Front matter (continued 2)

"Yes, and since you bring the Zoo to dinner, may I ask you to tell me about the long-necked, long-nosed man, whose self-contained air recalls my dear friend the King Penguin?"

"That is Mr. Arnfield, a prominent member of the Bar, and the local dramatic society. His elocution is marvellous, and on Sundays, he always reads the lessons; one morning, he upset the whole congregation, when at the end of the second lesson, he slammed the Bible, and announced in a stentorian voice, 'Now Borrobas was—a rabbit!' I do hope, you are not shocked, are you? I am too thankful I did not happen to be in church, for I know I should have disgraced myself, and been ignominiously removed by the verger."

"And I should have joined you!—kindly continue your valuable information."

"Well, the little elderly lady with a face like a piece of wash-leather, lemon-coloured hair, and diamonds, is Mrs. Fiske, widely known as 'The Acidulated Drop.' Her chief talent is fiction."

"Oh, yes, I understand—a novelist."

"Not exactly—though she achieves distinction by the number and variety of her stories. Her late husband had a fine appointment, and she has a fine pension; her daughters are satisfactorily settled out here, she infests the Hills, and knows everything that goes on—on Hills or plains; can do a kind action, or the reverse; and is always prepared to get you a servant, or give you a character!"

"A useful acquaintance!" observed Mallender, glancing at the lady; "and rich—judging by her diamonds."

"Yes, she has heaps of money, and eggs in many baskets; shares in shops, and mines, and coffee estates. I see that she has noticed you and soon your history, prospects, and reputation, will be at her mercy."

"I don't mind, I have no prospects now," he replied; "and as for my reputation, reputations are cheap! I can easily get another."

"Easier said than done—mud always sticks! To go on with my little serial, the handsome lady in pink is the Hon. Mrs. Cliffe. She is ruffled, because she has just discovered that rank has no precedence in India. I go in before her, as a consort of a Heaven-born; and she is told off, according to Cocker, as the wife of a Captain in the Line. How I should love to read her letters by the next mail! The matron with the beautiful white hair, and emeralds, is Mrs. Damer, who has come out to see her two sons; one is in the Army—the other is in Tea. The stern man on her right, is said to be our future great General—mark his cold, relentless eye!"

"Well, he looks a hard-bitten chap, and every inch a soldier; and the pretty, fair girl lower down—why is she sent in with that old buffer whose collar is choking him? That cannot be according to Cocker!"

"No, but it happens to be a very special case," rejoined Mrs. Brander with impressive gravity; "Miss Miller has been paired off with Colonel Harris, because she is going to be married to him."

"Marry him!" repeated Mallender, setting down his untasted glass. "Why, he might be her grandfather!"

"No doubt," agreed Mrs. Brander, "but there are reasons for the match; if you will bend forward, and look along this side, you may notice a sharp powdered nose, poked well to the front—it belongs to the chief reason—the girl's mother, I will show her to you later."

"Thank you," he answered dryly, "your description is sufficient."

"At any rate, you will recognise Mrs. Miller by a glaring mass of dyed hair, topped by a jaunty green feather. Colonel Miller's time is up, and he will soon be retired, and go home. He and his wife have led a merry life for years, they are heavily in debt—so Mrs. Miller says—and they have barely enough for two people to live on, much less three. She is therefore determined to get rid of Barbie, her daughter; I am sure she longed to put her in her auction list, 'One charming and amiable girl, aged nineteen; hair and complexion guaranteed; no reasonable offer refused.' You see how spiteful I can be!"

"But what does the young lady say?" enquired Mallender, as he glanced at a pretty young thing, with a small wistful face, and clouds of light brown hair.

"The young lady dare not have any opinion; she only came out a year ago, and has not had much of a time. Barbie is popular, and rather a dear, but her mother scares everyone by her almost bloodthirsty hunt for a son-in-law. The poor child is terribly handicapped by her parents; a rackety mother, and a gambling father; I must say, I am sorry for poor little Barbie."

"So am I," echoed Mallender; "is there no escape?"

"No, though she has a staunch friend in Aunt Fan, whose two manias are, young girls, and old furniture. Aunt Fan has done her level best, but I'm afraid that nothing short of the end of the world, can save Barbie from becoming Mrs. Harris."

"Miserable victim!"

"Well, yes—and no. Colonel Harris is a kind old thing, except at bridge, when he is like a dissatisfied turkey-cock. Of course, there will be no 'love's young dream!'"

Mallender gave a loud involuntary laugh.

"Don't laugh so scornfully," expostulated Mrs. Brander. "The girl will have a good home, no money cares, possibly a motor—and certainly a comfortable widow's pension."

"Oh, ye gods!" ejaculated her listener. "Fancy a girl marrying for a widow's pension. Twenty-first cousin, how can you suggest such a thing?"

"You may well ask! I have a darling little daughter of my own, asleep in her cot upstairs; sooner than she should make such a match, I'd—well, I adore Babs, and Mrs. Miller has never attempted to conceal her aversion to Barbie!"

At this moment Mrs. Villars turned to claim her partner.

"I do hope you play bridge?" she murmured in her sweet contralto.

"Oh, yes, rather; but I'm a bit out of practice."

"We are sure to have bridge to-night, and if so, do come to my table, and if you are very rusty, I won't scold you—much." As she gazed at him, with an expression at once cajoling and caressing, Mallender, stirred by the enchantment of her plaintive voice and marvellous eyes, promptly answered:

"All right, Mrs. Villars, I'll play at your table—even if to reach it I have to trample on the slain."

"Ah, I see that we shall be great friends," she continued, "we are both fond of travelling, and devotees of bridge and golf. Don't you think when people like the same things—they like one another?"

"I am sure of it," he answered with emphasis.

"I see Fan has collected eyes," exclaimed Mrs. Villars, rising as she spoke. "Au revoir, and mind you don't forget about the bridge," she added with a confidential smile.

Mrs. Villars wore a marvellous shimmering gown, an air of easy and assured self-confidence, and as she swept away with a dragging grace of movement, Mallender realised that there went a lady habitually accustomed to admiration, homage, and wealth.

CHAPTER VII

The ladies—sixteen in number—streamed forlornly into the drawing-room, where they broke up into groups—like gravitating to like. The General's wife and Mrs. Tallboys embarked on congenial topics, local charities, and an imminent bazaar; the wearer of the jaunty green feather was captured by Mrs. Fiske, eager to hear the latest news of Barbie's prospects. Barbie and Miss Sim, drawn to one another by mutual sympathy, left the room together, to seek a secluded corner of the verandah, and popular Nancy Brander on her way to a beckoning friend was waylaid by her recent neighbour.

"Do stop and talk to me for a moment!" urged Mrs. Villars, leading her aside. "I want to ask your opinion of my new frock?"

"Ravissante! Ravissante!" pronounced Nancy, throwing up her hands. After a pause she added: "I must confess that my chief sentiment is envy!"

"It arrived to-day from Mervéille—there is nothing," complacently viewing herself in a long mirror, "like a well-cut new gown for giving a woman an air of superiority—is there?"

"Do you feel so superior?" enquired Mrs. Brander in a bantering voice. "No doubt there is something in what you say. I certainly feel twice as important in a pair of Morkoph's smart shoes as I do in my wobbly goloshes!"

"Good gracious, fancy wearing them!"

"Fancy not wearing them in the rains," rejoined Nancy. "I expect your superior gown cost a pretty penny."

"No; they let me have two for ninety."

"Rupees or guineas?"

"Nan, you are really too bad! I call this cheap for fifty—look at the embroidery, all hand-made—real Mechlin lace—and then the cut!"

"It is not my idea of economy. I never give more than fifteen—and times are so bad."

"But if people only buy frumpish gowns that cost a few pounds—what is to become of the poor tradespeople?"

"Perhaps they may be better off—and have less bad debts," suggested Nancy.

Mrs. Villars coloured guiltily, but instantly recovering her aplomb, said: "I declare your black gown has quite a French effect—where did it come from?"

"My verandah."

"Dirzee made! Never! I simply refuse to believe you. Nan, this is one of your jokes?"

"A joke I cut out with my own hands. I'm full of ideas, and my man is an artist. I have good models, too—Fanny's best; and now and then I get a box out from home."

"But why this miserable economy? your husband's pay, your own fortune——"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mrs. Brander, "but there are plenty of calls on one's purse, besides spending money on chiffons."

"Are there? I don't think a woman can invest her coin to better advantage than in making herself a pleasure to behold."

"And you would still be that, even if you wore nothing but a blanket and a string of beads."

This verdict was all the more flattering because unwillingly bestowed.

"Really, Nancy," and the beauty laughed, "I hope I may not be reduced to a single garment!—but one never can tell. I am over head and ears in debt."

"And yet you spend ninety guineas at one swoop!"

"Yes, my dear,—debt is like drink. You go on, and on, and on. The more you spend—the more you drink—the tighter the thing takes hold of you! By the way, I was really forgetting something I wanted to ask. What do you think of him?"

"Him?" repeated Mrs. Brander, "which him? We have so many hims this evening, hims ancient and modern!"

"Don't be silly. I mean the nice boy that sat between us at dinner, and by the way, darling, you poached shamelessly!"

"Oh, you mean Captain Mallender. I like him."

"What were you so busy talking about?"

"Let me see," putting her hand to her forehead, "the climate, the ancient Britons, and the Zoo."

"You are always so blue and cultured," declared Mrs. Villars. "I think Captain Mallender very good-looking: such a cheery manner, such gay dark eyes, and a boyish smile; he parts his hair just as I like it! Fan asked me to take charge of him, and be extra nice."

"And so you were! You are always nice—to men," corrected Nancy, with a disarming smile. "You know he is Fred's cousin, out from home."

"And where is his home? What is it like?"

"The photo is in Fred's sanctum, a lovely old Jacobean place standing in a great park."

"So this good-looking boy is rich!"

Nancy nodded.

"And how long is he going to stay?"

"Oh, the usual time—as long as ever he likes."

"I wonder what has brought him out? Says he does not shoot, what can it be?"

"Perhaps to search for a wife?" gaily suggested Mrs. Brander.

"As if a man in his position would look at an Indian spin!" rejoined Mrs. Villars with withering scorn.

"He might do worse," argued the other briskly. "We have a large assortment of really pretty girls, quite fresh and dainty—nothing shop soiled!"

"Really, Nancy, what dreadful things you do say! and if you call any girl in Madras pretty—I don't." As Mrs. Villars concluded, she turned and surveyed herself in the glass, and Nancy Brander thus released effected her escape.

Lena Villars was a shallow, more or less amiable woman, endowed by nature with a lovely face, perfect health, and perennial youth—but stinted in the matter of heart and brain, and with a moral outlook that was somewhat oblique.

She appreciated luxury, had a consuming passion for clothes, and was absolutely devoid of the money sense. Her chief interest in life was the attitude of men towards herself, and she cherished an inexorable resolution to be first, or nowhere.

After gazing exhaustively at her own charming reflection, the beauty stole away to her room, there to repair some little flaws in her toilet previous to the great business of the evening.

Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the verandah, the two girl friends were exchanging miserable confidences in low voices.

"Mother has taken two passages in the Bibby Line for the first week in April," said Barbie Miller. "There is no money to pay for mine—if there were, it would make no difference. She says it's providential that Colonel Harris wishes to marry me, and considers me extraordinarily lucky."

"And what do you say, Barbie?"

"You know very well, Ada. I am still holding out, though the announcement of my engagement has been sent home. I'm afraid Colonel Harris has offered to pay for my trousseau, and I know that he has 'settled' quite a lot of things, including one or two big bills, and given mother a lovely diamond ring. Really, he is most generous; and if he did not want to marry me, I'd like him well enough! I overheard mother telling Mrs. Fiske that the wedding is to take place in the Cathedral early one morning, and we are to start immediately afterwards for the Shevaroy Hills. Honestly, I could not feel more wretched if I were going to be hanged—indeed, I don't think I'd mind!"

"I only wish I had your chance," declared her companion with energy, "I'd marry Colonel Harris like a shot!"

"Oh, Ada!" and Barbie stared incredulously.

"Yes, you don't know what it is to be alone in the world, and penniless," declared her friend forcibly; "he, at least, could give me a roof over my head, and a home. Your case is nothing as compared to mine; I am really in despair. I've not enough money to pay the dhoby, or put in the collection plate, or buy stamps. My clothes are so mended and so shabby I am ashamed to be seen. All the same, I don't think anyone but Mrs. Brander guesses that I am so absolutely destitute. Last time she was here she insisted on lending me a hundred rupees—such a boon!—she said she knew what little odds and ends a girl on her own wanted, and I was to pay her any time; and she gave me a lovely hat, because it did not suit her, and several pairs of gloves, because they were too small, and an evening-gown, because her husband could not bear it! For all her funny talk, she is a darling—just like Mrs. Tallboys."

"Does she not know that you are so hard up, Ada?"

"No, and I try to keep it from her. She has been only too kind; she paid my railway ticket down to Calicut, and sent an ayah with me. This is my second visit here, she invited me for a month, and I've stayed two. I feel such a worm, and so deadly ashamed. Mrs. Fiske enquired if I was living here altogether, and said 'this house should be called Hooper's Hotel.'"

"How horrid—and how like her!"

"I know that my room is wanted for Captain Mallender," continued Ada, "the ayah told me so. I've asked the Bells at Coimbatore to take me in, but they made an excuse. Now I've written to the Carsons at Trichy—they are my very last hope. I've no money, and nothing to sell. I sold the pretty frock Nancy Brander gave me—a sergeant's wife offered twenty-five rupees for it; the ayah took ten for commission, and I've told such stories about the gown to Nancy! But poor people have to lie! All I have left are three rupees. I'm so unhappy, so worn out with anxiety and shame, that I wish I were dead! I'd drown myself, only there is no place to do it in—the Cooum is filthy, and off the pier there are sharks!"

"Dear, dear, old Ada," said her companion, stroking her arm, "if I could only bring myself to marry Colonel Harris, you should come and live with me. I am as poor as a church mouse, but I can easily let you have ten rupees—and you must, and shall take it! It will at least pay for wires, and stamps, and be a little help in putting you in communication with friends, who might invite you."

"Friends," echoed Ada, "I've none; those I had are thoroughly sick of me, and no wonder. I'm not pretty, or amusing, or accomplished, I don't play bridge for money, I'm not even good-tempered. Just a plain, stupid bore. They say that the poor always help the poor—and it's true—but I won't take your ten rupees, Barbie."

Seeing that Barbie was about to protest, she hurried on:

"Do explain one thing, which puzzles me. Why is Colonel Harris so anxious to marry you, when he, and all the world, must see how you hang back?"

"Why?—because of the hanging back! Mother tells him I'm so shy and timid, such a mere shrinking child, afraid to show my real feelings—and he believes her. I won't call him James, and I won't allow kissing, nor will I accept presents. I beg him to give them to me—afterwards."

"Do you think there will be an afterwards?"

"Ada," she drew a long sigh, "I hope not, but you know I am no match for mother; she is so fiercely determined, so cruel, and so strong. Now listen to me, I'm going to say something dreadful—I almost wish I had been born an orphan, and if mother does go home, and leaves me behind, I hope I may never, never, see her again. Oh," springing up, "she is calling me—the men have come in, and I must fly!"

Presently there were sounds of music in the drawing-room, and if Ada Sim had accompanied her companion—instead of sitting sobbing in a corner of the verandah—she would have heard Mrs. Brander give a superb rendering of Chopin. Subsequently poor Barbie was driven to the Grand Schiedmayer, where with cold and trembling fingers she proceeded to murder Schumann—fortunately not a soul was listening; almost everyone's attention was riveted on the bridge tables so seductively set forth; with their adequate complement of chairs and cards they seemed to summon the company to "come and play."

Mrs. Villars beckoned airily to her new friend, and said:

"I hear from Captain Byng that he has roped you in for polo, he is so pleased."

"I am afraid his pleasure is a bit premature!" rejoined Mallender. "I am out of practice, and I believe some of the competing teams are first-rate."

"You mean the Marauders. Colonel Molyneux's lot?"

"Yes, and the Motagherry Planters; though only two or three pony men play a very hot game, so do the Bluebottles."

"I shall come and look on at the practice, and wave my sunshade and scream 'Shabash!' only they don't say that down here. Ah, they are moving at last! Do let us cut in, with the General and Nancy Brander."

The General's weather-beaten countenance was a study in satisfaction, when Mrs. Brander fell to his lot as a partner, for her play was famous. Here was a lady who made no mistakes, never lost her head, and knew the history of every card. Their opponents were Captain Mallender, and Mrs. Villars,—who made a delightful picture, as she dealt out the pack with flying jewelled fingers. At first, all the best of the red suits seemed to fall to her and her partner. By and by, the luck turned, the fortunate couple were slammed once and again; the lady made reckless declarations in the true gambler's spirit, ever hoping to retrieve her luck—and lost the rubber, and fifty rupees.

Occasionally Mallender, when "dummy," rose and strolled about the room, exchanging remarks and experiences with his fellow-dummies, and glancing at various other tables. At one of these sat Mrs. Fiske, grumbling incessantly, and bewailing her ill-luck in a manner that was maddening to her companions.

"Never had such luck—this isn't a hand—it's a foot! Don't know what it is to hold a card—nothing but Yarboughs, and Chicane—perfectly sickening!"

The serious, stern, and business-like bridgers, such as the future great General, Freddy Tallboys, and Mrs. Damer, played "auction" with grim concentration; here was no whining, no court-martial on indifferent partners. Nothing, nothing, but what Sarah Battle loved, "the rigour of the game." At another table sat Sir William Bream, Mrs. Tallboys, Colonel Harris and Miss Miller. Unhappy girl! her present (and future) partner, found it impossible to conceal his emotion when she trumped his best diamond, and led straight away into the enemy's suit! It is conceded that cards develop one's real disposition, and expose our worst failings; such as envy, jealousy, tyranny, ingratitude, meanness, avarice, and cowardice. Mallender glanced over at Colonel Harris. His face was a deep plum—quite dangerously inflamed; how his great thick neck seemed to swell and bulge over the stiff staff collar! Then the looker-on moved round and stood behind Miss Barbie; he noted her flickering colour, and tremulous lips, as she fumbled with her cards—uncertain what to play. He longed to give her a quiet hint, as she hesitated between a king and a nine; meanwhile her vis-à-vis shuffled his feet impatiently, and her adversaries exchanged significant smiles. As Mallender watched the irresolute girl, he noticed her wealth of beautiful hair, her slender, graceful neck, cheap white frock, and thin silver bangles. Her small childish hands were ringless—apparently, as yet, there was no engagement. He moved away to his own place, just in time to escape the explosion of wrath which burst over the head of little Miss Miller. Of course, as he anticipated, she had played the wrong card, and lost both game and rubber. Bridge continued with unabated zeal till nearly one o'clock, when the General, remembering an early inspection, rose a well-pleased guest—and winner. Mallender and Mrs. Villars had lost ninety rupees, and as the latter gathered up her wisp of a lace handkerchief and little chain purse she said with a smile:

"Let us hope for better luck to-morrow, Captain Mallender! If you will pay the General,—I will settle with Mrs. Brander."

He noticed Mrs. Brander's amused and somewhat inscrutable expression as she collected her gloves and nodded a careless assent.

When the last guest had departed, the last motor hummed away, Mallender, as he followed Anthony and a lantern to his outdoor quarters, realised that this had indeed been an evening of many impressions! A little later, when Colonel Tallboys had locked up the cigars, he came bustling into his wife's room, and found her locking up her diamonds.

"Your usual success, Fan! The dinner was A1, the mutton hung to a second, and that new champagne is very sound."

"That is your department, my dear. Yes, I think everything went off well, and people enjoyed themselves."

"All except that unfortunate Miss Sim, who looked like a death's head—but then, she doesn't play bridge. I say, what about Geoffrey, eh? He got along all right. I'm glad to see that shyness is not one of his difficulties. Molyneux was much taken with him, but these Cavalry chaps always hang on to one another. After you left, he was a help, talking away to the General, and that shikari man; by the way, you've not said a word to anyone about the reason of his trip?"

"My dear Fred, need you ask?" and Mrs. Tallboys confronted him gravely. "I don't want people to suppose that there is insanity in your family!—not that Geoffrey is insane—he is merely obsessed with an idea. The poor romantic boy was too long alone at Mallender; his father's illness and death got on his nerves. He is naturally cheery, and the change out here, with lots of lively company, will effect a cure; he is a dear fellow, with such nice unaffected, courteous manners, and a bright open face."

"Oh!—I see he has been admiring your china!" declared Colonel Tallboys with a grin of comprehension.

"No; but I may tell you that I, like Colonel Molyneux, am 'much taken with him.'"

"And he with Mrs. Villars?"

"Yes, you noticed that, in spite of William's smothered wrath, I sent him in to dinner with Lena."

"A capital move. Though I thought William looked pretty sick! So you are bent upon strong measures?"

"I don't know what you call strong measures, but I had a little talk with Geoffrey. I realise that he is completely overmastered by one idea, and I am determined to do all I can to prevent his risking his whole fortune on a wild-goose chase."

"I understand. Between polo, and the beauty, you hope to get the better of this obsession, and to head him off from his crazy enterprise. Well, Fan, you and I will do our best; and as, of course, you have allowed Mary Ayah to retire to her go-down, I suppose I must put on my spectacles, and unlace your dress?"

CHAPTER VIII

The following morning a sonorous "Five o'clock, saar," awoke Mallender from his too brief slumbers; his first struggling thought was "Where am I?" The cool crisp atmosphere felt strange, so did the sounds of an unknown tongue, and a stamping of impatient hoofs, in his immediate vicinity; then, in a second, he recalled his wits; he was in a tent in India, and pledged to play polo within an hour. A strong cup of Neilgherry tea, and a cold tub dispersed his drowsiness, and with the car's swift passage through the invigorating air his spirits and energies awoke. Lumbering water-carts were already allaying the red dust, and evoking a curious and unfamiliar smell of wet and pungent earth. From all directions people were sallying out for the morning ride or drive; portly cooks, attended by obsequious coolies (carrying empty baskets), flocked towards the bazaar, pallid Europe children were being herded forth on ponies, or in prams, in order to "eat the air," which, at this hour, was deliciously fresh, the sky incredibly clear and radiant, quivering with brightness and life. At six o'clock, all Madras was astir, and everywhere was activity, and bustle. As the smooth-running Napier sped noiselessly onward, Mallender looked about him, and realised that he was now in the tropics! Dense masses of purple Bourgainvillia draped and veiled the roadside bungalows; above their low brick walls, luxuriant bananas waved graceful, if somewhat dusty, leaves; "Sally Bidon" creeper and the scarlet gold mohur flung out their blazing signals. Vivid flocks of green paroquets—"the pretty dear" of barracks—flashed across from the banyans to the tulip trees, and tall toddy palms seemed to nod their heavy heads in languid greeting to the stranger, as he skimmed onwards, across the Marmelong Bridge, and away into the expanse of Guindy Park—where on the polo-ground Captain Byng and three smart polo ponies were awaiting him.

A subsequent practice proved fairly successful; the fourteen one waler ponies were well trained and handy. As Mallender galloped, and shouted, and wheeled, and hit, he was once more experiencing the joie de vivre, and feeling the sap of youth in his veins! Mallender Court and its melancholy memories were forgotten—as was also the great quest; that he had no other reason for coming to India than to play this uncommonly fast game, was 'number one's' firm (if momentary) conviction, as he rode off the Governor's Private Secretary, and scored the winning goal. This polo match at Guindy seemed to be a social spring-board, from which the new arrival took a headlong dive into the mäelstrom of Madras society. He now appeared to live amid the whirl of engagements: golf, boating on the Adyar, hunting, paper-chasing, bridge or dinner-parties, and a dance almost every other night. Also he found friends in the regiment quartered in the Fort and among the artillery at the Mount, and was almost "snowed under" with invitations. As the Tallboys' relative, a popular and presentable young fellow, who played polo, bridge and golf, his company was in continual, and even anxious request. However, his cousin Fan had always the first claim, and a quiet evening at home, with music and bridge, with Mrs. Villars for his partner, was always an attraction. Mallender and the lady became, as she predicted, great friends; unfortunately it was a friendship that aroused Sir William Bream's ill-concealed jealousy, and wrath.

"What Mrs. Villars could see in that grinning young whipper-snapper?" was beyond the range of his intelligence! The substantial self-made man of sixty was insatiable in his demands for the lady's society, for her insidious and delicious flatteries, her company to play golf, or to motor about the neighbourhood.—He liked to be seen with the handsomest woman in Madras.—Sir William owned a magnificent car; also, it was whispered, thirty thousand a year.

Colonel Tallboys kept a first-class stable, riding was still his passion; every morning at an early hour he fared forth, accompanied by Nan on a fine black waler, and as many of his guests as he could induce to follow his example. If not hunting, or paper-chasing, they scoured the Island, rode on the Marina, or the old race-course, returning a gay and happy pack, to an elaborate chota-hazri awaiting them in the open verandah.

Mrs. Villars did not care for early rising—nor yet riding—although she liked to sit about in her becoming habit; occasionally she rode down to the Island of an evening on a well-exercised pony, proceeding at no greater pace than a hurried walk, as anything more rapid gave her a pain in the side; but to state the plain truth, the graceful widow was a trembling coward.

Every evening the beauty appeared in a different toilet—each outshining the last. Mallender never could decide which suited her the best? The black, the rose-colour, the smoke-grey, the white, or the primrose—Mrs. Villars looked lovely in them all! She consulted him frankly and artlessly on the subject of her wardrobe, discussed her frocks, hats, and wraps, with the fervour of an enthusiast. The lady also confided to him that she was too shockingly extravagant, and simply adored her clothes!

"Do tell me, which of all my gowns you prefer?" she enquired, looking at him with the gaze of an ingénue.

"The one you are wearing," was his gallant reply.

"You mean that as a compliment, but you must have a choice," she answered impatiently—the pair were sitting in the verandah after dinner, enjoying coffee and cigarettes.

"Oh, well, if I must say, I choose the blue."

"The blue!" she repeated, "but why? Men always prefer black, or white."

"I like the blue, because you wore it the first time I saw you."

"Oh, you dear sentimental boy!" and Mrs. Villars extended a taper white hand, and patted his arm with playful commendation.

Nancy Brander, who happened to be in their neighbourhood, subsequently remarked to her aunt:

"I say, Fan, Lena Villars is making tremendous running with Geoffrey—he has given her a lovely gold bag for her birthday."

"Her birthday!" echoed Mrs. Tallboys, "rubbish—why, it's in October!"

"Yes, but perhaps to some it is convenient to have three or four a year; and when I was sitting out last evening, I declare I felt quite de trop—I expected every minute to see Geoffrey flop down on his knees, on the cold marble flags."

"Nonsense! How you talk, Nan!"

"Oh, yes, I can both talk and see. Tell me, dear, do you intend this case to develop? to go on to the end—I won't say bitter end—and marry Geoffrey to your old friend?"

"Of course I don't, you tiresome girl, and Lena would not think of him."

"You mean that she has other fish to fry—a big fish too! Well, I wish them both joy when he is landed in the frying-pan."

The easy manner in which his cousin's great establishment was maintained was marvellous to Mallender. Three or four, or half a dozen extra guests appeared to make no difference in the perfect domestic arrangements; everything went on wheels, everyone was looked after, everyone was free to do precisely what they pleased. Undoubtedly the head of the household was a born organiser and manager; a woman of amazing tact, kindness, and self-control.

Geoffrey was still "an outsider" under canvas, and much preferred his tent to a bedroom indoors. He enjoyed the complete novelty, the fresh feel of the morning air as it crept into the tent; he liked as he lay on his camp cot to watch the dull yellowed grass, tinted pink by the rising sun, and to hear the birds beginning to stir in the bushes. Other guests had departed and arrived, and these latter included a civilian and his sister from Mysore, a cultured American traveller, and a sprightly married couple, Captain and Mrs. Harcourt Wylie, acquaintances of Sir William, who knew them at home, and having casually encountered them on an Indian platform, offered them a warm invitation to Hooper's Gardens. This they accepted with effusive thanks—their plans being at the time a little vague and undecided.

"My cousins," announced Sir William, in his broad-chested pompous style, "are the most hospitable people in a hospitable country; they keep open house, have a first-class cook, entertain enormously, and do you royally!"

The Wylies, clever, business-like partners, still in the early thirties, were capable of making themselves welcome and at home in most places; they danced admirably, and indefatigably, played bridge extraordinarily well, and talked and dressed in the latest fashion.

Captain Wylie—who never alluded to his regiment—was a tall thin man, with a hearty manner, and a cordial voice,—always admirably groomed, and enviably self-possessed.

His wife was slim, smart and very erect; her features were small and regular, her eyes small and intent. She wore pearls and diamonds—that were magnificent imitations—and a fixed, agreeable smile.

Beyond the fact, that Sir William had met them at Monte Carlo, and that they had come out in someone's suite, no one knew much about them; but they were always lively and enthusiastic, ready to do anything, or go anywhere at a moment's notice. The Wylies referred to well-known people as their friends, and by their Christian names, and had evidently stayed about, and enjoyed themselves vastly; but whether they had a home of their own, or any belongings, was never positively disclosed. Nancy Brander did not like "the Prince and Princess Charming"—she thought the lady sharp and pushing, the man a well-mannered inquisitive snob—but as Nancy was in the minority, she wisely held her peace. A grand ball at the Banqueting Hall, given by His Excellency the Governor, was the first that Mallender attended. Everything was admirably done; the great room was crowded with everyone who was on "Government House List." He danced with Mrs. Villars, and sat out with her; noting with secret pride how much she was sought after, and how she was followed by the admiring eyes of men and women. She looked lovely in a Princess gown of gold satin, with a gold butterfly spreading its wings across her Empire bodice—butterflies caught up the graceful gold net draperies of her narrow skirt, and a golden band crowned her classic head. Yet the beauty of the night had honoured him with two waltzes and a supper dance! The beauty of the night danced divinely, as did Mallender; numerous wallflowers, and others, found it a real pleasure to contemplate them. Besides Mrs. Villars, Mallender waltzed with Mrs. Wylie,—whose style was perfection itself,—with Nancy and Fan, and several charming girls, among the latter Miss Miller.

She was pretty and girlish, and coloured up when he accosted her, and asked for a dance; subsequently when resting between two turns, they attempted the usual spasmodic conversation, he noticed for the first time how very blue her eyes were!

In answer to his question, Miss Miller informed him that the only other part of India she knew was Cannanore on the west coast.

"Not many balls there, I take it?" he said.

"No, there were few ladies, the place is like a sponge, so terribly damp and wet. We had one or two small dances,—but on a chunam floor, and a drugget."

"And the going pretty bad! I think I saw you riding in the paper-chase the other day."

"Yes, on an old Artillery 'caster,' with a mouth like iron. I am looking forward to the next gymkana, for Colonel Tallboys has offered me Naughty Mary."

"Has he, indeed!" exclaimed her partner, "she's a bit of a handful, you know."

"Yes, but I like her, and I am accustomed to what you call 'handsful.'"

"What, at Cannanore?"

"No; there we had bullocks; but I rode a great deal before I came out. I spent all my holidays, since I was about two years old, on a farm with my father's old nurse. Her family bred, and broke, hunters, they had quite a reputation."

"And so you learnt to ride, before you cut your second teeth?"

"Yes, I think so," and as she smiled she displayed two dazzling rows of these.

"And what else did you learn?"

"To milk and make butter, and rear fowl, and all sorts of unusual accomplishments."

"What sort, for instance?"

"Well, to drive a mowing machine," and she laughed gaily. "Shall we take another turn, before the music stops?"

As they launched into the vortex, Mallender felt sincerely sorry to think that this remarkably pretty bright girl, with all her inborn country tastes, was about to be delivered over to Colonel Harris, her father's contemporary!

"Won't you have some refreshment?" he suggested as they moved towards the buffet, "iced coffee, lemonade, champagne?"

"Lemonade, please. I never take wine. Once I drank a large glass of champagne, thinking it was ginger-beer; and afterwards——"

"Yes, I know; the floor came up, and hit you in the face!"

"Not quite so bad, but I felt rather dizzy, and very, very miserable."

"Champagne is generally supposed to have the opposite effect, and to make you very, very happy! Will you give me another dance?"

As Miss Miller studied her programme, her mother appeared, decorated with the waving green feather, and leaning on the arm of Colonel Harris. They were both looking alarmingly glum, and the latter said:

"Barbie, this is our dance. Where have you hidden yourself? I've been searching for you all over the place, I've got a vis-à-vis, so come along," and with a scowl at Mallender, he carried her off. Her mother however still lingered, and before he was aware, had "puckaroed" (i.e. captured) her daughter's late partner.

"Oh, Captain Mallender," she simpered, bowing, and coquettishly waving the green feather, "you are related to my dearest friends—the Tallboys. I've known Colonel Tallboys for twenty years, and more, and I feel that I know you. I remember Freddy, a smart handsome young man too," she paused expressively, "and such a flirt! Will you be a dear good Samaritan and get me a glass of champagne?—I feel ready to faint!"

Startled by the threat, Mallender hastened to supply the lady's wants, but as the buffet was crowded, he had, what seemed to him, a long time to wait, and meanwhile she chattered continually; airing the now somewhat faded graces, that had once made her the belle of an up-country station. As Mallender listened to her remarks upon the other guests—chiefly critical and destructive—looked into her face, observed her close-set, reddish-brown eyes, and straight thin-lipped mouth, he felt moved with a sense of profound compassion for her daughter. When at last they re-entered the ball-room after this tedious and wearisome delay, a waltz was being played, and the sprightly matron said:

"I know you are not dancing this, Captain Mallender, so do take a little turn with me?" and before her victim had time to remonstrate, or to realise the situation, he was swimming round the room with the future mother-in-law of Colonel Harris.

Mrs. Miller danced,—as do many Anglo-Indian ladies,—remarkably well. She was slight and supple, and had the advantage of a score of years of incessant practice. The face now resting on her partner's shoulder, wore an indescribable expression of ecstatic triumph, for here was she, a woman with a grown-up daughter (and having to take what she could get, among the rubbish-heap of partners), waltzing "Mon Rêve" with one of the smartest, and most popular young men in Madras! However, her ecstasy proved short-lived; when the music had wailed out the last bars, she gasped:

"Oh, that was a treat. Now do find us a cosy corner!"

But instead of complying with this alluring request, her cavalier conducted the lady to a prominent chair, and with a formal bow, withdrew, sternly determined that he would not—as she had broadly hinted—be her companion in a "Kàla Jaga" and at supper.

The next grand ball took place within the ancient walls of Fort St. George; and Mallender, who was now on his guard, hastened to fill his programme at the earliest opportunity. He secured dances with Nancy, Mrs. Villars, Mrs. Wylie, and various pretty girls, but gave Mrs. Miller a cautiously wide berth, steadily ignoring her smiles, signals, and even wafted kisses!

However, she danced all night, as if for very life; but he noticed that little Miss Barbie—looking rather white and woebegone—sat out the greater part of the evening with her burly Colonel.

CHAPTER IX

After two postponements, the polo tournament at last came off, and provided the community with an exciting entertainment. Colonel and Mrs. Tallboys never missed a single match; he being umpire, and a much respected authority on the polo ground, here this former brilliant performer was in his element. The little man knew most of the players well, and was acquainted with the personal character, merits or delinquencies, of every competing pony. The final, between the Chaffinches and the Marauders, brought all Madras to the Island, on a certain Thursday afternoon. Both teams were in magnificent form, and after a severely contested match, the Chaffinches won by six goals to five, amidst shouts and yells of applause.

Subsequently, Captain Byng received the cup at the gracious hands of Her Excellency, and when Mallender joined the party from Hooper's Gardens, he was accorded an ample share of praise; for his hard straight hitting, and fine driving power, had more than once saved the game. Colonel Tallboys rode about from group to group on his smart pony, a proud and happy man, and Mrs. Villars, looking lovely in a great feathered hat, gazed at the hero with her inspiring eyes, and whispered "Shabash!"

The syren had undoubtedly caught Geoffrey in her toils; he was acutely sensible of the glamour of her personality. With Lena Villars, appearances were not altogether deceitful, nor beauty vain. She had a soft low voice, a sympathetic, profoundly interested manner. Lena was not clever—and candidly admitted the fact—but professed that nothing gave her so much pleasure as to be with and listen to clever people—subtly insinuating that such were her companions. The charming widow was gentle, and timid—except at bridge, where her courage was more or less foolhardy—and always lovely to behold. Her white gowns, and tussore suits, appeared different to those of other women; so fresh, so creaseless, so eminently becoming. Her hats, and Panamas, exactly suited her. Of an evening in the verandah, with a chiffon scarf twisted about her head, it seemed to Mallender that he was contemplating a Madonna—or an angel. The fascinated young man was ready to do whatever the lady willed, and was almost as one who is hypnotised, or drugged—and yet, he was not in love with her; merely her servant, her anxious attendant, one of her many slaves.

The season began to wane, and the guests at Hooper's Gardens to dwindle in numbers. Mrs. Villars, Nancy, Sir William, the Wylies, and Geoffrey, were all that remained. People were now preparing to ship themselves to England, or to make engagements, and arrangements for the Hills.

"You come with us, of course, Geoffrey," said his cousin as they sat in the smoking-room after tiffin. "You will get hunting, I'm taking up the horses, and my friends the planters will give you capital shooting in the sholahs. I hope, by this time, you have forgotten your crazy nonsense—eh?"

"No, frankly, I have not," rejoined Mallender with unexpected decision. "I am still holding on to it. I should like to go to Ootacamund with you and Fan; you have been most awfully kind, and made me feel absolutely at home—but I want to drive a bargain."

"Oh, bargain away!" rejoined his relative, but his tone was apprehensive, his air ungracious.

"If I hear of some news I am expecting, I'll have to leave you, probably at an hour's notice, for I've promised to hold myself in readiness; and so if I go off rather abruptly, you will excuse me, won't you?"

Colonel Tallboys, who was walking about the room, made no reply, but pulled down his waistcoat, with an angry jerk.

"After all, you will remember that I came out here with a certain object," urged the young man.

"Oh, yes, I'm aware of that, and if the object were known, you'd find yourself an object of derision." Having delivered himself of this opinion he sat down, and regarded his cousin with a fixed glare.

"I can't help it, I must stick to my job," rejoined Mallender doggedly. "I may not be summoned; but if I am, and should be detained, letters to the Bank of Madras will find me; of course I shall write. I know you dislike this subject, so we will make it clear now, and once for all!"

"'Pon my soul, I think you are mad!" burst out Colonel Tallboys. "This mania of yours is—serious. Here are Fan and I, both attached to you, and looking on you more as—a—a—a son than anything, and you want to bolt off after some will-o'-the-wisp. As for a clue, swindlers may, and will fool you, but mark my words, you'll never get hold of one!"

"But I have got hold of a slight one."

"Let's hear it!" he said sharply.

"I had a line from Brown and Co. to say, that my allowance ceased, from the day I came to Madras."

Colonel Tallboys almost leapt out of his chair, his face was crimson.

"You call that a clue!" he shouted, "why, man alive, I call it ruin!"

"No, not altogether," replied his companion in a steady voice, "I have a good balance in hand, and before that is exhausted, I hope to have solved the problem."

"'Pon my soul, I have no patience with you, Geoffrey," declared his cousin fiercely; then standing over him, like a little bristling terrier, he added, "Your father was undoubtedly eccentric of late years, no doubt of that—and on one subject, I honestly believe you are not sane!"

"Well, well, Fred, let us leave it at that," replied Mallender with an uneasy laugh, "don't let us talk about it any more."

"I may not talk, but I shall think," retorted Colonel Tallboys in a loud, tremulous voice, and with this parting speech he hurried from the room, overturning as he went an indignant dog, and a couple of golf-sticks.

During all these weeks, though temporarily carried away by continuous amusements, and the irresistible fascinations of Mrs. Villars, Mallender had figuratively clung to, and corresponded with Jaffer and Co.—in spite of the fact, that their answers were indefinite, and letters few and far between. As he sat in the smoking-room, the afternoon after this scene with his relative, a butler entered, salaamed, and said:

"Someone come on business to see your Honour."

"All right," he answered, "show him in."

Almost treading on the servant's heels, there entered a thin, flat-chested native, heavily pock-marked, with a cast in one of his eyes—not an attractive personality. He wore a long tight black velvet coat, patent leather boots displaying a surprising eruption of mother-of-pearl buttons, an embroidered skull cap, and gold spectacles. With a profound salutation, he presented a visiting-card, on which was neatly inscribed:

"From A. D. Shumilal and Co., Agents, 805 Pophams Broadway."

"Captain Mallender, I think?" he enquired.

"Yes, that's right."

"I have come as representative of this firm—who are acting for Jaffer and Co., Hyderabad."

"I hope you bring me some news at last?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then glibly replied:

"Well, sir, you understand, that this is a very ticklish business and difficult. So much time has passed. So much bridge under water as you—say——"

"Yes, yes, yes. I know all that," returned Mallender impatiently.

"But we have now good hopes, that the case will end in success."

"Then you have some information?"

"That is so; but the affair is most awfully expensive, and I am sent here to request one small advance for outlay, only fifty pounds."

"But you have already had a hundred!"

"That is correct, and placed to credit," returned the clerk imperturbably, now producing a book from a pocket in his Noah's Ark coat, "and when you settle, I will hand you receipt."

"Yes, I dare say you will! You are rather premature, my friend. So far, I've seen no results for my money."

"Very soon, you shall. You understand, that we have to pay our staff through the nose. You will be ready, when summoned, to start at once."

"Why, of course; that's what I'm here for," rejoined Mallender impatiently.

"You may go far, you may go near. The man we are following fluctuates; sometimes he is close at hand, and sometimes out of reach for years!"

"By Jove, this sounds promising!"

"He is now in the country, and we may corner him any day; but he is very slip about and clever."

"You are sure that he is the right person?"

"Oh, yes, why not?" rejoined the clerk with easy confidence; and then, deliberately ticking off each finger, he continued, "Army man, retired; age between fifty and sixty,—always hiding identity, coming and going, many, many years. No letters from England, no English friends, no real home."

"Yes, it seems all right," said Mallender turning to open his dispatch-box, and extract a cheque-book. "Here," having scribbled for a moment, "is the money. As soon as you have any 'pucka' news, let me know at once."

The clerk received the slip of green paper, and having examined it carefully, laid down a receipt, and was about to depart when Mrs. Brander appeared, just back from golf.

"Ah, I'm interrupting a business interview!" she exclaimed, backing to the door.

"No, we have quite finished," replied Mallender, nodding to the baboo, who immediately salaamed, and glided forth.

"I am certain that man has something to do with your mystery," announced the lady, now coming forward, and seating herself squarely in an arm-chair.

"What do you mean?—what mystery?"

"Oh, you need not pretend! As a child, I was notorious for ferreting out secrets; and I've always known that you had one."

"But what makes you think so?"

"Uncle Fred told me you had come to India, about a gold mine; you assured me, that you had no interest whatever in an ounce of India! It is a pity you did not agree in your story! Do tell the true tale to me; I really think I ought to share it too! I extracted from Fanny the fact, that there was something; but beyond that, I could not pierce—no, not if I took a tin-opener! Perhaps I could help you? At least I'd be straight and honest, if not so sharp as your friend with the cock-eye, and the wreath of forget-me-nots round his cap."

"All right, then I'll tell you what there is to know," said Mallender impulsively, "but first, let me put away your sticks and golf-balls."

"Thank you; I've just done the nine-hole course, and beaten Fanny to smithereens. Uncle Fred says I now walk with the golf stride!—isn't he rude? Let us go into the verandah, where we cannot be overheard," and as she spoke, Mrs. Brander led the way out of the room, through the long French window.

When they were seated side by side in two luxurious cane chairs, Mallender imparted the outline of his enterprise without, remarkable to relate, one interruption.

"Now what do you think of it?" he enquired, as he concluded.

"Give me time to consider. My head is reeling," declared Nancy, then looking at him with her clever grey eyes, she went on: "Tom has been about in this country; he was born here, and both his father and grandfather were in the Indian Civil; he has heard of, and seen strange things, so I am not rudely incredulous. I believe that your Uncle is still in the land—but why? A jig-saw puzzle is nothing to this! I also believe that he will never allow you to find him. He has thirty years' start, and knows every hole, and corner, in the Presidency."

"But I don't believe that this man is my Uncle," argued Mallender with hasty emphasis, "so there is where we differ! He pretends he is, to Brown and Brown, and is a clever and unscrupulous forger; but I shall find his lair yet, and run the ruffian to earth, like any other vermin."

"It's an enormous task," said Nancy; "especially for you, an utter stranger, who cannot speak the language, and do not know our little ways. What does your Baboo propose to do in exchange for the cheque?"

"Put me on to my man," was the prompt answer; "he has a clue."

"Ah, yes, so he says," she replied, with a glance of derision, "that sort of creature would promise you the moon."

"Oh, he has not much to do with the business, merely a messenger, from the agents of Jaffer and Co. As soon as they give me the office, I'm off."

"Are you?" she exclaimed rather blankly, "and what about Fan, and Uncle Fred?"

"He knows my object in coming out. I told him at once—in fact, within the first five minutes."

"And?" now leaning forward, her chin on her hands.

"And—he won't help me. He is dead against me in this; in fact, he can't bear it spoken of; we had a bit of a breeze to-day, and the subject is barred!"

"Uncle Fred has a commonplace imagination, tied up in red tape, and fastened with a sealed pattern knot, but a very long head on his square little shoulders. I pin my faith to his opinion. Still, I feel conscious of the magnetism that belongs to a man of purpose, and I must confess, that your romantic enterprise appeals to me; I will do all I can to help you to find one, or the other. I'll be your mouse; your Uncle—or the impostor—the lion!"

"Thank you awfully, my kind mouse."

"The woman who could assist you substantially, is Mrs. Fiske; unfortunately, she is not a mouse but a cat!"

"I can't bear the sight of her!"

"Yes, I know, because she is so maddening at bridge; and always adds up wrong, and argues; but she knows the Presidency, and every seamy tale for the last thirty years is at her finger-ends. Talk, including evil speaking, lying, and slandering—is her strong point. If you want to dig up an old divorce case, a racing scandal, a bankruptcy, go to Mrs. Fiske."

"I'm blessed if I do! Why do people stand her, and her tongue?"

"Because we are all afraid of her, shameful, miserable cowards! Of course, she ought to have been prosecuted for libel over and over again—but no one dares. On the contrary, we are all obsequiously civil and tremble before her, never knowing whose turn it may be next. And the awful part of it is, that her lies have always some foundation! For instance, if she were to see us sitting here together, talking secrets——"

"Well, what then?" demanded her companion brusquely.

"She might send an anonymous wire to Tom. How he would laugh! Ha! ha! ha!"

"I'm not going to laugh," declared Mallender with a flash in his eye, "that sort of woman, is like an infectious disease. She ought to be stuffed in a sack, and flung off the pier."

"Do please restrain your feelings," and Nancy lifted an appealing hand, "and I will say something wise. As your friend and confidante, I may assure you, that here in Madras, you will never get near your object—no, nor in Ooty. For you, it's nothing but play, play, play. I can see through Uncle's little plan; it is to keep you captive in Capua, ensnared by polo, golf—and other fascinations."

There was so much insinuation in the last three words, that Mallender coloured to his ears.

"You will find no opportunity to prosecute your search; so like Bacon's wise man, when you can't find opportunity—you must make it!"

"You are right," he answered with conviction, "I've agreed to this trip to Ooty, but when I've seen the place, I shall take a pull, and start on my own."

"Incognito, of course," she added impressively, "not as a young swell, with guns and servants, searching for a lost relation. That would bring you scores of bogus uncles; a keen stealthy tracking in an humble fashion, travelling intermediate class, and pretending to work for your daily bread, is your best line."

"Yes," he agreed, "as soon as I see a glimmer I'll start in rags, if necessary."

Nancy Brander critically considered her companion, from his glossy dark hair, to his neat brown boots, and softly repeated the words:

"Rags! You don't even know what they are! It's lucky you're searching for a man! to find a woman out here, would be absolutely hopeless."

"Oh—a woman—I dare say!"

"I see," she nodded her head, "in her case, you would not bother! You are not really a ladies' man!"

"Depends on the lady," he answered with a laugh.

"Well, Cousin Geoffrey, whatever you do, don't go and marry your grandmother!" was her somewhat enigmatic advice. "I shall write to Tom to-night, and tell him to dredge his memory, and try if he can recall any eccentric Englishmen, who live out here, and lie low; not loafers, but others who have a little money, and their own very particular reasons for not returning home; or who simply worship the East, for being the East, and cannot tear themselves away from the sun. Remember," she continued impressively, "that you must have some excuse for your rambling. Suppose you give out that you are writing a good popular book on the common, or garden, insects of India—including white ants, and other pouchees, how would that be?"

"Do I look like a man who could write a book?" cried Mallender, jumping to his feet, and standing before her.

"No, I cannot say you do; you look more like somebody musical. How would you like to go round with a gramophone, on a little cart?"

"Since you gave me an option, I say, not at all!"

"I have it!" clapping her hands, "photography,—that will take you anywhere and everywhere—short of a zenana."

"By Jove, a splendid idea! and I can photograph a bit. I'll buy a camera to-morrow, and if this clue pans out all right, I'll take to the road, as a travelling photographer."

"Beware, that the road does not take you," she answered gravely. "We shall soon have the hot weather upon us, and you little know, what that means—yet! You will keep Anthony, of course?"

"Yes, and I suppose I'll have to give him a peep behind the scenes, eh?"

"Quite unnecessary! He knows all your secrets, perhaps not every detail, but I'm sure he suspects that you have some mysterious business out here. No doubt your affairs are exhaustively discussed in the cook-house, and the bazaar. Natives are so vitally interested in us, and our concerns. We are always on the stage—they are the audience. I dare say Anthony has met, and exchanged confidences with your baboo—or baboon! Anthony has an inquisitive eye, but you can trust him. I advise you to tell him your plans, put him on his honour, swear him to secrecy—with a promise of rupees. He will enjoy the enterprise enormously! since secrecy and intrigue are naturally in his bones, in fact, he ought to accept half wages. Anyway, I believe you will find him quite a useful Sherlock Holmes. Ah, here they all come, back from the golf links. Mrs. Villars and Sir William leading the van, the Wylies with Fan—so I will leave you to listen to the tale of their triumphs, their scores, their drives, and how someone 'foozled,' and someone swore! Good-bye!" and with a gay nod, Nancy Brander carried her slim well-tailored figure, and smiling face, out of the verandah.

That same evening as he was dressing for dinner, Mallender took Anthony into his confidence.

"I understand that you are trustworthy," he began abruptly, "and so I am going to tell you something that you are to keep strictly to yourself."

"Oh, yes, saar, certainly, saar," he answered with unexpected fervour, "Master going to be married."

"No—you fool! See if the door is shut."

(Mallender had now been promoted to the house). Then in a few short sentences he disclosed his plans. As the particulars were gradually unfolded, Anthony's attitude and expression changed; his eyes dilated, as for his mouth, it was wide open, and from its action, appeared to be swallowing whole sentences, with unctuous avidity.

"So now you know," concluded Mallender, as tie in hand, he turned to the glass.

"Saar, saar," stuttered a choking voice, "I hearing all this tale, when I was small chokra—true I telling. My Uncle Fernandez, now very old, no teeth, no belly, was thirty years ago head waiter in Cavalry Mess, Bangalore, and that business making much talk, when two officers come back from shoot, all 'Tulla Bulla,' and the other Captain nowhere! Regiment all upside down, great bobbery making, and plenty sorry, because there was nothing—no funeral—no corpse body!"

"That missing officer was my Uncle," announced his master, "and I've come to India to find out what became of him; and by and by I shall start as a man who travels round, looking for employment."

"I beg your pardon, saar! Employment, a situation, you, saar!" Anthony gasped out these words, and then stood breathless. From the style of Mallender's belongings, clothes, and kit, he had formed a high estimate of his status in life. Here was no poor Captain, with a mere two hundred and sixteen rupees four annas a month, but a master who wore the best silk underclothing, and socks, had dozens of shirts, a silver mounted suit-case, and gave presents to ladies that cost hundreds of rupees; in fact, he had been making up his mind to ask for a rise of wages, and this projected playing at poverty descended like a thunderbolt.

"I shall travel about as a photographer," resumed Mallender, as he pulled on his coat, "and take groups and families, in out-of-the-way places, and you shall accompany me as my assistant and carry the camera."

This was not an alluring prospect. Anthony was naturally gregarious, he liked the society of smart fellow-servants, he enjoyed bragging, and cock-fighting, listening to piquant news, playing cards, and smoking good cigars. Nevertheless, the prospect of a manhunt was exciting; yes, he would gladly take part in that.

"You can get me some cheap bazaar suits in kharki and drill," continued his master, "like what clerks wear; and a big common pith hat, and lots of soap and insect powder, and some towels. All my Europe kit, portmanteau, and guns, I'll leave behind me."

"I beg your pardon, saar, that bad sense. Better take one gun, plenty budmash up-country."

"Oh, a revolver will do. We must travel light."

"And how soon going, saar?"

"As soon as I hear some news I am expecting."

"Saar, beg your Honour's pardon, but I know one very clever man in Gora Bazaar. He is wise as a snake, has his ear to the ground, and finds lost things. Why not find lost gentlemans? Also, I knowing by your Honour's favour, one very good magic wallah."

"No, no, no," said Mallender impatiently, "none of that rot, Anthony! You get things ready for a start, here are fifty rupees, and bring a dirzee to-morrow, to make me some clothes for roughing it up-country."

At the same hour the next evening, Anthony as usual awaited his master, and with him was a companion.

"Who's this?" enquired Mallender, "the dirzee?"

"No, saar, my assistant, saar. If we go up-country, plenty work for two. I can cook and shoot game; this boy will do boots, wash dishes, and carry camera. He is a heathen, and very cheap, only six rupees. His name is Chinna-Sawmy, which by your favour means 'Little God.'"

"I hope he won't turn out a little devil!" responded Mallender. "Here, let me have a look at him."

Chinna-Sawmy, who now stood forward, showing two rows of beautiful teeth, was very dark, with inky black eyes, and black shades in his cheerful countenance. His age might be ten, or it might be fifteen. He wore a white coat, which almost swept the ground, an enormous turban—both obviously borrowed—and two silver toe-rings.

"Well, Anthony, remember that you are responsible for him. Does he speak English?"

"Oh, yes, saar," promptly responded Chinna-Sawmy, "I speak very well English, and I have a good chit—I dog boy to General Pringle, and five dogs; and Mrs. General, she liking me too much."

Here Anthony broke in. "Chinna-Sawmy is lucky, always finding things, once find gold watch, and that for why I catching Chinna-Sawmy; better than magic wallah," and he seized upon and exhibited the boy's hands, on each of which were two thumbs—small, perfectly formed, and growing from the same joint. "This bringing master plenty luck!" announced Anthony with an air of overwhelming conviction. But his master recoiled a step, and said:

"Oh, yes, all right; but I won't have the fellow to wait on me. I dare say, out here, a double growth may be a fine thing, but I draw the line at two thumbs on one plate," and having made this declaration, Captain Mallender went to dinner, and Chinna-Sawmy gave expression to his joy by standing on his head.

CHAPTER X

The most popular Meet was at the Marmelong Bridge, and here on a certain Thursday morning half Madras society was assembled on horseback, wheels, or, the lazy folks, in motors, awaiting the arrival of the hounds.

Colonel Tallboys, admirably turned-out and mounted to correspond, was engaged in an animated conversation with little Miss Miller—admittedly the best of horsewomen, and keenest of followers. Unfortunately her steeds were rarely worthy of their rider; to-day, for instance, she was reduced to a bony old waler, who looked as if he had been knocking about the world for many years, and had lately fallen into low estate. As Mallender joined the party the girl was saying:

"Yes, this is the Nizam. I knew he had been raced; and so you remember him winning the Gold Cup ten years ago! What a change! I always feel so sorry for animals when they grow old; Father bought him at auction at the Stable Company for a mere song, and rides him as a charger; after father, I must seem a mere feather! The Nizam loves jumping, and galloping, and finds it much more to his taste than dull morning parades."

"For all his age he has a wild and eager eye," observed Mallender, "if you will allow me I will take up his curb, it's pretty loose."

"No, no, thanks very much," said Barbie, "if we have any jumping, I must give him his head."

"It's a pity you can't give him a new pair of forelegs," remarked Colonel Tallboys, "he is not a safe mount now, poor old boy. You should have had Naughty Mary to-day, only the farrier pricked her in shoeing, and she's a bit lame. I'll send her over to you every morning."

"Thank you a million times! I do love her, naughty as she is, but chestnuts always have hot tempers."

"They say the same of red-haired people, and it's not true," declared Colonel Tallboys—whose own youthful locks had been distinctly carroty—"Ah, here come the hounds, and now we are off. I expect he will draw towards the Mount," and as he spoke the little man wheeled about, to jog beside the Master.

A Jack was speedily on foot; a fine, stout-hearted fellow, who immediately headed for his home in Palaveram Hills, seven miles away. It was a fast thing, and after a time, between the heat, the pace, and the rough going, a number of the hunt tailed away. Miss Miller and the Nizam were, however, still well to the fore; she had an eye for country, and made for a certain stiff mud wall, which cut off a considerable amount of paddy fields. Here Mallender was her sole companion, and as they galloped side by side, he noticed her face, girlishly alight, her colour brilliant with excitement.

"I'll give you a lead," he shouted, and putting on the pace raced up to the obstacle, cleared it in beautiful style, and had galloped about twenty lengths, when it occurred to him to look back; then he pulled up sharply, and turned his horse.

The Nizam was struggling on the ground, Miss Miller was lying near him in a heap. She sat up, then scrambled to her feet as Mallender approached; she looked white, and dazed, as she tottered over to a tree, and leant heavily against it.

"I'm afraid you are hurt?" he asked as he dismounted.

"No, only a little stupid,"—she gazed at him vaguely, as if she had never seen him before, and he noticed that her temple was bruised.

Meanwhile the Nizam had found his legs, and instead of waiting on the good pleasure of his rider, shook himself violently, and wheeling about, tore away in pursuit of the vanishing hunt. As the young lady seemed about to faint, Mallender hastily produced and proffered his flask, which, however, she dismissed with an impatient hand.

"Where am I? and who are you?" she asked in a tone of bewilderment.

"I'm Mallender, Miss Miller—don't you know me?"

"No, where am I, tell me?"

"You've been hunting—and you've just had a pip off the old horse," he explained, with patient slowness.

"Where?"

"At the wall; where you took it was a foot too high for the Nizam, and he landed on his head."

"I remember—now."

"I think you are only a bit shaken—he might have broken your neck."

"How I wish he had!" was her disconcerting rejoinder.

"Come, come, Miss Miller, I see you are knocked out of time," said Mallender cheerfully, "I know what it's like myself."

"No, no, you don't know," she contradicted hysterically, "you—you don't understand—how could you?" Something in her voice moved him unspeakably.

As Mallender looked at his companion, the expression of her quivering white face was pitiful beyond words. And he did know, he did understand. The momentary shock had evidently brought the girl's real feelings to the surface; he had caught a glimpse of the inmost heart, and secret misery, of little fair-haired, hard-riding, Barbie. Undoubtedly he had no right to this involuntary confidence. He, a mere passer-by, who had chanced on a glimpse of an impending tragedy. Could he not avert it? Barbie, so pale, pretty, and helpless, would be driven by the whip of tongues, by the cruelty of moral force, to throw away her priceless youth, her whole future—and no one could save her but herself! All these strange and disturbing thoughts flashed through the young man's mind, as he stood holding his impatient horse, and the girl leaned against a tree with strained gaze fixed upon the flat horizon. She seemed to be lost in a sort of day-dream, and to have completely forgotten his very existence; it was almost as if he and she had a whole empty world to themselves.

The hunt had disappeared, there was not a soul to be seen, and scarcely a sound to be heard, save the faint creaking of a water-wheel, and the scream of a kite, from the hard blue sky above them. As Mallender contemplated his silent companion, wondering how long the situation would last? and what he was to do? she suddenly recovered herself.

"I feel better," said she in her natural voice, "I'm all right now, I see that rude old horse has deserted me, how am I to get home?"

"You shall ride Rocket," replied Mallender, "he will carry you all right—I'll walk beside you, and lead him."

"No, indeed," she protested, "you have lost the run of the season, I'm so sorry, but I think, if you rode towards the Mount, you might still see something of them, and if you come across it—send a gharry for me,—I'll get to the road somehow!"

"We will both get to the road somehow," he answered; "let me put you up."

"I've twisted my foot," she explained with a wry smile, "please don't touch it."

"Then in that case I must lift you," and he raised her bodily in his arms, and placed her on the saddle.

Leading the horse carefully along the narrow bunds dividing paddy fields, or over bare and rocky tracts, among bushes of castor-oil plants, across sandy, dry water-courses, the pair at last reached the road. Their progress towards the outskirts of the city and the lines of the native regiment commanded by Colonel Miller was necessarily slow, and more than an hour elapsed before the pair arrived at their destination. A surprising amount of talk can be accomplished in an hour, and the young people thus thrown so unexpectedly together found plenty to say to one another. Mallender spoke of his home, his regiment, and his dogs, and Barbie realised that her "syce" (as he called himself) was a man who owned hunters and a "place." Yet he was as simple and unassuming and exhibited no more "side" than if he were a clerk like Reggie Scott, who had nothing beyond a miserable hundred and fifty rupees a month. That Reggie adored her Barbie was well aware; he was a nice boy, but she did not care for him—except as a partner at tennis. One day in a towering rage he had taunted her with having no more heart, or romance, than a cold potato! Was this true? she wondered; had she really no heart? Was she incapable of deep love for any living mortal?

Wearing a pair of brand-new riding-boots, leading a disappointed and unwilling horse over rough broken ground, through grey-green cactus and castor-oil plants—finally along dusty by-roads, would have seemed a hateful task to most men; but Mallender was unconscious of any disagreeables, he neither felt the sun beating on his back, the dust, or the distance; he was only sensible of the unexpected charm of his present companion.

As for Barbie, miles on a slippery saddle,—the uncomfortable attitude, and aching foot,—were agreeably discounted by a subtle sympathy which had arisen between her escort and herself.

As the same escort tramped through the soft red dust, he found himself unexpectedly confiding various matters to his charge. He gave her no evasive answers when she asked what had brought him to India; but frankly informed her that his visit was connected with a curious family business he was obliged to see through. "It has," he added, "to do with something that happened thirty years ago."

"It sounds romantic!"

"I suppose some would call it so," he answered, lamely.

"What does Colonel Freddy call it?"

"Madness!" was the curt reply.

"Madness!" echoed the girl, and she looked down at her companion with startled eyes.

"Yes," he replied doggedly. "If I were to tell you about it, you'd probably say the same! I confess that it sounds extraordinarily silly, yet I mean to stick to it."

"Then I wish you well through your task, and every success," she said gravely.

For a moment Mallender was conscious of an acute temptation to tell this little girl all about his quest—he assured himself that in her he would surely find a sympathetic confidante,—but on second thoughts he changed his mind, and merely said:

"It's a stiffer job than I expected, and out here it's so confoundedly hard to get things moving."

Confidences are contagious, and the two young people exchanged many ideas and opinions as they drew nearer, and yet nearer, to the suburbs of Madras. They did not touch on any deep or vital subjects, but agreed in their love of dogs, and of most animals; in a liking for country life,—raspberry and currant tart, Lehar's waltzes, and Rudyard Kipling. Barbie talked frankly, yet shyly, of the farm,—her school-fellows, and school-days, but on the subject of her career as a grown-up young lady she was dumb.

"You will be returning to England this spring, won't you?" asked her companion. The question was in the nature of a discreet feeler.

"My father's time is up," she replied, "and he and my mother go home in April—as for me——" she came to an abrupt stop.

"As for you?" he repeated, looking up at her shadowed blue eyes, and noticing the wistful misery of her face.

"Nothing is decided," she answered with a gulp; and a spasm, half of laughing, half sobbing, caught her breath.

Mallender was suddenly seized by an irresistible desire to speak. His mother's warm impulsive blood was beating in his veins. Why should he not urge upon this girl, that she had her own life to live; that she must not sacrifice her youth, and future, to the selfish demands of three elderly people, who had enjoyed their day?

As he struggled between a temptation to deliver his soul, and a conviction that he would be guilty of "beastly cheek," his thoughts were put to flight by Miss Miller, who exclaimed:

"Here we are in Vepery, close to our lines, and your dreadful dusty walk is nearly ended!"

In another moment, they had come within sight of a bungalow, and on its gate was a board, bearing the name, "Colonel Miller, 20th Carnatic Rifles."

"I assure you I've enjoyed what you call my 'dreadful dusty walk,' Miss Miller," said Mallender, "and as far as I'm concerned, I'm sorry it's over; but you must be dead beat, and glad to be home."

And what a squalid home! (An exception, not the rule among military households in India, which as a rule are remarkably neat and trim; even where rupees are scanty, there is taste and refinement; but the Millers had always been an indolent, improvident, and self-indulgent couple, who found their pleasures abroad, whose abode was makeshift, and their motto "A short life, and a merry one." Now, after thirty-two years' service, Colonel Miller was about to retire on his pension—leaving behind him few well-wishers, and many debts.)

The mud garden, which intervened between gate and bungalow, held some sickly crotons, bushes of the shoe plant, and a variety of ragged kitchen rubbers, also not a few energetic hens—who were dusting themselves with commendable energy. The verandah was lined with pots of withered geraniums, and irritable-looking cacti; a green parrot in a bazaar cage hung between two pillars, talking scandal to his own grey claw. Here also were exposed piles of battered packing cases, old bullock trunks, wine cases, saddlery, and sprawling in a long chair, in his sleeping suit, reclined Colonel Miller, who was smoking a "Trichy" with an air of sluggish satisfaction.

"Hullo!" he shouted to someone within, "Barbie has come to grief!"

The announcement brought Mrs. Miller from the dark interior;—Mrs. Miller, in a soiled pink dressing-gown, bare feet in slippers, and hair in curling-pins. She stopped short, as if shot,—here indeed was Barbie, riding a strange animal, and accompanied by a man—young Mallender, of all people. He had seen her! Well, she must just brave it out!

Several lurking slovenly servants who had also witnessed the arrival, came slinking round a corner of the bungalow, in order to stare at the smart gentleman, and his fine horse.

"What has happened?" screamed Mrs. Miller, seizing a solar topee, and thrusting it on her head.

"Miss Miller has had a fall," replied her escort, putting two fingers to his helmet, "but it is nothing serious."

"And where's the horse?" she screamed.

"Oh, he got away,—I expect he is all right!" was the soothing response.

"Please lift me down," murmured Barbie, "and don't wait."

"I thought you could ride anything, my girl," said her father, as she limped up to him.

"The old Nizam was blown, and came down at a wall."

"I hope he hasn't barked his knees, eh, Mallender? Very kind of you to bring my little girl home. You'll excuse this kit—it's a Europe morning, you know, and at this hour you must take us as you find us."

"Of course, sir, of course," assented the visitor, "it's barely nine o'clock."

"Have a peg, and a cheroot?"

"No,—thank you,—it's a bit early!"

"Ah, you young fellows are different to what we were! you're all for tea, and Pérrier water! Hullo, here comes Harris in his war-paint," as Colonel Harris, bestriding a fat charger, and attended by a syce, rode proudly into the compound. He saluted his friend, and contemporary, then stared aggressively at Mallender, who supported his gaze with imperturbable sang-froid.

"Barbie took a toss," explained her parent, "and Captain Mallender has just brought her home."

"Oh, has he, eh! Good morning, Mallender—any the worse, Barbie?" he enquired, descending heavily as he spoke.

"No, only my ankle, nothing much."

"Ah, I see we must put a stopper on to this hunting of yours," declared Colonel Harris as he climbed the steps murmuring condolences, and with clanking sword, waddled over to where his lady-love sat, in a lop-sided cane chair.

"I will say good morning," called out Mallender, now mounting his horse. The sight of Barbie, and the mawkish solicitude of her admirer, was altogether too much for his equanimity. Towards unconscious Colonel Harris there arose in his mind a sudden fierce dislike and enmity, and with a comprehensive farewell he trotted out of the gate. All eyes followed him, including those of Mrs. Miller—who was peeping through the chick. She had hastily retired to take out the curling-pins, and put on her stockings.

A smart, soldier-like figure in his neat riding-kit, on his fine well-groomed New Zealander, a contrast, thought Barbie, to her elderly red-faced lover, who was still panting from the exertion of ascending the verandah.

At this juncture, the appearance of the Nizam created a diversion; the side-saddle was intact, also his knees; he was covered with sweat and foam, but appeared to be in buoyant spirits, as if he had thoroughly enjoyed himself!

Meanwhile Mrs. Miller followed her daughter into her bedroom—a low, bare apartment, overlooking the servants' go-downs, and sparsely furnished with a cot, a press, and a rickety dressing-table.

"Show me your foot?" she commanded. "Well, yes, it's swelled. You must bathe it, and send for arnica, it will be all right in a few days. Now listen to me, Barbie," she went on impressively, "you are not to bring young men here,—James doesn't like it."

"But I did not bring Captain Mallender, mother—he brought me."

"Nonsense, you ought to have got a gharry!"

"Not one to be had, in the paddy fields beyond Sydapet."

"Now, no impertinence! Understand, once for all, I won't have Mallender hanging about, so don't you go making up to him."

Barbie became scarlet, and flung her boot across the room with unnecessary violence.

"Keep your temper, Barbara! I won't allow you to speak to him, or encourage him."—In Mrs. Miller's bosom, there rankled a sharp and spiteful memory of the young man's indifference, and neglect.—"He fancies himself no end, and looks down on all Madras spins, and I hear from good authority he is a regular bad lot; so see that you give him a wide berth, or I'll know the reason why. As long as you are under my roof, you must obey my wishes. When you have a house of your own, you can please yourself. You'd better get the ayah to bandage your foot, and put on one of your father's slippers. You must be quick and change and come out to breakfast, as James is here."

CHAPTER XI

One afternoon, after a couple of hours' severe polo practice, Mallender returned home to bathe, and change; and subsequently feeling considerably refreshed, sauntered out to have a smoke. In the immediate neighbourhood of his tent was an ancient pleasure-ground, which doubtless had been laid out in the days of Jane Austen when ladies took exercise and "walked in the shrubbery." Behold a shrubbery with tropical trees, thick undergrowth, a wild tangle of shrubs and creepers, splashed with blossom; and blazing masses of oleanders, pomegranates and variegated crotons, intersected by overgrown, narrow walks. In an open space was a large half-empty, chunam tank, and one or two stone benches. Here Mallender sat down, and lit a cigar. He seldom now had a moment to himself, his days were a wild rush from one function to another. Undoubtedly he was having a very jolly visit, but he must take a pull. He had been nearly a month at Hooper's Gardens, and it was a case of "As you were." His correspondents Jaffer and Co. seemed to be of the same mind as the French cynic, who remarked that "when making promises to people, it was always wise to be exceedingly vague."

He had engagements for weeks ahead, and if nothing turned up meanwhile, had agreed to accompany his relatives to the Hills. He liked them both immensely, and Nancy too. There were lots of good fellows in the polo teams, and the Fort; he was really having the time of his life! All the same, he had not come out to take part in this giddy round. When he began to talk of his enterprise to his cousin, it was odd how sharply he changed the subject; but whatever happened, he could not allow Fred to stand in his way! These reflections were suddenly interrupted by an audible, half-strangled sob; Mallender looked about him. At first he had an idea that the sound came from the mysterious enclosure over the wall; possibly the Prince had been chastising one of his women-folk. It was rather a weird establishment; generally silent as death. At times, he caught the sound of squealing horses, men's sonorous authoritative voices, and occasionally, at a very late hour, the strains of a zitar were wafted above the intervening neem and pagoda trees. Another loud heart-shaking sob! It proceeded from this side of the boundary, and his own immediate vicinity; Mallender rose quickly, and turning into a narrow walk, half choked by masses of shrubs, discovered a girl sitting on a stone seat, her head bowed, her face buried in her hands—evidently in an agony of grief. Hearing his footsteps, she started and looked up, and he found himself face to face with Miss Sim. And, oh what a haggard, tear-stained, ghastly countenance!

"What is the matter?" he asked brusquely.

She choked, and made no reply, but merely continued to stare at him stupidly. He noticed, that beside her on the seat lay a small suspicious looking bottle, at which following his glance, she made a frantic grab.

"Come, Miss Sim," he resumed, now sitting down beside her, "let me hear all about it,—is it something so very bad?"

A dry shudder was her only answer.

"Can't you tell me?" he urged, "I may be able to pull you through. Anyway, my cousin will. I hate to see you like this." She was still sobbing hysterically. "Don't look at me, but imagine I'm another woman—who just wants to do you a good turn."

Suddenly he remembered her story; here was the so-called "sponge" in desperate trouble, and possibly at the end of her resources. Although they had been nearly a month in the same house, they had but scant acquaintance. Miss Sim did not ride, play bridge, or take any part in social activities; if Mallender ever thought of her, it was as a colourless young woman, with anxious eyes, who seemed only too thankful to be ignored, and overlooked. He had noticed her motoring with Fanny, and helping her with notes, and menu cards. Fred, too, talked, played tennis, and danced with her, but to most of their other guests Miss Sim was as a ghost. Mrs. Villars recognised her existence so far as to make use of her and send her messages; whilst Mrs. Wylie ridiculed her openly, and treated her as if she were a servant.

"In the first place, hand me over that little bottle," he went on authoritatively.

No answer beyond a subdued weeping and choking.

"If you don't, I shall have to take it from you."

Moved by this threat, she slowly unclosed her limp fingers, and he promptly possessed himself of a tiny blue phial, on which was scrawled:

"Poysun—fur dog."

"Now," said Mallender as he crossed his legs, and looked at her sternly, "I insist on your telling me what this means?" He realised, that he must adopt a determined attitude, with this miserable weeping creature. "Come, now."

"Oh, it's a long, long story," she moaned, "and I've been such a fool!"

"We have all been that," he answered cheerily. "Unless I know what your trouble is, how on earth can I help you?"

"Must I really tell you?" and she looked up at him with streaming eyes.

"Why not? But first of all, let us get out of this jungle, and sit in the open by the tank," and he rose, and led the way followed by wretched Miss Sim, whose spasmodic sobs were still audible, though she was now comparatively calm.

"To begin with," she said as she dried her eyes, "I made a fatal mistake in coming out to India. I had no business in this country."

"Precisely my own case, according to Brown and Co.," reflected Mallender.

"But I was so miserable at home; an orphan, living with my aunt, as maid and governess to her four children. I had always longed to see India, and devoured every book relating to the East that I could lay hands on, and a girl I knew, had a married sister in Poona, and read me her delightful letters. Then when I went for a holiday to an old school-fellow, I met a lady who lived out here, and who took a fancy to me"—she paused for a moment, and added hysterically, "I wonder you don't laugh!"

"Why should I laugh?" he asked sharply.

"I was so different then, bright, and gay. I could sing, and tell fortunes, and trim hats, and Mrs. Powell, who was returning to India, said, that if ever I could scrape up the passage money, and make my way out, she would give me a ripping time."

"I see."

"I got this idea firmly fixed in my mind, and worked for it like a slave. I sold some old jewellery, and bought things, and got together my outfit, and at the end of six months, I advertised for, and obtained a passage to Bombay, as nurse to one child. Then I told Aunt Todd; she was furious, and declared that if I went, what she called 'wild-goosing to India,' she would never have anything more to say to me as long as she lived."

"And you came all the same!" commented her companion.

"I did. I had a delightful passage, and made a number of new friends. Of an evening, I sang and acted, and played bridge. I never shirked my work; but once Jacky was in bed, and asleep, I considered myself free. Mrs. Blunt and I had a difference of opinion on the subject—she expected me to sit, mewed up in the cabin, till bedtime. But I did not care what she said. I was reckless, and happy, and greedy of amusement. When we arrived in Bombay I sent Mrs. Powell a wire, 'Here I am—may I come?' the answer was merely 'Yes,' and I confess, I felt a little damped; for in England, she had been so demonstrative, and affectionate. However, when I reached Chotapore, after a long dusty journey, she seemed rather pleased to see me; but somehow, I felt in my bones, that this Mrs. Powell was not the same woman I had known in Ealing. Still, she made me welcome to her spare room, and I trimmed up her hats, and things, and sang, and told fortunes at her little parties. I think Mr. Powell liked me; he took me out riding, and taught me piquet, but his wife soon grew tired of me,—and let me see it. I had supposed that in India, guests stayed for months and months, but I found that times were changed; a few weeks, or even days, is the limit of a visit."

"And what happened next?" enquired Mallender.

"After leaving the Powells, I went on to various ship acquaintances, and more or less enjoyed myself for six months. After that my money began to give out, and also my invitations, and wardrobe. By the end of the year, I was forced to write an abject letter to my aunt, imploring her to pay my passage home."

"And she refused, and said she'd see you further?" threw in Mallender.

"She said nothing; I've sent four letters registered, and no reply,—though she must know that I am absolutely penniless, and destitute."

"But what has brought your troubles to a crisis?"

"Many things. For one, my only girl friend, and confidante, who advises and helps me, has sprained her ankle, and her odious mother will not allow us to meet, when I call I'm told 'Missus can't see.' Perhaps she's afraid I want to borrow money!"

"But why go so far? Why go outside this place? Surely you have friends here—my cousin?"

"That is just another reason. Mrs. Tallboys has done so much for me, her kindness is—oh, you have no idea of it! I came for one month, my second visit, and I'm here three. Mrs. Brander has given me things, and lent me money. If she were my sister, she could not have done more. No, sooner than continue to impose on these kind good people, I'll kill myself!" and as she spoke, she clenched her hands, the expression of her face was fixed and distraught, her pale eyes looked enormous.

"But who says you are sponging?" demanded Mallender.

"Oh, everyone—Mrs. Fiske,—Mrs. Wylie,—Mrs. Wylie makes remarks, that burn and sting. She laughs, and is so scornful, and superior, and talks of sponges from the servants' hall, and asks for the address of my tailor and dressmaker? She drives me nearly frantic,—though I say nothing. I have tried desperately hard to leave Hooper's Gardens; I've written to people, and implored them to take me as unpaid maid, or nurse—no one wants me, and I have no money. I gave my last two rupees to an old woman to buy me that stuff you have in your hand—I said it was for a dog—but of course she guesses—natives are always so sharp. Then I made up my mind to take it out here—as it will make less fuss afterwards—than if I—did it indoors; and long ago a girl did drown herself in this tank. So, you see," suddenly springing to her feet, "there is nothing else for it. We must all go some time! and—I really am not wanted in the world. I feel ever so brave now. Please let me have my little phial again, it will be the truest kindness, and do you go away,—and—and come back in half an hour."