that would prove, thought Mark, as he paced up and down the verandah after early tea!
Moideen presently appeared with soft tread and searching eye to bring him the unwelcome news that "Master not done sleep last night, fever coming, not able to get out of bed this day." He also brought the suggestion that the young Assistant should find his own way to the Government Offices. This Mark was nothing loth to do, though he felt sorry to be without his chief on his first day of initiation.
The inevitable office-bandy was in attendance, and after five minutes drive he stood within the grey portals, and was welcomed by the Judge, who showed him round, and introduced him to the subordinates of his department. Soon he was seated at his table ready to begin work.
Several Hindus were waiting for an interview. All of these seemed to wish to see the Collector, and showed disappointment at his absence. One visitor was announced, however, who, Mark noticed, showed no regret at the chief's absence, but looked with keen interest at himself such as none of the others had evinced. Glancing at his card, he read the name "Zynool Sahib." Surely, thought Mark, I have heard that name before! Yes, he was the Puranapore client whom Rayner had mentioned. The man had evidently heard of him from that source also, and was now come to take the measure of the new Assistant. Beady twinkling black eyes peered out from bulging flesh, the coarse red lips were so thick that they showed each curve in spite of the dense bushy beard and moustache. Over one colossal shoulder was flung a green cashmere shawl, richly embroidered. The folds of his white turban looked a work of art compared to the swathes of muslin which enveloped the heads of the Hindu visitors. He was evidently a person of importance in his own eyes, a man of substance probably, but not seemingly a favourite, Mark decided, observing that the Hindus, who still lingered in the hope of seeing the Collector, exchanged ominous glances on his appearance, and one after another made their exit by another door, showing that they declined any contact with the new-comer.
There was a malicious twinkle in Zynool Sahib's eyes when he remarked that after all they were obliged to re-enter by the main door through which he had come to secure their sandals, which native courtesy demanded should be left at the entrance.
Mark's quick eye noted that the present visitor's feet were encased in white stockings and shining patent leather shoes, which he retained. It was a very small bit of dumb show, but the young man felt immediate sympathy with the humbler owners of the sandals, and turned with a slight sense of prejudice to listen to the owner of the plethoric voice.
Zynool Sahib expressed himself in pompous English of a sort, and made polite inquiries as to "His Honour the noble Collector," begging that expressions of his regret for his illness should be conveyed to him, and hoping that he would be well enough to grant his "humble slave" an audience one lucky day before long. He then assured Mark in flowing periods that he was desirous of becoming, from this day henceforth, the "humble slave of the present company," as he designated the young Assistant. Mark thanked him rather coldly, and began to wonder what the man's morning mission really was, when suddenly it was revealed to him.
"What am I saying?" jerked Zynool, shaking his bushy beard. "I am stoopid as an owl! This truly is my best lucky day, and not another! For does not this lucky day give me the acquaintance of one who it is revealed to me is the friend of my patron, my guiding star, who but the La'yer Rayner, Pleader, High Court of Madras? I humbly beg on my bended knees," he added, which expression, be it understood, was symbolical, as Mark perceived with relief, fearing that otherwise it might fall to him to assist to raise the mass of flesh from the ground.
"I beg on my prostrate knees," he repeated, bending forward and clasping his fat hands together, "that your Honour will embody La'yer Rayner in your own redoubtable person to me, your humble slave, and will henceforward defend me from all the plots and persecutions of my town enemies who buzz about me like evil flies, who are many and strong as the sands of the sea. And for this end your humble slave will now proceed to touch your palm."
Fixing his beady eyes on Mark he slowly drew out a well-filled silken purse through whose meshes pieces of gold glittered. He bent low before the Assistant's chair and laid the purse by his side on the table. The young civilian flushed, then turned pale. He had heard of the offering of bribes by natives, but surely it was early in his day for such an incident to happen! Did he look such a vulnerable person, he asked himself with a sense of dismay. Rising from his chair, he folded his hands behind his back, and said in a tone of repressed anger: "Put that purse in your pocket instantly. Englishmen don't take bribes!"
The Mussulman's amber face assumed a blacker hue. For a moment he stood as if he felt himself trapped, then licking his red lips quickly, his beady eyes shot fiery glances at the young man as he muttered in reply: "No, but half-castes do!"
It was the first bearing of the cross which Mark Cheveril had to undergo. He waxed a shade paler, and seemed about to speak, then he checked himself and silently pointed to the door.
The man's demeanour instantly changed.
"Pardon your humble slave! He has been misled," he stammered. "By holy Mahomet, I'll make the dog that misled me pay for this!"
Mark still pointed silently to the door. Zynool cast one long searching glance upon him, regarding him evidently with roused curiosity from top to toe. Then, salaaming profoundly, he sighed noisily and waddled out with a baulked expression on his cunning face.
After Zynool's departure, Mark sat down to examine certain blue books which the Judge recommended for his perusal, but the late interview rankled. He could not concentrate his attention, and thought, with a sigh, how speedily he had been brought face to face with one of the unpleasant realities of official life. Even his vanity had received a shock. Did he look so clearly on the surface a man likely to have his price? The idea was revolting. Should he tell the Collector what had occurred or would it be best to bury the incident fathoms deep, was the query which haunted him throughout the remainder of the office hours.
The Judge before leaving looked into the new Assistant's room with a friendly smile to see how he had been finding his way, and suggested that they should walk home together. Mark cheerfully assented, delighted to find that in this land of carriages one was sometimes permitted to use one's legs. The sun had lost its scorching element, and leafy Puranapore was bathed in a soft yellow radiance which reminded him of an autumn evening at home. A gentle breeze stirred the tree tops as their lengthening shadows fell on the white ribbon-like road. The twilight hour conduces to confidences, and Mark felt moved to introduce the unpleasant experience of the morning which was still uppermost in his mind, feeling that he could find no wiser confident than the trusty man of law by whose side he walked. But just as he was bracing himself to unfold the incident, he perceived Mrs. Goldring and her daughter coming towards them. Recalling her supercilious nod of the previous evening, he was surprised to receive quite a gracious greeting from the Judge's wife.
Jane, with a joyous smile, sprang forward to take her father's arm, and Mark found himself by Mrs. Goldring's side. After expatiating on the pleasures of an evening stroll, she remarked that it was unfortunate the Collector was unable to be at his office, though how she came to be aware of the fact she did not divulge. Mark had yet to learn that the station was like a glass house, all its happenings common property. It is true Mrs. Goldring did not generally lay herself out for the reception of servants' gossip after the manner of Mrs. Samptor, but her encounter with the Collector still rankled, and she decided to follow her little neighbour's methods in being on the outlook for gossip; and also, for the present, to hide her adverse feelings towards the new Assistant so that, if possible, she might sow discord between him and his chief. Having heard from her ayah that the Collector was "resting" to-day, she determined that she would waylay the young man, and give him some hint of the foibles of his master. She certainly succeeded in startling Mark when she suddenly glanced at him keenly, saying:
"You had a visit from that chief of snakes, Zynool, this morning, I understand?"
Politeness forbade him to turn abruptly to his interlocutor and ask how she came by this piece of news; he therefore only assented briefly.
"I may as well warn you, Mr. Cheveril, in confidence, of course, that we all deplore the Collector's infatuation for Mahomedans. The favours he grants them are spelling mischief down there in the town, as Dr. Campbell will tell you, though my husband may be too loyal to his brother-civilian to speak his mind," she added, turning half round and rolling her protruding eyes upon the pair behind who were gaily chatting, their thoughts far away from the squabbles of station life.
Mark's first impulse was to assure his companion that in the present instance, at all events, Zynool Sahib had shown no desire to interview his chief, but on the contrary had planned his visit in his absence so that he might take stock of the new Assistant; but he felt disinclined to make a confidante to the smallest extent of the lady by his side, who continued excitedly:
"You will have the whole story soon enough, so I may as well unfold it at once, Mr. Cheveril. That Mahomedan butler of his has great influence with the Collector. My husband tries to excuse Mr. Worsley by saying he is not in the least aware that the man goes out of his own province, or he would not tolerate it for a moment. But do we not know there are none so blind as those who won't see? Well, this Moideen is a poor relation of Zynool, who is one of the richest men in the town, and it is he who set him to work on his master for permission to build a mosque on an ancient site."
"But that was surely a legitimate enough request," interjected Mark.
"Ah, but listen! The whole thing was a wicked plot on the part of the Mussulmans to annoy their neighbours. The site was near the river and the burning-ghaut of the Hindus; and so, of course, they have been up in arms more or less ever since. Now wasn't that a most unprincipled proceeding, Mr. Cheveril?"
"On whose part?" asked Mark coldly.
The chilliness of his tone was not lost on Mrs. Goldring, who tossed her head, saying:
"On whoever the cap fits! For my part I've never had any doubt who is the real culprit, but my position forbids me to say."
The usual tennis-party was to be held that evening in Mrs. Goldring's compound. The hostess never doubted that the new Assistant would put in an appearance after the favour she had been extending to him. She was not a little mortified, therefore, when he politely declined, pleading as his excuse, when she pressed him, that he must see how the Collector was now, and, if well enough, keep him company.
"Believe me, you are wasting your fragrance on the desert air, Mr. Cheveril. The Collector vastly prefers his cheroot and Moideen's company to yours or mine," said Mrs. Goldring with a malicious air. But Mark lifted his hat and disappeared down Mr. Worsley's avenue.
The late conversation had by no means a reassuring effect on the young man. He glanced with new interest on Moideen. Beneath his obsequious demeanour, he thought he could detect an uneasy smile as he met him and ushered him into his master's writing-room. The Collector welcomed him with a cordial smile, making light of his morning's ailment.
"It was only a touch of liver, though Moideen tried to make me believe I was in the grip of fever." Then he turned to talk of office matters, and was anxious to hear Mark's impressions of his first day at his new work.
After briefly recording the business which the clerks had put into his hands, he led up to the visit of Zynool.
"So the rascal turned up at last!" said the Collector. "I've been summoning him for weeks, and he has evaded me. Now he comes the only day I've been away since I was on tour."
Mark was about to remark that it was clear now that it was owing to his absence the Mahomedan had presented himself that morning.
"Then you don't like the man?" he asked, with an air of relief, remembering Mrs. Goldring's assertion that Zynool and the Collector were hand-in-glove. "My impression was certainly most unfavourable," he said, the blood mounting to his face, "as you will believe when I tell you that without any ostensible cause he actually approached me with a bribe—drew from the inner folds of his muslin a bag of gold, and said he wished to lay a gift in my palm. He looked daggers when I told him to pick up his money and go. Rather a humiliating experience for my first day in office, wasn't it? I hope I don't look a likely subject," wound up Mark, with rather a sore smile.
"Youdon't," answered the Collector, with frank emphasis on the pronoun. "But that confirms my suspicions that such methods were tried and succeeded not so very long since, and it throws fresh light on some things. The blackguard! So he put forth that early feeler to see what stuff you were made of! Good; he found his match this time!"
Mark, happening to glance at one of the screen doors at the moment, perceived a pair of handsome brown feet with a massive ring on the great toe planted on the rattan matting. He at once recognised them as Moideen's and strode across to the door, but when he reached it, only Sheila, one of the Collector's setters, stepped in with an apologetic air.
The Collector, lying back in his chair absorbed in thought and taking satisfying puffs of his cheroot, had not noticed the incident. Should he call his attention to it, Mark pondered, but decided to ignore it. Possibly the man was only passing the door, though certainly those brown feet had had a stationary appearance.
Presently the Collector proceeded to unfold, in the frankest manner, the circumstances which Mrs. Goldring had been eager to weave into a sinister web. He narrated simply how he had been led to sanction the building of the mosque in a neighbourhood which now suggested trouble all round.
"The fact is, having more confidence in Printer than was possible later, I left the negotiations to him, thinking it was a simple matter. It was foolish and wrong, I see now, but these town squabbles have always been particularly odious to me. As to Zynool, I only knew him by hearsay as a relative of my boy Moideen, who was very eager about the mosque. I believed it was solely on account of his zeal for the Faith, and was quite touched by his religious emotion. He saved up his pay, made no end of sacrifices to help to buy the site; but since then I've had reason to suspect that he was used as a tool by that fellow Zynool, who I know now to be a treacherous dog. He is backed up in his infamy by a shady pleader in Madras, who secretly bought the site from an unsuspecting Hindu for an old song. Then he and Zynool together sold it to the Mahomedan community for twice the sum, getting the money out of them on religious pretexts. I want to have it out with Zynool, and have summoned him more than once, but I think he must be keeping out of my way. Perhaps he guessed I was not at office to-day and went to take the measure of the new Assistant," said Mr. Worsley, with an air of discovery.
Mark, remembering the brown feet planted behind the screen door, was about to say: "He got a message from Moideen that you were not to be there. Possibly you were detained at home so that Zynool might have an opportunity of sounding my depths"; but he forebore, contenting himself by listening to this frank statement of affairs, open as the daylight, and which he contrasted with Mrs. Goldring's jaundiced narrative. The main point with him was to know that his chief was fully aware of Zynool's villainy. It was not to be wondered at that such methods could not readily be fathomed by the English gentleman, without fear and without reproach.
As he sat by his side now in the gathering dusk, a recurrence of a slumbering anxiety awakened in his mind. What was that remark as to Zynool's being a client of "a shady pleader in Madras"? Alfred Rayner had certainly mentioned his name as being a client, so it must be he! It was bitter indeed that anyone should be able so to designate Hester's husband, and yet had there not been suggestions of baseness in Rayner's conduct on more than one occasion during his own brief sojourn in Clive's Road? Could he forget the epithets he had used about the good Morpeth? Was it possible that Hester Bellairs was mated to a man quite unworthy of her? How futile was anything he could do to shield her from the thorns and briars which must encompass her path even if their roads did not lie apart? But he would be true to his promise given on the lawn of the Pinkthorpe Rectory! He would take the earliest opportunity of a visit to Clive's Road. Possibly Rayner might only be the dupe of the wily Zynool, and, on being told his true character and methods, might shake himself free of the plotter.
With hopeful thoughts Mark turned to interest himself in the project of a tour through the District which the Collector was planning for the following week.
The gay season in Madras was now at its height. Mr. Alfred Rayner hailed the opportunity of taking his charming bride everywhere, and occasions were numerous. The weather, though never deserving to be registered "cold," was pleasantly cool. Fashionable calls could be made with comfort in the middle of the day, and in the discharge of this social duty, Hester's husband kept her emphatically up to the mark. The afternoon and evening were divided into quite a distracting whirl of entertainments. Every day of the week had gymkanas, amateur concerts, dances, and dinner-parties.
Mr. and Mrs. Rayner were early guests at Government House, Mrs. Glanton's "neutral garden-party" had been followed by a speedy invitation to dinner, and there and everywhere the young barrister greeted with satisfaction, proofs that, as he expressed it, "Hester was a stunning success," and had lent that element of social prestige to his position which hitherto it had lacked, and which now he hungrily welcomed.
He had been eager to make an early return for the varied hospitalities which as a young married couple they had received. These dinner-parties at Clive's Road were a source of no little anxiety to the young hostess, chiefly because she realised Alfred's eagerness that they should attain perfection. It is true her husband kept the direction of everything in his own hands, insisting that no obtainable luxury should be absent from his board; though before long, Hester's feminine sense had perceived that much less might have been expended, and all gracious hospitality enhanced by less ostentatious methods, recalling delightful dinner-parties at home in which neitherpâté de foie grasnor dry champagne were component parts. But seeing Mr. Rayner's ambition was to impress the little society with his affluence, he certainly, by means of his elegant festivities, succeeded in doing so; the result being that the young couple became popular as charming entertainers, and by many were valued accordingly.
On the surface all seemed to be going well with Hester. Nevertheless, the painful incident which marked the visit of her old friend seemed to have struck the hour for the vanishing of the unreal glamour under whose pervading influence she had been conscious of being since she set foot on Indian soil. Her individuality began to assert itself, she reverted more to her home standards, and began to try to bring her days into line with them. The social amenities which belong to refined circles had always made a part of Hester's home life, though she was only beginning, when she left, to have any active share in them. But she knew enough to be aware that with her parents they had never been regarded as the be-all and end-all of existence as they seemed to be to her husband. She instinctively felt the preoccupation vulgar and selfish, though she shrank from putting that feeling into words, and felt almost guilty in thus judging. Since the morning on which Alfred had allowed himself to speak such cruel words about Mr. Morpeth, he had seemed eager to atone, had acquiesced in occasional morning visits to her friend Mrs. Fellowes, and had even accepted good-naturedly a proposal that Hester should help her with her Eurasian Girls' Club.
Though Hester had many acquaintances, Mrs. Fellowes was the only person to whom she turned as a real friend. It was indeed the pleasantest afternoon of the week for her when she drove towards the white-washed room in the crowded quarter of Vepery, where she could always reckon on a little talk with her friend before the arrival of the girls. These interests were becoming every day keener to her, and formed an antidote to the social environment of perpetual gaiety and flattery which otherwise might have proved too engrossing.
Mrs. Fellowes, having had a slight breakdown, was ordered a month's rest. During her absence Hester had undertaken to superintend the Girls' Club, though she felt herself a poor substitute for the versatile organiser. Having the need to consult her on some details, she responded all the more gladly to Mrs. Fellowes' invitation to spend a day with her in her retreat, which was within driving distance of Madras. Her husband expressed himself delighted that she should have the opportunity of making the acquaintance of a pretty bit of the Coromandel coast.
When she returned in the evening Hester was glowing in her praise of Ennore, and full of a project which she and Mrs. Fellowes had planned together.
"Won't it be delightful, Alfred, for those poor girls to have a whole day in that lovely spot?" she said joyfully, as she unfolded the plan to her husband while they sat in the verandah after dinner. "And we've decided not to drive them out in those horrid native boxes on wheels they calljatkas," continued Hester. "We mean to engage carriages from Waller's, and with Mrs. Fellowes to welcome them at the other end, it will all seem like fairy-land to them. Mrs. Fellowes says seventy-five rupees will quite cover the hire, so I thought I might undertake that part of it."
"Seventy-five rupees! To be good for that? Surely that was a rash promise, Hester?" exclaimed her husband with an annoyed air. "My word, I don't intend to have myself bled to that extent for those half-caste creatures."
But remembering his resolve not to criticise her efforts for them, he decided to put his objection on another footing. "The fact is, I'm none too flush of rupees at this moment. This has been a triumphant season for us, and no mistake, Hester, but one must pay for such triumphs!"
"But, Alfred, I promised," faltered Hester.
"Then you must just wriggle out if it, my dear. Write to Mrs. Fellowes and say we've too many engagements here—can't find any spare day. She's a sensible woman, she'll read between the lines. Rupees ain't so plentiful with her."
"Yet just think what she does," said Hester with dilating eyes. "Her purse is always open! But, Alfred, I'm really in honour bound to carry through this treat. It's too late to draw back now, you would never ask me do such a thing."
"To draw back? Of course, that's precisely what you must do! It's an absurd project! I'll be bound, it wasn't for that sort of thing Binny's Bungalow was lent to Mrs. Fellowes!" said Mr. Rayner, rising as if to end the discussion.
"It's too late to draw back now," returned Hester decisively. "I happened to meet two of the Vepery girls as I was driving home. I stopped the carriage to tell them of the happy day Mrs. Fellowes was planning for them——"
"Vepery, did you say?" asked Alfred, turning with a start. "I understood your class was at Royapooram."
Though he had tacitly acquiesced in his wife's helping her friend in what he called her "quixotic projects," he had taken no further interest. It disturbed him not a little now to know that the meeting might contain, his objectionable acquaintance, Leila Baltus, and sheer alarm drove him to more indignant remonstrances than before. At length he summoned his office-bandy, and at that unwonted hour ordered the sleepy syce to light the lamps, and drove off to town, leaving his wife in tears.
Hester, sorely vexed as she was, never for a moment contemplated abandoning the project which she decided she was in duty bound to Mrs. Fellowes, as well as to the Club girls, to carry out. Hurrying up-stairs she counted her own little store which she had laid aside for Christmas presents for those at home. It proved more than the required sum.
When her landau appeared next forenoon to take her for a round of visits, she told the syce to drive her instead to Waller's Stables, where the hire of the required carriages was speedily arranged. She resolved to tell her husband on the first opportunity that the carriage difficulty was now solved, and to try, when she did so, to hide the soreness which still rankled in her heart concerning it.
There was an air of apology in Mr. Rayner's manner when he returned from the High Court that afternoon. He evidently did not forget that he had lost his temper on the previous evening, and his wife hoped this state of mind might make it easier for her to broach the vexed question.
This she was about to do as they sat in the verandah after dinner, when her husband turned to her with a gracious smile.
"You're looking lovely to-night, Hester! Your day at Ennore yesterday has brought back the English roses to your cheeks. Fine birds deserve fine feathers, shall we say? See what I've brought to adorn your lovely white neck!"
He opened an elegant leather case and held up triumphantly a beautiful diamond pendant.
"Oh, Alfred," gasped Hester, after a moment's silence. "Have you actually got that for me? Oh, I can't—I won't have it! You must give it back! You will return it?"
"Return it, forsooth! A nice suggestion when an affectionate husband presents his wife with a gift! Besides, Hester, you really haven't the correct toilette without jewels. That trumpery gold cross is the only thing you have to wear. It's been my despair at all our parties to see you without diamonds when the frowsy dowagers are resplendent with them—and the young brides into the bargain. This pendant is a simple necessity. I'll add a tiara when I can."
"Never! I wouldn't wear one for the world! And if you want to make me happy you'll return this. Oh, how could you waste money on it, especially"—she paused with a little catch in her voice—"especially since you said you couldn't afford to give me the rupees to pay for those carriages though I told you I had promised them."
"Well, don't you see I had it in my mind to give you this surprise—and a nice reception you've given it!"
Mr. Rayner snapped the lid of the elegant case with an angry air. "Anyhow the diamonds are yours and you must wear them," he added, throwing the case into her lap. "I'm not going to be made a fool of, taking them back with my tail between my legs like a whipped puppy. Why, it would soon get out that I am a hen-pecked husband, and so I am, between one thing or another," he ended sulkily, and betook himself to the perusal of theMadras Mail.
Hester, though she hated concealment, felt that this was not the moment to announce that the carriages for Ennore had been duly arranged for, and that she would have to go next day to help Mrs. Fellowes to entertain the Eurasian girls. Neither could she, at this moment, make any further remonstrance concerning the foolish gift. She would watch for an early opportunity when her husband was in a better mood, and try to persuade him to return it to the jewellers. The pendant was, in itself, vulgar and ostentatious. She felt she could never wear it. She smiled when she pictured her mother's face if she saw the flaring jewel upon her young daughter's neck. Mrs. Bellairs disapproved of jewellery for girls, even for young matrons, and her prejudice was so well known in her circle that among Hester's numerous wedding gifts there had been a marked absence of trinkets of any kind, and her husband had more than once expressed his regret that his wife should be unadorned save by the little antique gold cross.
Perhaps she had been unkind in making such a determined stand, Hester thought now. But when she recalled her husband's assurance that they were spending so largely that even seventy-five rupees would prove a strain on their month's finances, she felt reassured that she would only be acting as a true wife should in urging that the gaudy gift should again take its place among the jeweller's wares; and, if she remained firm, surely Alfred would not force it upon her.
Next morning, soon after Mr. Rayner left for the High Court, a peon arrived with a chit from him to tell Hester that he had been summoned to the Mofussil on pressing business, and would probably be absent for a couple of days, and directing that his dressing-boy should bring his kit to the railway station. Hester felt disappointed that his unlooked-for departure deprived her of the opportunity she desired to tell him that all was now arranged for the projected trip to Ennore, which was to be announced by her to the girls of the Club that evening.
Mrs. Fellowes' modest room was beginning to be a familiar place to the Eurasian girls. She had not followed any hard-and-fast plan in conducting the meetings further than making it her object to draw forth these young women who lolled listlessly about the pandals of their pent-up homes, to endeavour to fill their hearts with new thoughts, and their hands with useful work. "The pioneer meeting," Mr. Morpeth gleefully called it, no effort of quite a similar kind ever having been attempted before for the betterment of the aimless lives in the purlieus of the Eurasian quarter. Mrs. Fellowes and her "lieutenant," as Hester called herself, proved inventive in happy methods in which cheerful work and rational amusement intermingled. The older lady, with unwearied skill and patience, shaped useful garments for the girls, and tried to persuade them to substitute neat sewing for their careless methods of fixing them up anyhow. Interesting books were always provided for reading aloud, as well as a growing library fed by Mr. Morpeth. A piano, the gift of an unknown donor, had been lately introduced, greatly enhancing the popularity of the gathering, which was only beginning to be known; and Mrs. Fellowes was always on the outlook for new recruits.
The end of the hour had come on this afternoon, and Hester was divulging Mrs. Fellowes' invitation to Ennore to the assembled girls when she was interrupted by a new arrival.
A young woman, attired more gaudily than was usual to the "Friendly," had pushed open the door and taken her seat without note or comment, and was gazing intently at Hester. The new-comer was the object of much whispering and many scowls from the frequenters of the meeting. Hester presumed that she wished to become a member, but her aspect was so unconciliatory that she felt some hesitation in addressing her, and applied for information to a girl standing by her side. All she could learn was that the girl had only recently appeared in Vepery and was unknown to her; the stranger, however, seemed to have sharp ears.
"If it's my name you want," she said, "I'm not ashamed of it as some might be of theirs. Mine's Miss Leila Baltus!"
A displeased murmur went round the meeting, and all eyes were directed to Miss Baltus, who tossed her head defiantly.
"We are glad to see you," began Hester with quiet courtesy. "We welcome everyone to our meeting." She paused, but resumed, "With regard to Mrs. Fellowes' kind invitation, we shall have to restrict our number to those already on our list."
Approving nods from the company acknowledged the reasonableness of Mrs. Rayner's remark. A girl, who evidently knew more about the stranger than the one to whom Hester had applied for information, said in a loud whisper to her neighbour:
"Cheap on Leila for her impudence! She's got thatt awfulee high and mighty since she went to Calcutta—and thatt spiteful too!"
Stung by hearing her name, and no doubt ruffled that she was not even to have the chance of declining the proposed treat, Leila Baltus rose, dropping her showy parasol noisily on the floor as she did so. She made her way towards the door, saying enigmatically:
"I'll take my leave now. I've seen you, and that's enough for one afternoon!"
She hissed out the words and rolled her dark eyes unpleasantly on the sweet young English face. "There will be a second meeting, or my name's not Leila Baltus! A Friendlee Society, forsooth!" Her cheap skirt with its papery rustle swished along the floor as she made her exit.
A disapproving murmur ran through the ranks of the loyal partisans, but the incident was soon forgotten amid the pleasant preoccupation over the trip on the following morning.
On Hester's mind, however, it left an unpleasant recollection. She hoped the mutinous intruder might prove more amenable to Mrs. Fellowes' influence at some future time, and that they might one day be able to get nearer to this embittered-looking girl with the beautiful eyes. To have had such a bellicose element in to-morrow's party would have been jarring, to say the least of it, and unfair to the others. It was doubtless hearing of the pleasure which she was not to share, however, that had made the girl so rude and unmannerly. Noting her name in her pocket-book, Hester resolved to consult with her wise friend what should be their attitude towards Miss Leila Baltus.
The bungalow where Mrs. Fellowes was staying belonged to an old and distinguished firm of Madras merchants. The principals of the firm had used it on occasion as a country house before South Indian hills became so easy of access; and often now they put it at the disposal of friends. To many a young couple had Binny's Bungalow at Ennore proved a place of dear romance; to many a weary veteran a haven of quiet rest.
There was a peculiar fairyism about Ennore. It seemed to nestle in all its sylvan beauty on the borders of an inland lake whose slopes were fringed by cocoanut palms, dense glossy shrubs, and odoriferous spice plants; while graceful bamboos flung their interlacing tendrils all about. Great water-lilies spread themselves over the surface of the water, and the water-fowl floated or skimmed over its sparkling ripples. A trim, white-sailed boat, with an ancient, white-bearded serang in attendance, was always at the disposal of the bungalow guests. Afloat on the placid waters of the lake and sheltered by its leafy borders, every object tended to convince one that it was entirely an inland sheet of water, till suddenly you might, perchance, be startled by the shrill cry of a sea-gull, or the fierce roll of the near breakers would fall on your astounded ear. You would then glance across the sunny ripples of the lake, and perceive with amazement that a strip of sand was all that divided the peaceful backwater from the great Bay of Bengal; so white and thin were its grains that they might be put through an hour-glass without refinement, and so narrow was the strip that, in a minute, a child could run across it. On one side light zephyrs dance on the tiny ripples; on the other, the waters roll in mighty waves dashed to the shore in tossing, writhing floods of whitest foam.
At the upper end of this long stretch of smooth sand stands the gallant little bungalow with its trim, green-paintedpersiennes, trellised verandahs, and its breezy "up-stair" room, surrounded by some sturdy date palms, and sheltered from the elements by a belt of hardy jungle trees which break the fury of the gales.
The one ample sitting-room of the bungalow from which branched various bedrooms and dressing-rooms, seemed to Hester the most English-looking room of a certain type which she had seen since coming to the East. Perhaps it suggested the old-fashioned inn-parlour more than anything intimately domestic. On its walls hung numerous quaint-coloured prints of English hunting scenes. Its sofas, planted against the walls, offered luxurious rest; while its big dining-table and rows of chairs gave it a hospitable air. The many windows at each end of the long room disclosed impartially the inland beauties of the backwater, and the expanse of the great restless ocean. On one side of the building the favoured small guests, who found themselves making holiday at the bungalow, might float their mimic ships in safety; and on the other, beyond the mass of seething foam, the stateliest ships of the world might be seen sailing over the great deep.
Hester had driven out early to help Mrs. Fellowes with preparations for her numerous guests, and now stood by the side of the hostess, giving the girls a smiling welcome to Ennore. It soon proved that the prearranged programme for their entertainment was superfluous, so charmed were the guests with the unwonted surroundings in which they found themselves. Some groups sought the long narrow strip of sunlit sand by the "many dashing ocean shore," to search for the rare shells to be found there, thrown up by the tide, retreating with shrieks of laughter when the curling waves dashed their spray upon them. Others were more fascinated by the peaceful charm of the backwater, and made expeditions in the boat to the further end of the lake, bent on securing trophies of greenery for the decoration of their dull Vepery parlours. The white-haired, nut-brown serang had many freights of passengers that day, and more than one sensational shriek reached the ladies who sat in the verandah watching all the ongoings.
A plentiful tiffin brought the guests indoors for a time, but they were eager to be out again, even under the hot afternoon sun, to explore the sylvan brakes or saunter on the sunny sands.
"Do you know, Mrs. Fellowes," said Hester, "I begin to feel rather an impostor! I told myself that I must come to-day to help you to entertain your guests, and now I find I'm doing nothing but hugely enjoying myself!"
She lay back happily in one of the luxurious teakwood arm-chairs which were a special and memorable feature of the verandah.
"Well, my dear, I'm only too glad you are having a nice rest," returned Mrs. Fellowes, glancing at her with a kindly smile. "I thought you looked rather jaded and worried when you arrived, but this air is wonderfully soothing and restoring."
"I confess I was rather worried last night," said Hester, with a sigh. "How would you act if you were suddenly presented with a costly gift by your husband which you neither admired nor wished?" she asked, deciding she would take counsel of the woman Mr. Morpeth called a "wise saint." She proceeded to tell her of the difficulty she felt when suddenly confronted with the gorgeous diamond pendant in its elegant case and been asked to accept this distasteful gift, and what her attitude had been.
"Oh, my dear, I do think such a prompt refusal was a little bit rough on your husband, though I sympathise with you in the main, for I know you don't care for jewels. But these matters must be handled very delicately. For instance, I think if Joe had taken it into his head to present me with something he would be much hurt if I declined to accept his offering; but then, to be sure, it would not be a costly gift as yours is——"
"Diamonds of the first water, Alfred described them," said Hester, shaking her head.
"Why, they must have cost a fortune! But your husband is no doubt able to afford them—he must be a very rich man."
A knot rose in Hester's throat. Since her husband was so demonstratively rich, why had he so irritatingly declined the little boon which she had craved? Good taste and loyalty forbade her sharing with her friend the main source of her discomfort in having had the costly gift pressed upon her. Mrs. Fellowes, however, perceived that she was deeply perturbed concerning the incident, but she felt she could not encourage Hester to persevere in her determination to have the pendant returned. That course would certainly have the effect of widening the little rift which seemed already vibrating.
"Just you ask your husband to put the jewel in his safe to keep it from thieves, and, when it is stowed away like that, you will both forget to give it an airing, and you won't have to bedeck yourself with it."
"A capital idea! That will please Alfred, and will save me more words about the matter."
"Only," Mrs. Fellowes added, "you might stipulate that in future your husband's affection would be more valued if it did not take the form of costly gifts. Your husband must be very rich," repeated Mrs. Fellowes, this time with an interrogative note in her voice and a glance at Hester. "Young barristers out here are seldom able to present their wives with diamonds of the first water."
"No, I don't think Alfred is what could be called rich. But you know he has an addition to what he earns—an allowance from his people. I forget how much it is, but he told father. Both his parents died when he was a baby, and an aunt and her husband brought him up. His uncle Rayner had been in the same firm as his father, and I think Alfred has still a share in the business, but I don't interest myself in these matters. I have a very unbusiness-like mind," she added with a sigh. "I'm afraid my husband thinks me quite hopeless in that department, though I am vain enough to believe that I could now manage the domestic side better—at least more economically—than he does."
"But you do, don't you? Why, when the Colonel and I dined with you lately I recollect one of Mr. Rayner's bachelor friends said chaffingly: 'It's easy to see your Eve's hand in this Paradise, Rayner!' And I remember I quite loved your husband when I heard him say with an air of glee, 'Yes, isn't she a splendid housekeeper?'"
"A splendid housekeeper! Oh, Alfred must have been joking! I only wish he would let me have a try! Of course everything was very new and strange to me at first, but I've found my way about in many things now. I'm no more an absolute 'griffin.' For one thing, I'm quite sure I could manage much more economically than we're doing now. Alfred admits we are spending a great deal——"
Hester's voice faltered as she recalled the humiliating context in which he had made the unexpected admission.
"Well, my dear, look here," said Mrs. Fellowes in an emphatic tone, after a little silence. "As the price of your concession in keeping the diamonds, suppose you stipulate for a freer hand on the housekeeping reins, especially since your husband admits that these expenses are large. I would strongly advise you to arrange this."
Mrs. Fellowes called to mind the Colonel having more than once remarked that the young Rayners must be spending lacs between horse-flesh and elegant dinners. She felt glad that this talk had given her the opportunity of offering some advice on the subject to the young wife whom she had come to admire and love for other qualities than merely her personal charm.
The bright day had faded. That magical, and, in Eastern lands, momentary interval between light and darkness had fallen. The girls were at length gathered in the brightly-lit sitting-room, having an evening meal before starting on their homeward way. Their cheerful faces and happy laughter told how greatly they had enjoyed their day.
"We've just been awfulee happy," said one spokeswoman. "'Twill be a tale to tell for many a day in Vepery!"
"And won't thatt cat, Leila Baltus, be spiteful when she hears wot a good time we've had, and her kept out," remarked another.
"Oh, but that is not a kind source of satisfaction, Rosa," said Mrs. Fellowes, looking at the girl, and shaking her head in gentle disapproval. "Who is Leila Baltus?" she asked in an undertone, turning to Hester; but the question was unheard in the general bustle of departure.
The last carriageful was now driving off, and a shrill chorus of expressions of gratitude mingled with the sea sounds which were more audible now that the darkness had fallen. Long afterwards Hester remembered this night, and conjured up a vivid picture of this shore of the Bay of Bengal, the sweet placid face of the "wise saint," the eager groups of amber-faced girls with the evidence of a happy innocent day written on every feature, and the background of the brightly-lit parlour, while a stone's throw away rolled the darkened waters of the great restless ocean.
Hester, in her husband's absence, had agreed to remain the night with her friend. Colonel Fellowes appeared presently, having driven out to see his wife, and a pleasant evening followed. When Hester mounted the narrow staircase to the delightful bedroom assigned to her on the flat roof, she felt it was long since such an entirely happy day had been her portion. With its many doors opening on the leads, this room was an abode of luxury on hot Indian plains. Here no drowsy punkah-wallah had to be roused by the sleepless victim to pull the weary wind-fan! The sea breeze wooed one to sleep even on the hottest nights, and through the many doors open to the dark blue vault, one could lie in bed and watch the stars come out, tracing whole constellations from one's downy pillow to the music of the wild waves.