A few weeks had elapsed since Alfred Rayner had spurned the searchlight which might have shown him some of the plague spots of his own heart. They had proved very trying weeks in the house in Clive's Road. Hester was striving to be tactful and tender, but her husband's wayward outbursts of temper made things very hard for her, and even outsiders began to mark the change in her looks.
"The Madras climate is already beginning to tell on Mrs. Rayner! Her bloom has been short-lived, but I expect she will soon be carried off to the hills and get her good looks restored at Ooty," were the remarks passed from lip to lip, but none divined the true cause of the young wife's weary mien.
In official circles the yearly migration to the hills had already begun. The Governor and his suite had departed, and the constant succession of gaieties were over for the season. This indeed proved a relief to Hester, but it threw her husband more on his own resources, which was threatening to prove disastrous. He now habitually lounged at the Club and frequented card-playing resorts, returning late, often morose and self-accusing. His moods, whatever they were, always reacted on his wife, who was indeed learning patience through suffering.
One evening, however, he came home with an air of buoyancy which was now very unusual to him. He had hardly alighted from his mail-phaeton when he hurried to Hester, saying eagerly:
"I've got a project to unfold, my dear! What do you say to a jaunt to Calcutta? You're looking pale. It is warming up here in this southern hole. Three days at sea will do you a world of good, not to speak of a jolly holiday in Calcutta!"
"But, Alfred, this is surely all very sudden! Are you really thinking of a voyage all the way to Calcutta?" faltered Hester, whose breath was almost taken away by her husband's eagerness.
"Of course I am, and do you suppose I'd leave you all alone here? The trip will do you ever so much good—break the monotony that creeps over one like a fungus in this humdrum place. I've just written to accept Melford's invitation, so there's no drawing back now. You remember he brought out his bride the steamer after ours? It's some weeks since he wrote asking us to pay them a visit. It didn't seem to me possible then, but I've made up my mind to take the step now. The truth is, I have a desire to interview the reigning partner of my father's old firm, Truelove Brothers. My allowance comes to me with exemplary regularity, it is true, but it may be they owe me a much larger sum than I get. At all events, being a minor no longer, it's high time I should be investigating these matters for myself. So pack up, my darling, and let's have a second honeymoon on the ocean's breast!"
The proposal had many attractions for Hester. Not that she resented the alleged monotony of life on the plains of India as some around her were continually complaining they did, but truly there had been a monotony of jars and frets in her intercourse with her husband of late, and she longed to break the cruel spell. He was looking ill and haggard, perhaps the change of scene and the contact with old acquaintances might help him; and she also looked forward to seeing the great city with its historical associations.
With renewed hope she set about preparations for the journey. Soon all the household at Clive's Road were sharing the exciting news that Dorai and Dosani were going on a holiday, and the ayah and the dressing boy were to accompany their master and mistress. Hester had written to Mrs. Fellowes to tell her of the pending departure, and all preparations were well advanced when her husband, returning on the following evening at a late hour, announced with hesitating mien that he feared the sea journey must be given up, that he was obliged for business reasons to include Bombay in his trip, and five days in the train, which was then the length of the journey, was unthinkable for such a frail creature as she was. Moreover, he had that day met a friend whom he desired, also for business reasons, to have as his companion, and he being a bachelor preferred to travelen garcon. This they could do much more cheaply than if they "were hum-bugged by wives," as his friend elegantly expressed it.
So it came about that Hester's quick hope came to a sudden end. For a little she felt keen disappointment, enhanced by the knowledge that in her husband's change of plans there was a large element of wilful selfishness. She accepted the decision without a murmuring word, and felt almost surprised to perceive the strain of penitence which marked his manner as she cheerfully busied herself in making all preparations for his journey.
"I don't half like leaving you alone like this," he remarked on the morning of his departure. "I've been thinking of a nice plan for you. Suppose you write to Mrs. Fellowes and suggest a visit to her!"
Hester, however, declined to fall in with the proposal, assuring her husband that she would find plenty to occupy her during her solitary weeks. But on the same afternoon when Mrs. Fellowes called to say farewell to her friend, and found to her astonishment that the hoped-for holiday was abandoned as far as Hester was concerned, she at once insisted that she should take up her abode at Royapooram during her husband's absence. Thither Hester went on the day after Mr. Rayner's departure to find rest and solace in the companionship of these good friends.
Alfred Rayner's purpose in going to Calcutta was not very definite in his own mind. He looked on it in the light of an experiment—a gamble. It was, in fact, the need of money which urged him to try to gauge the capacities of Truelove Brothers, and to make the attempt to bleed them more heavily. Zynool's loan had tided him over a period, but financial embarrassments were becoming pressing, and he decided to exhaust the possibilities of help from the quarter from whence help had come with such unfailing regularity longer than he could remember. It is true his aunt had always volubly assured him that his allowance was all the firm of Truelove Brothers had in store for him. But what were the assertions of a woman like Aunt Flo, he thought with scorn, so ignorant, so prevaricating, as he knew her to be. More than likely he had been up to this date the victim of a cruel conspiracy to defraud him of his legal rights as the son of one of the late partners of the firm. He had, however, to remind himself that his recent endeavours to probe the matter by a sharp query in a letter had elicited a firm though courteous reply that the allowance which he received was the limit of his claim. But now, since his financial condition was becoming desperate, unless indeed he changed his whole scale of living, he had resolved to make the attempt to sift the matter in person. Thedètourto Bombay might indeed have been well dispensed with, and had only been yielded to at the solicitation of one of the most worthless of his recent acquaintances.
So it happened that when Alfred Rayner took his seat in the crowded trainen routefor Calcutta his purse was more empty than he liked to contemplate. Prudence had even dictated that he should stoop to a seat in a third-class carriage. He sat in a corner wedged in between closely packed natives, his sun topee drawn over his eyes, the lower part of his face covered by his pocket-handkerchief. But he could not shut his ears to the discordant babel of voices round him, for every third-class passenger in the East is nothing if not vociferous. His elegant person was continually prodded by angular packages, his delicate nostrils, in spite of all precautions, assailed by the most forbidding odours.
The journey seemed interminable. The slight refreshment he had been able to secure as the train was in motion he could hardly eat in such repulsive surroundings. At last the express swung into Howrah station, but even then Rayner's gnawing discomfort was not at an end.
He had been congratulating himself that as he had not mentioned the hour of his arrival, he would not be met at the station. But he reckoned too much on Mr. Melford's ignorance of the time-table. On peering out of his box-like carriage window, he caught sight of his friend in eager search after his smart acquaintance of Piccadilly days, while that gentleman lurked in a third-class carriage, choke full of natives.
Rayner decided that the only thing left for him to do was to secrete himself in the grimy comer which he had longed to leave, till he could guarantee that his friend's back was turned. When that moment arrived he jumped with alacrity to the platform and hurried to report himself.
"Ah, here you are, Rayner—thought you were going to cheat us too! My wife and I are awfully sorry Mrs. Rayner's heart failed her at the last moment. Carrie has been making great moan about her disappointment since your letter came. Stupid of me not to have caught sight of you before! I thought I searched every carriage!"
"Oh, I think I was at the far end. But here I am, precious glad to be out of that beastly train."
"Sorry you haven't been comfortable. Carrie and I thought we were in the lap of luxury on our trip to Bombay. We thought the carriages most grand and comfortable, but you always were a fastidious chap, Rayner! I only hope you'll deign to be satisfied with our humble abode. I warn you it's up two pairs of stairs, good enough rooms when one reaches them, that of course is a necessity out here. But I hope before long we may be able to transfer ourselves to a house with a compound," said the young husband, with a cheerful smile.
"Doing a roaring trade, no doubt, Melford? Wish I'd gone in for being a merchant. Law is poor pay and no pudding!"
"Not in your case evidently, Rayner. Tresham was telling me what a palatial residence you have in Madras, and what fine entertainments you give—and of your equipages galore. Our one buggy is all we've been able to muster as yet. But I'm saving up for an evening carriage for Carrie. I think I may see my way to that before the hot weather fairly sets in. But you and Mrs. Rayner will be taking flight to the Neilgherries soon, I suppose?"
"Yes, Ooty will see us before long no doubt. My wife is feeling the heat badly already. Her English roses that Madras has raved about all the season are vanishing."
"Oh, yes, I heard about those said roses from Tresham. He reported that Mrs. Rayner is quite the prettiest woman in Madras, and charming besides. You can imagine how eager Carrie and I were to see her, and what a disappointment your wire and then your letter was!"
"Yes, I couldn't give details in my wire, but the fact is my wife is devoted to a certain Mrs. Fellowes, the wife of Colonel Fellowes who commands the Native Infantry Battalion in Madras just now. There's nothing she loves so much as a visit to those people. She helps Mrs. Fellowes with girls' meetings and things of that sort."
"Oh, does she! That would have been another bond with my wife. She has got involved in good works, visits the Zenanas, and does what she can——"
"Thankless business, I say, but it serves to keep our ladies out of mischief, perhaps," said Rayner, with a shrug of his shoulders.
The gharry had now reached Ballygunge Road and drew up before the wide entrance door of the Melford's flat.
"Think of being condemned to climb those horrid stairs when one comes home dead beat!" muttered Mr. Rayner to himself, as he followed his host up the long flight of steps.
The home of the Melfords, when reached, however, appeared, even to his fastidious eyes, ample and even elegant. Its young mistress, though without Hester's grace and beauty, was a sweet comely young matron with the glow of health and happiness in her eyes. Her guest could discern that her expression of regret over his wife's absence was genuine. A twinge of remorse visited him when he recalled his action in the matter, and it was quickened by the recollection of the discreditable record of his days in Bombay. He winced to think of the follies for which he had bartered his wife's chance of a pleasant holiday with this kind host and hostess, and resolved that he would proceed with all haste to make the most of his opportunities with Truelove Brothers, and try to secure a larger share of their profits so that he might have more luxury to shower upon her.
On confiding his hopes and plans to his host over a cheroot after dinner, he was assured by him that the firm in question was an excellent one.
"As sound as the Bank, by Jove! I think I'll leave the Madras High Court and become a merchant!" exclaimed Mr. Rayner, his eyes dancing with pleasure as he listened to the praise of Messrs. Truelove.
"I wonder you never thought of that open door before, Rayner," said Mr. Melford between the puffs of his pipe.
"Be you sure I did. But that I should be a Madras barrister seemed the goal of my aunt's ambition. She brought me up, you know. I fell into the trap, being young and foolish; moreover, she always assured me that the reigning partner, Mr. Fyson, was as hard as a nail, and that he would never give me a bite of the plum."
"I've always thought Fyson a very good sort—straight man to deal with," remarked Melford musingly.
"Well, I shall have an opportunity of testing him to-morrow. I'm rather looking forward to it," returned Rayner, brushing the ash from his cheroot.
"So you're bent on business at once? I thought you might have come to my office first, and then Carrie has a project for the afternoon—an invitation to go up the Hoogly in a steam launch with friends. She accepted for you, thinking you would enjoy it. I may manage to get off for the afternoon too, and make one of the party. You're sure to enjoy a trip on the river, Rayner."
"Yes, but business must come before pleasure! I certainly hope to do the Calcutta sights later but Truelove Brothers call me first. But I won't be the whole day with them. I hope I may be able to join the pleasure trip in the afternoon."
"Of course you will! You can meet me at my office and we'll drive home to tiffin together. My place isn't far from Truelove's. A tikka-gharry will fetch you. You look a bit tired, Rayner! Suppose we turn in? Carrie and I keep early hours."
"Thanks, I shan't object! I want to be fresh to-morrow. I say, Melford, if I present a good front don't you think they may be so enamoured of me that they will conclude the bargain at once, and the indenture of partnership go forward without a hitch?"
"Not such an easy matter, Rayner," replied his host, shaking his head. He being chief assistant in a good mercantile firm hoped one day if fortune favoured him to become a small partner, but he knew too well the obstacles to be overcome to be able to assure his friend of a speedy success. He acknowledged that Rayner's close relationship with the well-known firm put him on a favourable footing; and certainly Alfred Rayner had an assertive air, the humble man meekly acknowledged, which sometimes spelt success.
Mr. Rayner and his hostess had quite made friends when they parted next morning, he to accompany her husband to his office. He assured Mrs. Melford that he would not fail to return to tiffin, and also to avail himself of the pleasure of a sail up the Hoogly. Seated in his host's gharry as they rattled along the bustling streets, Rayner contrasted it with the leisurely ongoings of the Mount Road in Madras, and the comparison seemed to him all in favour of the Europeanised city.
"Why, one seems to live and move and be here, Melford!" he exclaimed. "This place suits me down to the ground. I declare, I think I shall make a bid for a share of Truelove Brothers' lacs without delay!"
The gharry now drew up in front of a handsome block of buildings to which Mr. Melford introduced him as his employers' premises, and, alighting, he arranged to meet him again at Ballygunge Road, whither he intended to return when his call was over. "You'll easily pick up a tikka-gharry at Truelove's. They're as thick as flies there about," his host assured him as they parted.
The quarters of the old merchants' firm looked more ancient and dull than that of Melford's employers, but they had a dignified air of respectability which was quite in keeping with the best traditions of such offices.
Rayner handed his card to one of thedurwansin attendance in the marble-paved hall around which were many doors marked with the names of the occupants of the chambers. From one of these thedurwanemerged now and requested the visitor to follow him. He led him into a smaller hall from which a staircase led to the upper rooms; and into one of these, a large lofty apartment, Mr. Rayner was ushered.
A tall, middle-aged man with a kindly, sagacious face was pacing up and down dictating to a Eurasian clerk who sat at the table. He paused in his walk, bowing to his visitor as he said: "How do you do, sir!"
Rayner noticed that a pair of shrewd eyes were fixed upon him with a quiet, scrutinising glance.
"Ha, he don't half like this chip of the old block coming to claim his own," he said to himself as he returned the bow with a broad smile. "Sorry to disturb you on a busy morning, sir. I've just remembered that this is our English mail day," he began, as the clerk began to gather his papers to retire.
"Oh, as to that we're always pretty well up to time here," returned the other, motioning his visitor to the seat which the clerk had just vacated, and taking a chair opposite him.
"Well, I suppose I'd better come to the point at once," began Mr. Rayner briskly. "The fact is I've taken this run to Calcutta to see my birthplace, and I thought I might use the opportunity to call on the present representative of Truelove Brothers. I believe you are now the senior partner of the firm?"
"I am," said Mr. Fyson laconically.
"Well, naturally sentimental reasons prompted me to wish to see the inside of the business house where my father was a partner."
Mr. Fyson raised his eyebrows but made no response.
"I speak of David Rayner. Of course you are aware that I am his son?"
"There was never a David Rayner partner in this firm, but I believe a John Rayner once held some office here."
"My uncle, of course."
"Your uncle, was he? I never saw Mr. John Rayner. He had left before my time; but he held only a subordinate place in the firm. I could tell you what it was by looking up records."
"It's of no account! Then, sir, if you were not in the firm at that time you may not be aware of the fact that my father, David Rayner, was a partner."
Mr. Fyson shook his head negatively, and the young man continued in a louder voice:
"Pray, why else does your firm supply me with an allowance?—has done so for years—since I was a child of four, sent at my father's death to England with my aunt, Mrs. John Rayner."
"Your father's death!" repeated Mr. Fyson; and Alfred Rayner felt certain that his voice faltered when he uttered these words.
"Ha, there's some villainy here—the old story I expect of an orphan defrauded of his rights," thought Rayner, but he resolved to be nothing if not practical, and bending forward with a facetious smile, he said in a tone of well-simulated frankness: "Well, I'll be open with you, Mr. Fyson. The fact is I came to see whether the firm can allow me a bigger share of the profits than I've been drawing. I'll even consent to let bygones be bygones if you'll deal straight with me at last. I'm a man now and a lawyer to boot, and you'll not make me believe that the only son of an old partner of the firm has not a right to a bigger slice of the profits of this prosperous house than the paltry sums I've been having."
As he spoke he felt as if he were placing an ultimatum in the hands of a trapped man on whose face he now fixed his eyes, saying to himself: "He's fairly caught now, and if I can get gold enough to pull me through my present involvements I'll defer my claim for a time."
He continued to watch Mr. Fyson, who preserved silence for some moments, his face wearing a perplexed air. Passing his hand across his forehead, his lips parted as if he were going to speak, then he closed them again, appearing still in doubt as to what his answer should be. At length he said very slowly:
"Your plea for a larger allowance is unfortunately flanked by more than one fallacy. I am really at a loss to know where to disentangle these." He cleared his throat and went on: "For the second time I must tell you that no such person as David Rayner ever existed in this firm, either as partner or underling. Second, that the allowance which you receive is not from the profits of this firm but from a private source. In fact, you are not as you suppose the fatherless son of any old partner of Truelove Brothers."
"My allowance not from this firm!" cried Rayner in open-mouthed astonishment. "Do I not receive half yearly from your house the sum of five thousand rupees?"
"It is true that the money does pass through our hands—more I am not at liberty to disclose," said Mr. Fyson firmly.
"A plot, I declare!" cried the young man with flashing eyes. "Not at liberty to disclose where my income is derived from? Why, you forget that you are not addressing a child, but a member of the Madras bar and a sharp one too!" His temper visibly rose as he spoke.
Mr. Fyson's keen face twitched uneasily. He patted the crisp papers which lay on his writing table and lowered his eyes as if to seek counsel in a dilemma. Then, fixing his keen grey orbs on his visitor, he looked at him steadily as if to take stock of him more fully. He then seemed to decide on his course of action, and began to speak in a matter of fact tone:
"You mention your allowance—I should tell you that I have before me your recent application for an increase——"
"That won't satisfy me now! I want my rights," broke in Rayner sulkily.
"Will you allow me to finish what I have to say without interruption?" There was a severe note in the senior partner's voice which acted as a check. "I was about to write to you on the subject. My reply was to be that your allowance will be increased on one condition only, that you will give a pledge,—for the keeping of which due means will be taken—namely, that you will give up all betting, card-playing for money, gambling in any form. If you agree to this I think I can venture to say—in fact I am authorised to state that your allowance will be doubled"; and again Mr. Fyson patted his papers.
As he listened to the calm, even tones, Alfred Rayner's face darkened to a scowl which seemed to transform the smiling young fellow, who had walked into Mr. Fyson's room a few minutes before, into an evil spirit.
"I never heard a more insulting proposal from one man to another!" he exclaimed in a choking voice. "Do you take me for a kid you can tie to the leg of a table, that you are trying this impertinence on me? I tell you I won't stand it for a moment! I'll have a case filed against you."
The older man passed his fingers through his whitening hair and shook his head in evident perplexity.
"Come now, be reasonable," he began. "If these are the only terms on which you can double your allowance—and you admit that you are in need of money—don't you think you would be a wise man to close with them, now and here, and end this interview?" added Mr. Fyson, rising from his chair with an air of decision. His conciliatory tone was however misinterpreted by the younger man, who sprang from his chair with clenched hands.
"You think to wheedle me, I see, but it won't do! I'll expose you, I'll put the matter into legal hands here where you are known, and I hope it will ruin you. I'll have my rights I tell you—whatever it costs me," he added, coming a step nearer and looking with threatening eyes at the tall, impassive figure.
"To what matter do you refer? To what rights, pray?" asked Mr. Fyson calmly, putting his hands in his pockets.
"As my father's heir I have a right to his estate. Don't you mistake, I'll be even with Messrs. Truelove Brothers yet"; and Mr. Rayner took a step towards the door.
"One moment," said Mr. Fyson, taking his right hand from his pocket. "I want to repeat again that we are not your trustees, Mr.——" Here Mr. Fyson paused as if the surname had escaped his memory.
"Rayner," supplied the other.
"Ah, no—a better name!" murmured Mr. Fyson as he looked at the young man, and a curious smile played about his lips.
"Do you mean to give me the lie when I tell you my own name? This is insupportable! Perhaps you think I'm an impostor? Yet do you not address—or cause to be addressed—all the remittances that come from this house to Alfred Rayner?" he asked, with a strong effort at calmness.
"I do—though with reluctance," replied Mr. Fyson slowly. "You have driven me into a corner, young man! I feel that I owe it in loyalty to the good man who is your father to tell you that he lives still, and to tell you that the name he was induced—wrongly in my opinion—to consent to your bearing is not his"; and with a troubled air Mr. Fyson sat down again at his writing table and glanced at his papers.
"You lie, you lie!" screamed Alfred Rayner with almost feminine shrillness. His passion choked him for a moment, then, with an effort at calmness, though he was still trembling all over, he called out: "Proof—I ask for proof, definite—immediate—of this astounding statement!"
"Fain would I give you the proof you seek if it lay with me, but loyalty to one of the best of men keeps me silent! But it appears to me that the hour has struck for a different course of action from that which has hitherto been maintained," said Mr. Fyson, with a stern light coming into his eyes. "You have need to be disabused of some of your—hallucinations, shall I call them? I hope permission may be given me to let you know the truth. I am sorry for your sake it has been so long withheld. I shall communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile, I should like to call your attention again to the offer your good father has made. Will you agree to his terms? I have his commands to double your allowance if you will only cease from vices which he holds—and rightly—to be soul-ruining. Now, sir, I desire to bring this interview to a close," said Mr. Fyson, again rising, though his visitor still stood as if riveted to the spot.
The older man straightening himself put his hands in his pockets and bowed stiffly, then with a softened air he added:
"I would fain believe all good of you as your father's son. I hope it will be given to you to know him one day—and to know him will be to respect him as I have done for years."
Somehow, as these words fell on his ear, Rayner seemed to move mechanically to the door, and stood outside it as if in a dream. He made a gesture as if he would re-enter, but appeared to decide against the step. Clinging to the old banisters he walked slowly downstairs, and crossed the marble-floored hall, the soft-footeddurwanopening the door for him noiselessly, he passed out to the busy street.
He walked a few paces with unsteady tread, forgetting that he meant to hire a carriage. The noonday sun was beating fiercely on his head, but in the tumult of his thoughts he did not heed it. His first sense of being completely foiled in his mission with Truelove Brothers was presently succeeded by a suggestion of a different kind.
"Why, this unknown pater of mine is evidently an important personage! He may turn out to be some big official—Lieutenant-Governor of a province or the like! The old merchant spoke of him with bated breath. What an idiot I am to be weighted down by a sense of failure! I've actually scored this morning after all. The old fool very nearly let the cat out of the bag though! If I had only hung about a moment longer I might have heard all. But I'll worm out the secret yet. A double allowance if I turn Methody! Ha, ha! Why, lacs of rupees are more likely my rightful portion!"
Remembering his promise to return to Ballygunge Road to tiffin, he decided to call a tikka-gharry, and was stepping into it when he was accosted by a young man with a cringing air whom he at once recognised as Mr. Fyson's Eurasian clerk.
"Beg pardon, sir, but a word with you for your own advantage!" he said, making salaams.
"Well, out with it! I'm in a hurry," said Mr. Rayner in an impatient tone.
"You see, sir, it's like this," began the man, putting his head to one side. "I couldn't help hearing your talk through the door. You and the master both havin' a kind of carryin' voice—not as I heard all your talk—but you want to know who your father is? Well, I can let you into thatt secret," he added, with a nod and a wink.
"And pray what do you know about it?" asked Rayner coldly. "How can I believe a word that you say when you stand a convicted eavesdropper?"
"Oh, sir, don't say thatt," said the young man, glancing furtively round, his hands clinging to the window of the gharry. "But, look here, sir, if you'll trust me I'll give you his name and proof positive into the bargain. Can't do it now, I see a fellow from Truelove's comin' along, and suspicion might be raised if you and me is caught hobnobbin'. They're terrible strict at our place."
"Well, where can we meet?" asked Rayner, seeing the difficulty of prolonging the present interview. "I'm a stranger to the town. I could come to your house this evening if you give me your address—that is to say if you've got anything worth telling me."
"Oh, sir, my house is too humble for a grand gent like you to come to," returned the clerk, shaking his head.
"Where then, quick, don't you humbug me a moment longer. Drive on, gharry-wallah," he shouted to the coachman, "I'm sick of this nonsense."
"One moment," pleaded the other, making a sign to the driver, and putting his head in at the window of the gharry. "What price if I tell you the secret and prove it?"
"A ten rupee note will be ample payment," returned Rayner.
"A ten-rupee note," echoed the clerk, withdrawing his head, then he thrust it in again. "Look here, sir, if you'll meet me at the Shrine of Kali at seven o'clock to-night—any gharry-wallah will drive you to that place, it ain't more than a mile off—I'll tell you what you want to know and prove it, but not for one pie less than one hundred rupees. I don't sell Truelove's best secret for naught," he added, with a cunning leer.
"All right, I'll consider," said Rayner.
The gharry-wallah waved his whip and began to thread his way along the crowded thoroughfare.
On the same day as Alfred Rayner made his call on Truelove Brothers, Mrs. Fellowes, with Hester seated by her side, was driving in her little victoria towards Vepery. They had made a slightdétourby the lines of the Native Infantry, which was some distance from the residential quarter, and had now left behind the quiet corner with the officers' bungalows and reached the First Line Beach.
"I always like this bit," remarked Mrs. Fellowes. "Somehow it reminds me of one of the quays of Newcastle where I used to visit a dear friend when I was a girl. I suppose all busy seaport places have a family likeness. This suggests to me one of the vanished haunts of my girlhood, and has always made this First Line Beach pleasant to me."
Hester led her friend to share with her the pleasant reminiscences of the past, and their talk flowed on till the sight of the polo match in progress on the green island proved a distraction. The spectacle was being watched by crowds of spectators from the well-filled grand stand, and at the palings the natives clustered, scanning the feats of the agile riders with shrill delight.
The ladies in the victoria did not halt long in the neighbourhood of the island. Their destination was further inland, to the crowded quarter of Vepery.
"When I told the Colonel that you and I were going to make an impromptu call on Mr. Morpeth, he said it was rather unfair," said Mrs. Fellowes. "That, being a bachelor, we should have given him warning."
"Mr. Morpeth looks so calm and detached—almost like a fakir, I don't think anything could take him by surprise," returned Hester with a smile. "Anyhow I'm going to make my visit at last. I have long wanted to see Mr. Morpeth at home, and you know he did invite us to come any afternoon. I don't think he'll mind our going without warning. You see, we never have any time left the day we are at the Girls' Club."
"I'm sure he won't mind," agreed Mrs. Fellowes. "It's only Joe's red-tape fussiness. I once took Mrs. Campbell of Puranapore to call on him when she was staying with us, and his reception of us was charming. But I really don't think there is anything of the fakir in Mr. Morpeth. It always strikes me what a delightful family man he would have made, but instead he has opened his heart to his poor despised race and lives for them. But I've been thinking he has been looking more lonely and sad lately. He has a sorrowful preoccupied air he didn't have when we first knew him. Ah, here we are at Freyville!"
"What a neat, home-like gate!" exclaimed Hester. "I haven't seen anything so tidy since I left Pinkthorpe. How carefully tended his garden looks! How can he manage it? Our compound at Clive's Road was looking quite brown and withered even before I left it."
She looked round with admiration on the well-kept borders, carefully trimmed shrubs and hedges, and the well-watered flowers.
"It's all of a piece—outside and in," said Mrs. Fellowes. "The fact is, my dear, we are too much birds of passage to do justice to our homes here. They are merely camps to us, but to these sons of the soil they are real homes; and that's what Mr. Morpeth wants to make them for his poorer brethren of the Eurasian community, who are too often contented to crowd together in the most miserable sheds. Then Mr. Morpeth gets much better service than we can. His staff is not scattered to the winds every few years like ours. The residents are able to have their retainers growing grey in their service, and they become as perfect as the servants of the best, and fast dying out type, at home. Here comes one of these now! Well, Mootoo, is your master at home?"
"He is, ma'am, and very pleased will he be to see you," said the man, showing his white teeth as he salaamed. One could see from under the edge of his artistically-folded turban, a suspicion of grey hair. His snow white tunic fell in graceful folds about his tall figure as he noiselessly led the way to introduce the visitors.
"This hall is my envy," said Mrs. Fellowes. "It is all paved in real marble. Some of those older Madras houses are so. I do love those black and white chequers. What a poor substitute our rattan matting is, or even when the chequers are copied in chunam."
As they lingered to admire some of the massive hand-made furnishings of the hall they heard the sound of voices.
"Oh, what a pity, he has company to-day! I should have preferred a nice talk with him all by ourselves," whispered Mrs. Fellowes.
"Only one company, Missus," said Mootoo, smiling, having overheard her remark as he prepared to announce them.
Mr. Morpeth, of whom they first caught sight, was bending forward in his easy-chair with an air of interest listening to the conversation of his visitor, Mark Cheveril.
"Ah, good! A meeting of friends!" exclaimed the old man in a gleeful tone. "This is what Mootoo would call a lucky day for me!"
"For me too," said Mark, as he shook hands with the ladies, a happy light coming into his frank eyes. "And it follows on a disappointment, too. I've just been to Clive's Road on my way from the station to find its mistress absent."
"Now, Mr. Cheveril," broke in Mrs. Fellowes, "if you had only had the intuition to drive on to Royapooram you would have found the absent bird there."
"I did think of it, for the boy volunteered the information that Mr. Rayner was in Calcutta and 'Missus done gone to Royapooram,'" returned Mark. He glanced now at Hester with keen eyes, and was satisfied to note that she was looking better and happier than when he had last seen her.
"But if he had made that round, Mrs. Fellowes, where should I have come in?" asked Mr. Morpeth. "The fact is I look upon him as my peculiar property for the day, seeing I lured him all the way from Puranapore to open our new Reading-room for our young men. Wasn't that a good move, Mrs. Fellowes?"
"Excellent—I am glad! And if I didn't know that you eschewed females on these occasions, I should suggest that we should come to hear Mr. Cheveril's speech, shouldn't you, Hester?"
"Indeed I should! But mayn't we, Mr. Morpeth?" asked Hester, her winning smile evoking a return one from the old man. "You are master of ceremonies, are you not?"
"It wouldn't do, believe me," replied Mr. Morpeth, shaking his head. "Our masculine efforts would have no chance. The lads would be too much fascinated by the unwonted presence of English ladies."
"Singular number, please, Mr. Morpeth," said Mrs. Fellowes promptly. "I don't think an old body like me would distract them. But I suppose he knows best, Hester, we must give in. He is very impartial, you see, he won't come to our Girls' Friendly. We must accept the scruples of an expert."
Mootoo was now bringing in tea, which was daintily served on a richly carved old silver tray. The cups and saucers being of old Chelsea china, while the lovely Cutch work silver service belonged to the more artistic period of that style.
"Every time I come here I ask the same question like a regular Mrs. Gamp," laughed Mrs. Fellowes. "Where do you get this delicious blend of tea? It's the most refreshing cup I ever get anywhere," and she sipped the fragrant beverage from the delicate Chelsea cup. "And those scones, aren't they perfect, Mr. Cheveril? Never did I taste their like except in the Highlands of Scotland!"
Mootoo, who was serving, showed his keen gratification by a quiver of his eyelids, these scones being his special triumph, for Mootoo could cook excellently as well as do "butler" work, and with juggler-like rapidity had turned out the scones and cakes which Mrs. Fellowes declared would bring down reproaches upon her from her husband when he observed she had no appetite left for dinner.
Tea being over, the older lady suggested that their host should allow them to see some of the interesting things with which his house abounded, and declared she would lead the prowl. Mark had already made the acquaintance of some of these treasures.
"I was just saying to Mr. Morpeth," he remarked, "that in this Indian house he had carried out the chief function of an old country mansion at home—that of being the receptacle for storing things one cannot carry about with one in a roving life."
"Yes, that's what the Colonel's always lamenting," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "There can be no relic-gathering in the Anglo-Indian's lot. And after all, these possessions are the making of a family—collections of old letters, heirloom portraits, mementos of persons and events—why, one can't keep anything of the kind in India! I once had a lock of Prince Charlie's yellow hair—purported to be so, anyhow—among my treasures. Thepoocheesate it in one week! No, all that sacred storing of precious things is denied to us poor wanderers over the great restless ocean," wound up Mrs. Fellowes sadly.
The delightful shelves of books seemed to be calling Hester's attention, and Mark Cheveril was in his element introducing her to some of his old favourites of which she had only heard from him. Presently Mr. Morpeth was called to the verandah to see two young men who had come in to consult him about some final arrangements for the coming meeting, and Mrs. Fellowes went to converse with the parrot, who always claimed her attention on her visits to Freyville.
Mark and Hester, continuing their explorations, came upon a shelf among the rows of books which seemed to be given up to miniatures and daguerrotypes. One of these was the portrait of a young man with a rarely beautiful face which caught Hester's eye.
"I feel sure this is a portrait of Mr. Morpeth when he was young," she remarked, after scanning it.
"If so he has sadly changed," returned Mark, as he looked at the young spirited face with bright, dauntless-looking eyes, and compared them with the sad, meditative grey orbs into which he had been looking before the ladies joined them.
"And this, I suppose, must be his sister! She looks too young for his mother. Pretty face, isn't it?" said Hester, handing Mark another old daguerrotype in its leathern case.
"Superficially pretty, perhaps," returned Mark. "No, I don't admire the face," he added, and was about to replace it on the shelf without further comment, when Hester said:
"Let me see it again! It reminds me curiously of some girl—I think—I've seen either here or at home. Those eyes look familiar and the shape of that nose—I know who it's like. It has a look of my husband! How odd! I'm sure he isn't girlish-looking," she added with a laugh.
Mark took the portrait into his hand again and examined it attentively. "Yes, perhaps there is a likeness—about the eyes especially."
He was still looking at it when they were joined by Mrs. Fellowes and Mr. Morpeth.
"Ah, you are looking at my little gallery of old portraits," he said. "I fear they are not very artistic But I've got some portfolios of old engravings that are worth looking at. I have them carefully stowed away, one can't leave such things about. The monsoon makes such havoc on all pictures—even under glass, not to speak of the insects."
"Is this a relative of yours, Morpeth?" asked Mark, holding out the old daguerrotype. "Your sister, perhaps!"
"No, not my sister, alas, I never had one! That is my late wife."
"Your wife!" exclaimed Mrs. Fellowes, coming forward to look at the picture. "Forgive my accent of surprise, dear friend, but do you know neither the Colonel nor I ever knew you were married. We have always set you down as a bachelor!"
"Well, I have been so for many a long day. My wife died a year after we were married," he added, a pained look crossing his face.
Mrs. Fellowes, after a close survey of the portrait, replaced it on the shelf, saying to herself as she did so:
"Wouldn't have been much of a companion to the dear man if she had lived, if I can read faces!"
Hester, seeing the look of sadness in Mr. Morpeth's eyes, hastened to make some digression, and turned to admire an exquisitely carved ivory box which stood on the same shelf as the portraits.
"This is beautiful workmanship, Mr. Morpeth. I am specially interested because I have a box rather like it which I greatly admired, and still do, though I can see now the great superiority of yours. My husband presented me with mine when we were engaged to be married. Of course, he believed it to be the finest ivory, so his disappointment was great when an expert, to whom he was showing it lately, pronounced it to be only bone! I assured Alfred I thought it was just as beautiful as before, but he's never been able to look on it with favour since. I confess I can see, on examining yours, the difference between the true and the false."
"Yes, I can vouch for this one," replied Mr. Morpeth, "that it is at least genuine, for I gave the man the bit of ivory out of which it is carved. It's years ago now. The man was a poor worker who had lost both his legs, but his hands stood him in good stead. He was the most perfect ivory-carver I've ever seen. He was a bit of a genius in other ways too. His designs were often original. If you examine this box closely you will see there is a whole history carved on its top and sides. He became a Christian and loved gospel themes, and these are some scenes from the life of Our Lord. See, here He sits with Mary at His feet listening to His words, and there He is walking on the sea. Aren't those billows wonderful—carved out of such a hard material as ivory?"
But now Mrs. Fellowes remarked that though they had only made a beginning in their examination of his treasures, they must really set out for home, or the Colonel would begin to get anxious about them. She turned to Mark to try to persuade him to give them some hours before he left for Puranapore on the following day, but he said he must return in the early morning as some matters were requiring his attention at the Revenue Office, and that the Collector and he were to start on tour the day following.
Mrs. Fellowes and her guest said good-bye, and were already seated in the victoria when Mr. Morpeth came round to the side of the carriage at which Hester sat, and laid a little parcel in her hand.
"It's only the ivory box! Will you accept it as a little memento of your first visit to a lonely old man? Let this replace the false one. Use it freely—keep your mother's letters in it. I got the secret of restoring stained ivory from the carver, and I'll share it with you when the little box needs a cleaning."
"Oh, but really I cannot deprive you of this priceless treasure," cried Hester, with a genuinely troubled air. "No, it must not go from your keeping!"
"If it goes to yours it will please me more than you can guess," returned Mr. Morpeth, his pathetic grey eyes pleading more than his words.
"Then I shall keep the little box with its beautiful carved histories as my best treasure as long as I live," said Hester, her eyes glistening with tears as she clasped the packet in both hands and looked into the donor's face.
The two gentlemen stood bareheaded in the sunset glow to watch them drive off, the turbaned Mootoo behind them, framed by the graceful festooning creepers of the verandah, while the parrot called from its perch: "Come back soon, master lonely!"
"Very pat for once, Polly," said Mr. Morpeth with a smile, as he scratched the bird's neck; while Mark stood with folded arms and earnest eyes watching the disappearing carriage.
"I shall never forget the picture those two made standing there," said Hester, looking back towards the verandah. "Those sad eyes of the old man wring my heart. How good it is that Mark seems to love him like a son."
"Yes, my dear, we've had a very pleasant visit, though it was impromptu. We'll be able to tell the Colonel how well it turned out."
As Alfred Rayner was being driven along the crowded streets of Calcutta after his call on Truelove Brothers, he felt less inclined than ever for a pleasure trip on the river, or even for a return to tiffin with his host and hostess. He decided that he must find a safety-valve for his disturbed state of mind, and presently he caught sight of a gaudy sign announcing: "Tiffin and Billiards within." The place looked large and airy, and he saw some figures like European gentlemen moving about within.
"I'll tiff here more comfortably than with those worthy Melfords," he said to himself, and called to the gharry-wallah to halt. He paid his fare, dismissed him, and entered the wide doorway.
During lunch he made the acquaintance of some of thehabituésof the Club, who appeared eager to receive him, and invited him to share their game. Being an excellent billiard player, he congratulated himself as the afternoon advanced on having had a good stroke of fortune in stumbling into this resort.
"I've positively made enough to pay that crawling half-caste if I do make up my mind to buy his secret. Perhaps I'd better take the hazard of the die! It may prove well spent money. I'm convinced I'll hear my secretive pater is agrand seigneur, possibly lounging about Piccadilly at this moment while his son is grilling here! I could read in old Fyson's manner, as well as in his words, that my dad was 'somebody,' and if I have the secret from his clerk, I shan't have him to thank for the present of it. Yes, as I've made the required sum I will go and buy it from that creature whose long ears have stood him in good stead."
He glanced at his watch and found that it was now nearly the appointed hour for the meeting at the Shrine of Kali. Having taken the measure of the men round him, he knew well that they were reckoning on getting his winnings transferred to their own pockets before the evening was over. To announce therefore his intention to depart would prove worse than foolish. Seizing a moment when he found himself near the door, he flung aside his cue and hurried off with such suddenness that the other inmates of the room did not realise he was gone.
"Very neatly played," he muttered with a relieved sigh, as he leant back in the tikka-gharry which was carrying him along the brightly-lit streets to the appointed trysting-place.
Presently the paving-stones were left behind, and the gharry rattled along a soft dusty roadway lined by trees, though the presence of lamps indicated that they were still in the suburbs. At last the gharry-wallah pulled up at the precincts of the little sandstone temple embowered by trees. Long dank grass of a marshy kind grew all round, the temple being in the near neighbourhood of a small river which ran into the Hoogly. This river was regarded as sacred, and therefore the little shrine had been planted on its banks.
Under the shadow of a big neem tree Mr. Rayner caught sight of the Eurasian clerk, who now came towards him through the long grass with rapid steps.
"Thought you were never coming, sir," he began. "I've been hangin' about this blessed place for more than an hour. I was makin' up my mind you was goin' to give me the slip!"
He was holding some papers in his hand and his eyes shone with excitement. Mr. Rayner dismissed the gharry, and advanced a few steps into the grass, saying impatiently:
"Well, out with it! Mind, if you humbug me, I'll find means to pay you out in something different from a bag of rupees. But for good value I'll pay you a good price. I know my father must be a person of importance, or Truelove Brothers wouldn't have been so deferential to me all along."
"You're right, sir, he is a person of veree great importance. What's more, I've seen him with my own eyes and heard 'em whisperin'—the boss and him about you—'Alfred' bein' your name. So you see I know more than you might think to look at me."
"You'd need to!" said Rayner contemptuously, as he surveyed the bent shoulders and the weak face of this humble member of the race he despised. "Come on then, out with it! I can't stand all night listening to your haverings. His name and his address!"
"His name is an honoured one among us. It's David Morpeth, sir, and his address is Freyville, Vepery, Madras!"
"You lie—you lie!" shouted Rayner, after a moment's stunned silence, waxing so deadly pale that the clerk thought he was about to faint. Then suddenly he flung himself on the young man and seized him by the throat. "You lie, say you lie!" he screamed.
The youth strove frantically to shake himself free from the grasp of the convulsive fingers, and after a struggle succeeded in doing so.
"Oh my gracious me!" he gasped. "Oh, my, what an onset—and for my prime bit of news too, as I thought you'd be proud to hear—you the son of such a man!"
"Listen to me, you idiot," said Rayner in a choking voice, with an effort to calm himself. "There must be some mistake! This is not the truth you have told me. Say that you've lied and I'll forgive you—you'll have your hundred rupees. I've got it here—say you've been lying!"
"I can't say no different than what I've stated," said the clerk, shaking his head dolorously. "I've got you the proofs in my hand. Though they be pilfered they're genuine, as you, being a man of education, will see at a glance."
He laid two letters into Rayner's hand. The writing could hardly be distinguished in the dim light, but on his going under one of the lamps he could read the words which David Morpeth had lately written to Mr. Fyson concerning his son. One recorded the offer of the double allowance "if my son, Alfred Rayner, will agree to abandon his betting and gambling habits and turn to better ways." It bore so obviously the impress of genuineness that even Alfred Rayner could no longer doubt the truth of the, to him, appalling revelation.
"You see it was like this," said the clerk, in an explanatory tone, setting his head on one side. "Mr. Morpeth's wife—your mother, was, as I've heard, a great toast in Chandrychoke, though one would not have said, according to my mother, that she was a match for him—Mr. Morpeth, I mean—his family belonging to Duramtollah, where the upper classes of us Eurasians live. But he wedded her all the same, and she worried him a good bit with her high-flown ideas and her temper and all, being a trifle light. He was always a quiet gentleman, they say. When you was born and she lay a-dying, she made him pledge himself to give you up to her sister Flo who was wed on a Mister Rayner. He once held the same post as myself in Trueloves', but he made his pile somehow and went to England to swagger and spend."
The man was so taken up with his narration that he forgot he was speaking to the relative of these people. At the mention of his aunt's name, Rayner squirmed. Cruel searching daylight was stealing into his mind. Forgotten things were being brought to memory. He covered his face and leant against a tree, groaning. But the clerk, with a ring of indignation in hischi-chivoice, proceeded:
"And you, forsooth, were never even to be told about your father and was to carry the name of Rayner—a name a deal sight lower than Morpeth. I can show you the very house you was born in and where you was bred till you was took to England. It's not far from this veree spot. Your aunt said as how she would live no longer in half-caste holes, though she was a good bit darker than me, if you'll remember. And Mr. Morpeth, he took a bungalow for them, and they lived there like fighting-cocks till they took you away across the black water. Being a kid, maybe you'll not mind, but there's more than one in Chandrychoke, including my mother, that minds well. So why you're squealin' and fightin' with me for tellin' the veree facts, I can't see," he wound up querulously, as he tried to peer into Rayner's face which was now turned towards him, appearing ghastly white, his eyes staring vacantly.
Some moments elapsed, and as Rayner still did not speak, the youth began to get impatient, and moreover, longed for his supper.
"I'll be steppin' townwards now, sir," he said timidly, keeping his eyes fixed on the rigid face. Mechanically Alfred Rayner drew from his small travelling satchel the bag of rupees, and held it out to the clerk, whose long thin fingers closed upon it. Without waiting to count the money he hurried off across the grass, never halting till he was well clear of the Shrine of Kali. Then he sat down under one of the oil lamps which skirted the road.
"I wonder if he's given me up to our bargain," he muttered. "Shouldn't wonder if he's divided it by half seeing he took my prime bit of news thatt bad. Oh my gracious me, to think of his turning up his nose 'cause Mr. Morpeth was his father, and him not fit to black his boots, for all his airs and fine clothes! I saw well the boss didn't seem to think much of him. Yes," he added, with a gratified start, after counting the money. "I declare, the hundred rupees is here all right. My gracious, some folks be fools and no mistake!" Then he jumped up and proceeded to walk home with brisk steps.
How long Alfred Rayner stood in the shadow of Kali's Shrine he never could have told, nor would he have wished to recall. Waves of misery seemed to roll over him. For long he could not steady his thoughts, and when he partially succeeded, his fury only grew apace. He saw it all now, he said to himself. From his very birth he had been the cruel sport of an evil fate! How he recognised his Aunt Flo in the touches the clerk had given! Yes, shewasdark, and used to delight in recounting how she had been a beautiful brunette in her day, though she always dwelt with complacency on his being a fair-skinned boy! He recalled that more than once since his return to India he had been haunted by a subconscious feeling that there might be a strain of the hated half-caste blood in his veins. It was that fear which he had hardly allowed to cross his mind which had proved the origin of his attitude towards the whole class, while to David Morpeth his hatred had amounted to an obsession. Never could he behold the man without a sense of bitter annoyance which he knew full well, had found vent on more than one occasion. He recalled that evening when he had almost trampled on him as he was driving home in his mail-phaeton—and Cheveril's remonstrance. The whole scene sprang vividly into his memory. In his impotent rage he wished the hoofs of his Australians had trampled the life out of him that night. And again when he had crossed his path on the steps of his own house—ah, he remembered it well. It had been the occasion of his first quarrel with Hester.
"Oh, Hester, I had forgotten you!" he groaned. "She's bound to hear this awful disclosure. The secret seems common property. Perhaps she'll turn from me, or worse still, she will take sides with that half-caste, Cheveril. But after all this vile secret may be long in filtering through. My rôle is to put a bold front on it, and hold up my head and pose as heretofore as a pure-bred Englishman. If any rumour reaches my wife's ear I can squash it by persuading her that the whole thing is a slander trumped up by my enemies. But the allowance? I can't, I shan't continue to finger a penny of the money that comes from that man! I'll throw it back in his face, hard up as I am, at least I'll command Truelove Brothers to do so. I'll have no dealings with him. I'll pass him as before. I'll let the hoofs of my horses trample on him if they will. No mawkish sentiment for me! I'm not going to risk my reputation by having it known my father is a half-caste—even if it's true! The whole story may be a lie. I may only be some ward of his, and he swindling me with but a slice of my fortune."
A prey to seething thoughts, almost without knowing it he had started on his homeward walk. At the moment when he clung to the hope that after all he was the victim of some conspiracy and that there was no blood-tie between him and the hated community, he happened to glance up at a bungalow which was now brightly lit by oil lamps. Its circular verandah was ornamented with trellis-work eaves, among which tendrils of a dark glossy creeper intertwined. Suddenly there sprang to his mind the conviction that he had seen that spot long ago. Yes, those trellis-work eaves had looked down upon him when he was a little boy! One day he had gleefully rolled a new bright painted wheelbarrow along that verandah, and the giver of that wheelbarrow, a grave, silent big man with grey eyes, stood by watching him as he played, with a smile on his face—the smile of David Morpeth! Then the little boy had pushed his wheelbarrow down those red steps and run full tilt at the gardener's baby, a little, naked, brown urchin, who stood gazing open-mouthed, and knocked him down, while the air rent with his shrill cries. Then the smile vanished from the face of the big man, and with a stern air he brought his fingers down sharply on the owner of the new wheelbarrow, who in his turn gave an angry yell which brought a half-dressed woman with long black locks falling about her to the verandah. She had folded the boy in her arms, saying shrilly: "What are you doing to mychota sahib? You shall not touch my precious one with your big hands."
"I punished him for knocking down the gardener's boy, Flora," answered a grave voice.
"A native brat! What matter of thatt?"
And the grave voice replied: "If you bring the boy up like this, Flora Rayner, he'll turn out a scoundrel." Then the big man turned away with sad, stern eyes—the eyes of David Morpeth!
It was Alfred Rayner's only memory of the past, but it leapt out now, a clear-cut picture, as he stood gazing on the once familiar spot.
"Bah! What have I, an English gentleman bred, to do with such a nightmare," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders, as he walked off with quickened steps. "I'll bury the whole thing fathoms deep."
He did not slacken his pace till the feebly-lit road merged into the bright streets of the city. Seeing the doors of a hotel standing invitingly open, he paused.
"I'm hopelessly late for the Melford's dinner now, I'd better fortify my inner man here," he said to himself, and hurried up the steps. "This mad meeting at the Shrine of Kali has robbed me of my usual appetite. I'll just toss down a glass of brandy to strengthen my nerves before I face that estimable couple."
The stimulant seemed restoring. He passed out to the street again and hailed a tikka-gharry to drive him to Ballygunge Road without further delay.
His host and hostess could not help greeting him with inquiring eyes on his arrival.
"A most discourteous guest I must appear, Mrs. Melford. But pray don't pass sentence on me till you have heard my sad tale," he said lightly. "Well, to begin with, when I emerged from Truelove Brothers I found that I was hopelessly late for your tiffin, and also for joining the steam-launch party. I refreshed myself as best I could at a place near, and then set out to mow down some calls, seeing that the pleasure of an afternoon on the river was beyond my reach. Then I lost myself, as one may well do in this labyrinth of a place. At last I managed to pick up a gharry and here I am, full of contrition for my bad behaviour. Hope you forgive me, Mrs. Melford?"
"Oh, but I'm sorry you missed our river picnic. It was so delightful and cool. What a strange day you seem to have had," the hostess added, with a musing air which Mr. Rayner did not relish.
"Didn't Fyson offer you tiffin?" asked Mr. Melford.
"He did not—most inhospitable, wasn't it?" said Mr. Rayner quickly, assuming an injured air.
"Strange! I happen to know that the partners of Trueloves' always have an ample table—covers for anybody who may turn up. In fact they're reckoned most hospitable," said Mr. Melford, deciding that things had evidently not turned out as his guest had expected. Conversation began to flag, then Mr. Rayner remembered that he had letters to attend to.
"No, thanks," he said, declining his host's invitation to the smoking room. "I've indulged in too many exciting cheroots to-day already"; and with a light laugh he withdrew to his own room.
"Rayner's not in good form to-night," remarked his host.
"Oh, Jack, I can't suffer him! He's all 'form,' it seems to me. He doesn't look a true man. I'm very sorry for his wife. Is he quite, quite English, do you think? Did you notice his fingers, and there is surely something oriental in those eyes of his, they're fine, but there's something—I only noticed it since he came in to-night."
"Oh, well, he was born in this country. I have thought once or twice he may have dark blood in him, but dear me, even if he has. There are many excellent Eurasians! Much more sterling characters among them than he seems to be turning out. He used to be a clever, amusing fellow, but it strikes me from what Tresham said he's been spending too much, and that demoralises a man, of course. Perhaps his wife is a butterfly—fond of show!"
"Ah, there you are, the poor wife always gets the blame! Remember Mr. Tresham said she was very charming and good. The same can't be said of her husband, I fear," said Mrs. Melford, looking at her lord and master with a glance of satisfaction.
Next morning Mrs. Melford could not help feeling a sense of relief when her guest announced that he found he must at once return home—that more than one case in the High Court claimed his presence.
That evening Alfred Rayner sailed down the Hoogly carrying his secret with him on his way back to Madras.