CHAPTER II.EXPECTATION.
"For now sits expectation in the air,And hides a sword."
"For now sits expectation in the air,And hides a sword."
"For now sits expectation in the air,And hides a sword."
"For now sits expectation in the air,And hides a sword."
"For now sits expectation in the air,
And hides a sword."
—Henry V.
Allthis time Colonel Denis had been engaged in animated conversation with Mr. Quentin. Nature had been doubly generous to the latter gentleman, for she had not merely endowed him with unusual personal attractions, but had increased these attractions by the gift of a charming manner that fascinated every one who came in contact with him—from the General himself down to the sullen convict boatmen; it was quite natural to him, even when discussing a trivial subject, with an individual who rather bored him than otherwise, to throw such an appearance of interest into his words and looks that one would imagine all his thoughts were centred in the person before him and the topic under discussion.
To men this attitude was flattering, to women irresistible, and what though his words were writ on sand, his manner had its effect, and was an even more powerful factor in his great popularity than his stalwart figure and handsome face. At the present moment he stood leaning on his furled umbrella, listening with rapt attention to what Colonel Denis had to say on the subject of whale-boatsversusgigs (every one at Ross kept a boat of their own, like the O'Tooles at the time of the Flood). The Colonel was enlarging on the capabilities of his new purchase—bought expressly in honour of his daughter, as he would have bought a carriage elsewhere—when he was interrupted by Mr. Lisle (who meanwhile had been keeping watch on the horizon and whistling snatches of the overture to "Mirella" under his breath), abruptly announcing, "Here she is!"
Colonel Denis was so startled that he actually dropped the telescope, which rolled to his informant's feet, who, picking it up, noticed as he returned it that Colonel Denis was looking strangely nervous, and thatthe hand stretched towards him was shaking visibly. He gazed at him with considerable surprise, and was about to make some remark, when Mr. Quentin exclaimed in a tone of genuine alarm,—
"By George! here is Mrs. Creery. I see the top of her topee coming up the hill, and I'm going."
But he reckoned without that good lady, who had already cut off his retreat. In another moment her round florid face appeared below the topee, followed by her ample person, clad in a sulphur-colour sateen costume, garnished with green ribbons; last, but not least, came her fat yellow-and-white dog, "Nip," an animal that she called "a darling," "a treasure," "a duck," and "a fox-terrier," but no other person in the settlement recognized him by any of these titles. Before she was within twenty yards, she called out in a thin, authoritative treble,—
"Well, what are you all doing here? what is it, eh? Any news? You need not be looking for theScotia; she can't possibly be in till to-morrow, you know—I told you so, Colonel Denis. Oh," in answer to a silent gesture from Mr. Lisle, "so Sheiscoming in, is she?" in a tone that gave her listeners to understand that she had no business to be there, contradicting Mrs. Creery.
"And so you have been up playing tennis at the General's," to Mr. Quentin. "I saw your peon going by with your bat and shoes; but what has broughtyouover to Ross, Mr. Lisle—I thought you rarely left the mainland?" fastening on him now for that especial reason.
"I don't often come over," he replied, parrying the question.
"You've been shopping in the bazaar," she continued; "you have been buying collars."
"Mrs. Creery is unanswerable—she is gifted with 'second sight.'" (All the same it was not collars, but cartridges, that he had purchased.)
"Not she!" returned the lady with a laugh, "but she has eyes in her head, and that's a collar-box in your hand! I can tell most things by the shape of the parcel. Still as charmed as ever with Aberdeen?"
Mr. Lisle bowed.
"I heard that you were going away?"
"So I am—" he paused, and then added, "some day."
"What do you do with all your photographs—sell them? Oh, but to be sure you can't do that here. You must find the chemicals terribly costly."
"They are rather expensive."
"I'll tell you what, I will give you a little commission! How would you like to come over some morning and take me and Nip, and then the bungalow, and then a group of our servants?"
If Mr. Lisle's face was any index of his mind, it said plainly that he would not relish the prospect at all.
"I want to send home some photos to my sister, Lady Grubb. Of course I shall pay you—that's understood."
During this conversation, Colonel Denis looked miserably uncomfortable, and Mr. Quentin as if it was with painful difficulty that he restrained his laughter; the travelling photographer alone was unmoved; he surveyed his patroness gravely, as if he were taking a mental plate of her topee with its purple puggaree, her little eager light eyes, her important nose and ruddy cheeks, and then replied in a most deferential manner,—
"Thank you very much for your kind offer, but I am not a professional photographer."
Was Mrs. Creery crushed? Not at all, she merely raised her light eyebrows and said,—
"Oh, not a professional photographer! Then whatareyou?"
"Mrs. Creery's very humble slave," bowing profoundly.
"Photographs are rather a sore subject with him just now," broke in Mr. Quentin in his loud, hearty voice. "You have not heard what happened to him yesterday when he was out shooting?"
"No; how should I?" she retorted peevishly.
"Well, I must say he bore it like a stoic. I myself, mild as I am, and sweet as you know my temper to be, would have killed the fellow."
"What fellow?"
"My new chokra. Time hung heavily on his hands, and I suppose he thought he would be doing something really useful for once in hislife, so he went into the room where Lisle keeps all his precious plates—photographic plates, not even printed off—plates he has collected and treasured like so many diamonds—"
"Well, well, well?" tapping her foot.
"My dear lady, I'm coming to it if you won't hurry me. My confounded chokra took them all for so much DIRTY GLASS, and washed every man Jack of them, and was exceedingly proud of his industry!"
"And what did you do to him?" demanded Mrs. Creery, turning round and staring at the victim of ignorance.
"Nothing—what could I do? he knew no better; but I told my fellow not to let him come near me for a few days."
"Colonel Denis," said the lady, now addressing him, "is it true that you have not seen your daughter for thirteen years?"
"Yes, quite true, I am sorry to say."
"Why did you not go home on furlough?"
"I never could manage it. When I could get home I had no money, and when money was plentiful, there was no leave."
"Ah, and you told me she was a pretty girl, I believe; I hope you are not building onthat, for pretty children are a delusion; I never yet saw one of them that did not grow up plain."
"Exceptingme, Mrs. Creery," expostulated Mr. Quentin; "if history is to be believed, I was a most beautiful infant—so beautiful that people came to see me for miles and miles around, and (insinuatingly) I'm sure you would not call me plain now?"
Mrs. Creery (who had a secret partiality for this gentleman) laughed incredulously, and then replied, "Well, perhaps you are the exception that proves the rule. Of course," once more addressing Colonel Denis, "your daughter will bring out all the new fashions, and have no end of pretty things—that is if you have given her a liberal outfit."
She here paused for a reply, but no answer being forthcoming went on, "If you feel at all nervous about meeting her, I'll go on boardwith you with pleasure; I shouldlikeit, and you are well enough acquainted with me to know that you have only to say the word!"
At this suggestion, the eyes of the two bystanders met, and exchanged a significant glance, and whilst Colonel Denis was stammering forth his thanks and excuses, they hastily took leave of Mrs. Creery and made their escape.
"The steamer is coming in very fast, and I think I'll go home and see that everything is ready," said the Colonel after a pause.
"Well, perhaps it would be as well," acceded the lady; "but are you really certain you would not like me to meet her, or, at any rate, to be at your bungalow to receive her?"
Once more her companion politely but firmly declined her good offices, assuring her earnestly that they were quite unnecessary, and the lady, visibly disappointed, said as she shouldered her parasol and turned away, "Perhaps you will have your journey for nothing! I should not be the least surprised if she did not come by this steamer after all! and mark my words, that ayah—that Fatima—that you would engage in spite of my advice, will give you troubleyet!"
Colonel Denis, nothing daunted, hurried down to his own bungalow, a large one facing the mainland, entirely surrounded by a deep verandah, and approached by a pathway hedged with yellow heliotrope. A good many preparations had been made for the expected young mistress; there were flowers everywhere in profusion, curious tropical ones, berries, and orchids, and ferns.
The lamps were lit in the sitting-rooms, and everything was extremely neat, and yet there was a want; there was a bare gaunt look about the drawing-room, although it had been lately furnished and Ram Sawmy, the butler of twenty years' standing, had disposed the chairs and tables in the most approved fashion—in his eyes—and put up coloured purdahs and white curtains, all for "Missy Baba." Nevertheless, the general effect was grim and comfortless. There were no nick-nacks, books, or chair-backs: there certainly were a few coarse white antimacassars,but these were gracefully arranged, according to Sawmy's taste, as coverings for the smaller tables! Colonel Denis looked about him discontentedly, moved a chair here, a vase there, then happening to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he went up to it and anxiously confronted his own reflection. How wrinkled and grey he looked! he might be fifteen years older than his real age. After a few seconds he took up and opened a small album, and critically scanned a faded photograph of a gentleman in a long frock-coat, with corresponding whiskers, leaning over a balustrade, his hat and gloves carelessly disposed at his elbow—a portrait of himself taken many years previously.
"There is no use in my thinking that it's the least like menow; she could not know me again—no more than I would know her—" then closing the book with a snap, and suddenly raising his voice, he called out: "Here, Sawmy, see that dinner is ready in half an hour and have the ayah waiting. I'm going for missy."
Doubtless dinner and the ayah had a long time to wait, for it was fully an hour before theScotiadropped anchor off Ross; she was immediately surrounded by a swarm of boats, including that of Colonel Denis, who boarded her, and descended among the crowd to the cabin, with his heart beating unusually fast.
The cabin lamps were lit, and somewhat dazzled the eyes of those who entered from the moonlight. There were but few passengers, and the most noticeable of these was Helen Denis, who sat alone at the end of a narrow table, with a bag on her lap, the inevitable waterproof over her arm, and her gaze fixed anxiously on the door leading from the companion ladder. Colonel Denis would not be disappointed; his daughterhadfulfilled the promise of her youth, and was a very pretty girl. She was slight and fair, with regular features and quantities of light brown hair—hair that twenty years ago was called fair, before golden and canary-coloured locks came to put it out of fashion. Her eyes were grey—or blue—colour rather uncertain; but one thing was beyond all dispute, they were beautiful eyes! As for her complexion, it was extremely pale at present, and her very lips were white; but this wasdue to her agitation, to her awe and wonder and fear, to her anxiety to knowwhichof the many strange faces that came crowding into the cabin was the one that would welcome her, and be familiar to her, and dear to her as long as she lived? She sat quite still, with throbbing heart, surveying each new-comer with anxious expectation. As Colonel Denis entered she half rose, and looked at him appealingly.
"You are Helen?" he said in answer to her glance.
"Oh, father," she exclaimed tremulously, now putting down the bag and stretching out her hands, "how glad I am that you areyou!—it sounds nonsense, I know, but I was half afraid that I had forgotten your face. You know," apologetically, "I was such a very little thing, and that man over there, with the hooked nose, stared at me so hard, that I thought for a moment—I was half afraid—" and she paused and laughed a little hysterically, and looked at her father with eyes full of tears, and he rather shyly stooped down and touched her lips with his grizzly moustache—and the ice was broken.
Helen seemed to immediately recover her spirits, her colour, and her tongue—but no, she had never lost the use of that! She was a different-looking girl to what she had been ten minutes previously—her lips broke into smiles, her eyes danced; she was scarcely the same individual as the white-faced, frightened young lady whom we had first seen sitting aloof at the end of the saloon table.
"I remember you now quite well," said Miss Denis. "I knew your voice; and oh, I am so glad to come home again!"
This was delightful. Colonel Denis, a man of but few words at any time, was silent from sheer necessity now. He felt that he could not command his utterance as was befitting to his sex. If this meeting was rapturous to Helen, what was it not to him? Here was his own little girl grown into a big girl—this was all the difference.
In a short time Miss Denis and her luggage (Mrs. Creery would be pleased to know that there was a good deal of the latter) were being rowed to Ross by eight stout-armed boatmen, over a sea that reflected the bright full moon. It was almost as light as day, as Helen and herfather walked along the pier and up the hill homewards. As they passed a bungalow on their left-hand, the figure of a girl (who had long been lying in wait in the shadow of the verandah) leant out as they went by and watched them stealthily; then, pushing open a door and hurrying into a lamp-lit room, she said to her mother, an enormously stout, helpless-looking woman,—
"She has come! She has a figure like a may-pole. I could not see her face plainly, but I don't believe she is anything to look at."
However, those who had already obtained a glimpse of Miss Denis in the saloon of theScotiawere of a very different opinion, and, according to them, the newly-arrived "spin" was an uncommonly pretty girl, likely to raise the average of ladies' looks in the settlement by about fifty per cent.!
Almost at the moment that Colonel Denis and his daughter were landing at Ross, another boat was putting her passengers ashore at Aberdeen,i.e.Mr. Quentin's very smart gig. A steep hill lay between him and his bungalow, but declining the elephant in waiting, he and Mr. Lisle, and another friend, to whom he had given a seat over, commenced to breast the rugged path together. This latter gentleman was a Dr. Parks, the principal medical officer in the settlement; a little man with a sharp face, grey whiskers and moustache, and keen eyes to match; he was comfortable of figure, and fluent of speech, and prided himself on having the army list of the Indian staff corps at his fingers' ends; he could tell other men's services to a week, knew to a day when Brown would drop in for his off-reckonings, and how much sick-leave Jones had had. More than this, he had an enormous circle of acquaintances in the three Presidencies, and if he did not know most old Indian residents personally, at any rate he could tell you all about them—who they married, when, and why; who were their friends, enemies, or relations; what were their prospects of promotion, their peculiarities, their favourite hill-stations; he was a sort of animated directory (with copious notes), and prided himself on knowing India as well as anotherman knew London. He was unmarried, well off, and lived in the East from choice, not necessity; he was exceedingly popular in society, was reputed to have saved two lacs of rupees, and to be looking out for a wife!
After climbing the hill for some time in silence, Dr. Parks paused—ostensibly to survey the scene, in reality to take breath.
"Hold hard, you fellows," he cried, as the other two were walking on. "Hold hard, there's no hurry. Looks like a scene in a theatre, doesn't it?" waving a hand towards the prospect below them.
"With the moon for lime light?" rejoined Mr. Quentin as he paused and glanced back upon the steamer, surrounding boats, and the sea, all bathed in bright, tropical moon-shine; at the many lights twinkling up and down the island, like fire-flies in a wood.
Dr. Parks remained stationary for some seconds, contemplating Ross, with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat. At length he said,—
"I daresay old Denis hardly knows himself to-night, with a girl sitting opposite him. I hope she will turn out well."
"You mean that you hope she will turn out good-looking," amended Mr. Quentin, turning and surveying his companion expressively. "Ah, Parks, you were always a great ladies' man!"
"Nonsense, sir, nonsense. I'm not thinking of her looks at all; but the fact of the matter is, that Denis has had an uncommonly rough time of it, and I trust he is in shallow water at last, and that this girl will turn out to be what they call 'a comfort to him.'"
"I hope she will be a comfort to us all. I'm sure we want some consolation in this vile hole; but why is Old Denis a special charity?" inquired Mr. Quentin.
"OldDenis—well, he is not so old, if it comes to that; in fact, he is five years my junior, and I supposeI'mnot an old man, am I?" demanded Dr. Parks, with a spark of choler in his eye.
"Oh, you! you know that you are younger than any of us," rejoined Mr. Quentin quickly; "time never touches you; but about Denis?"
"Oh! he has had a lot of bother and worry, and you know that that plays the deuce with a fellow. The fact of the matter is, that Tom Denis came to awful grief in money matters," said Dr. Parks, now walking on abreast of Mr. Quentin, and discoursing in a fluent, confidential tone.
"His father's affairs went smash, and Tom became security to save the family name, mortgaged all his own little property that came to him through his mother, exchanged from a crack regiment at home, and came out here into the staff corps. It was a foolish, quixotic business altogether; no one was a bit obliged to him: his sisters thought he might have done more, his father was a callous old beggar, and took everything he got quite as a matter of course, and Tom was the support of his relations, and their scapegoat."
"The very last animal I'd like to be," remarked Mr. Quentin; "but don't let me interrupt you; go on."
"Well, as if Tom had not enough on his hands, he saddled himself with a wife—a wife he did not want either, a beautiful Greek! It seems that she burst into tears when he told her he was going to India, and I'm not sure that she did not faint on his breast into the bargain. However, the long and the short of it was, that Tom had a soft heart, and he offered to take her out with him as Mrs. D——.
"Mrs. Denis had a lovely face, an empty head, no heart, and no money; in fact, no interest, or connections, or anything! and she was the very worst wife for a poor man like Tom. She came out to Bombay, and carried all before her; one would have thought she had thousands at her back—her carriages, dresses and dinners! 'pon my word, they ran the Governor's wife pretty hard. There was no holding her; at least, it would have taken a stronger man than Tom Denis to do that. She flatly refused to live on the plains, or to go within five hundred miles of his native regiment; and hisrôlewas to broil in some dusty, baking station, and to supply my lady up in the hills, or spending the season at Poonah or Bombay, with almost the whole of his pay.—I believe she scarcely left him enough rupees to keep body and soul together!"
"The man must have been a fool!" said Mr. Lisle emphatically, now speaking for the first time.
"Aye, a fool about a pretty face, like many another," growled the doctor. "There was no denying her beauty! The pure Greek type; her figure a model, every movement the poetry of motion. She was Cockney born, though; her father a Greek refugee, conspirator, whatever you like, and of course, a Prince at Athens, and the descendant of Princes, according to his own tale—meanwhile a fourth-rate painter in London, whose Princess kept lodgers! Well, Mrs. Denis was very clever with her pen, and made capital imitations of her husband's signature! She borrowed freely from the Soucars, she ran bills in all directions, she had a vice in common with her kinsfolk of Crete, and she was the prettiest woman in India! Luckily for Denis (I say it with all respect to her ashes), she died after a short but brilliant social career, leaving him this girl and some enormous debts. The fact of the matter was, Tom was a ruined man. And all these years, between his father's affairs and his wife's liabilities, his life has been a long battle, and poor as he was, and no doubtis, he never could say no to a needy friend; and I need scarcely tell you, that people soon discovered this agreeable trait in his character!"
"It's a pity he has not a little more moral courage, and that he never studied the art of saying 'no,'" remarked Mr. Lisle dryly; "it's merely a matter of nerve and practice."
"It's not that, exactly," rejoined Dr. Parks, "but that he is too much afraid of hurting people's feelings, too simple and unselfish. I hope this girl who has come out will stand between him and this greedy world!"
"Ishould have thought it ought to be the other way."
"So it ought, but you see what Denis is yourself," turning and appealing to Jim Quentin. "Go over to him to-morrow morning, and tell him that you are at your wits' ends for five hundred rupees, and he will hand it out to you like a lamb."
"I only wish lambswerein the habit of handing out five hundred rupee notes, I'd take to a pastoral life to-morrow!" returned Mr. Quentin fervently, casting a woeful thought to the many long bills heowed in Calcutta, London, and elsewhere.
"Let us hope Miss Denis will have some force of character," said Dr. Parks; "that's the only chance for him! A strong will, like her mother's, minus her capabilities for making the money fly, and a few other weaknesses; and here," halting and holding out his hand, "our roads part."
"No, no. Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Quentin, taking him forcibly by the arm. "You just come home and dine with us, doctor, and tell a few more family histories."
Dr. Parks was a little reluctant at first, declaring that he was due elsewhere, that it was quite impossible, &c. &c.
"It's only the Irwins, I know, and they will think you have stopped at Ross—it will be all right. Come along."
Thus Dr. Parks was led away from the path of duty, and down the road approaching Mr. Quentin's bungalow;—he was rather curious to see theménage; that was the reason why he had been such an unresisting victim to Mr. Jim's invitation,—Mr. Jim rarely entertained, and much preferred sitting at other people's boards to dispensing hospitality at his own.
Dinner was excellent—well cooked, well served. Dr. Parks, who was not insensible to culinary arts, was both surprised and pleased; he had known his host for many years, had come across him on the hills and on the plains, on board ship, and in the jungle; they had a host of acquaintances in common, and after a few glasses of first-rate claret, and a brisk volley of mutual reminiscences and stories, Dr. Parks began to tell himself that "he was really very fond of Apollo Quentin, after all, and that he was one of the nicest young fellows that he knew!" And what about the man who sat at the foot of the table? Hitherto he had not been able to classify this Mr. Lisle, nor had he been so much interested in the matter as other, and idler, people. He had seen him often coming and going at Aberdeen, and had nodded him a friendly "Good-morrow," and now and then exchanged a few words with him; his clothes were shabby, his manner reserved; Dr. Parks understood thathe was a broken-down gentleman, to whom Quentin had given house-room, and, believing this, he could not help feeling that he was performing a gracious and kindly action in noticing him, and "doing the civil," as he would have called it himself, to this beggarly stranger! But now, when he came to look at the fellow, his appearance was changed. What wonders can be worked by a decent coat! Seen without his slouch hat and rusty Karki jacket, he was quite another person; and query, was that reserved manner of hishumility? Dr. Parks noticed that there was nothing subservient in his way of speaking to Quentin; quite the reverse; that far from holding a subordinate position in the establishment, servants were more prompt to attend on him than on any one else, and sprang to his very glance; that he, more than Quentin, looked after his (Dr. Parks') wants, and saw that his plate and glass were always replenished to his liking, in which duties Apollo (who was a good deal occupied with his own dinner and speculations on Miss Denis's appearance,) was rather slack. When the meal was over, and the silent, bare-footed servants had left the room, cigars and cigarettes were brought out, and conversation became general, Mr. Lisle had plenty to say for himself—when he chose—had travelled much, and had the polished manners and diction of a man who had mixed with good society. Dr. Parks scrutinized him narrowly, and summed up his age to be a year or two over thirty—he looked a good deal younger without his hat; his hair was black as the traditional raven's wing, slightly touched with grey on the temples, his eyes were deep-set, piercing, and very dark, there was a humorous twinkle in them at times, that qualified their general expression—which was somewhat stern. On the whole, this Lisle was a handsome man; in quite a different style to hisvis-à-visApollo (who lounged with his arm over the back of his chair, and seemed buried in thought), he was undoubtedly a gentleman, and he looked as if he had been in the service. All the same, this was but idle speculation, and Dr. Parks had not got any "forrader" than any one else.
The pause incident to "lighting up" lasted for nearly five minutes, then Mr. Quentin roused himself, filled out a bumper of claret, pushedthe decanter along the table, and said,—
"Gentlemen, fill your glasses. I am about to give you a toast. Miss Denis—her very good health."
"What!" to Dr. Parks. "Are you not going to drink it? Come, come, fill up, fill up."
"Oh, yes. I'll honour your toast, I'll drink it," he replied, suiting the action to the word. "And now I'll follow it up by what you little expect, and that's a speech."
"All right, make a start, you are in the chair; but be brief, for goodness' sake. What is the text?"
"The text is, Do not flirt with Miss Denis."
"Oh, and pray why not, if she is pretty, and agreeable, and appreciative?"
"You know what I told you this very evening. She is a mere school-girl, an inexperienced child, she is Denis's one ewe lamb, she is to be his companion, the prop of his old age; if you have any sense of chivalry, spare her."
"Spare her!" ejaculated Mr. Quentin with a theatrical gesture of his hand. "One would think I was a butcher, or the public executioner!"
"I know," proceeded Dr. Parks, "your proclivities for tender whisperings, bouquet-giving, and note-writing, in short the whole gamut of your attentions, and that they nevermeananything, but too many forlorn maidens have learnt to their cost, you most agreeable, but evasive young man," nodding towards his host with an air of pathetic expostulation.
"I say, come now, you know this is ridiculous," exclaimed Mr. Quentin, pushing his chair back as he spoke. But Dr. Parks was in the vein for expounding on his friend's foibles, and not to be silenced.
"You know as well as I do your imbecile weakness for a pretty face, and that you cannot resist making love to every good-looking girl you see, until a still better-looking drives her out of your fickle heart."
"Go on, go on," cried his victim; "you were a loss to the Church."
"Of course," continued the elder gentleman, clearing his throat, "I can readily imagine that for you—a society man before anything—theseregions are a vast desert, you are thrown away here, and are figuratively a castaway, out of humanity's reach. And now fate seems induced to smile upon you once more, in sending you a possibly pretty creature to be the sharer of your many empty hours. If I thought you would be serious, I would not say anything; or if this girl was a hardened veteran of a dozen seasons, and knew the difference between jest and earnest, again I would hold my peace; but as it is, I sum up the whole subject in one word, and with regard to Helen Denis, I say,don't."
"Hear hear," cried his friend, hammering loudly on the table. "Doctor, your eloquence is positively touching; but you alwayswerethe ladies' champion. All the same you are exaggerating the situation; I am a most innocent, inoffensive——"
"Come now, James Quentin; how about that girl at Poonah that you made the talk of the station? How about the girls you proposed to up at Matheran and Murree; what about the irate father who followed you to Lahore, and from whom you concealed yourself behind the refreshment-room counter? Eh!"
"Now, now, doctor, I'll cry peccavi. Spare me before Lisle."
Who lay back in his chair smoking a cigar—and looking both bored and indifferent.
"Youdon't go in for ladies' society on Ross?" said Dr. Parks, addressing him abruptly.
"I—no—" struggling to an erect posture, and knocking the ash off his cigar. "I only know one lady over there, and she is a host in herself."
"You mean Mrs. Creery?"
"Yes, I allude to Mrs. Creery."
And at the very mention of the name, they all three laughed aloud.
"And how about Miss Denis, Quentin? you've not given your promise," said Dr. Parks once more returning to the charge.
"I'll promise you one thing, doctor," drawled the host, who was beginning to get tired of his persistence. "I'll not marry her, nowthat you have let me behind the scenes about her bewitching mother, and I'll promise you, that I'll go over and call to-morrow, and see if I can discover any traces of a Grecian ancestry in Miss Denis's face and figure."
"You are incorrigible. I might as well talk to the wall; there's only one hope for the girl, and that's a poor one."
"Poor as it is, let us have it."
"A chance that she may not be taken like twenty-three out of every two dozen, with fickle Jim Quentin's handsome face!"
"Where has Lisle gone to?" he added, looking round.
"Into the verandah, or to bed, or out tosea! The latter is just as likely as anything; he did not approve of the conversation, he thinks that ladies should never be discussed," and he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Quite one of the old school, eh?" said the elder gentleman, raising his eyebrows and pursing out his under-lip.
"Quite," laconically.
"By-the-bye, Quentin, I daresay you will think I'm as bad as Mrs. Creery, butwhois this fellow Lisle, and what in the name of all that's slow is he doing down here?—eh, who is he?" leaning over confidentially.
"Oh, he fishes, and shoots, and likes the Andamans awfully.—As to who he is—he is simply, as you see, a gentleman at large, and his name is Gilbert Lisle."
Thus Dr. Parks, in spite of his superior opportunities, was foiled; and returned to his own abode no wiser than any of his neighbours.