Mr Perowne's was acknowledged to be by far the best garden at the
station; its favourable position--sloping, as it did, down to the
river--prevented any approach to aridity, and as he had gone to the
expense of getting three Chinese gardeners--men who were ready enough,
if not to originate, to take up any suggested idea--the result was a
charmingly-picturesque succession of smooth lawns and shady walks,
sheltered by the choicest flowering trees the country produced.
He spared no expense to make the garden attractive, and on the night of
Helen's twenty-first birthday, when they gave a garden-party, the place,
with its Chinese lanterns and illuminated summer-houses, had an effect
that seemed to Grey Stuart the most lovely she had ever seen.
"I quite envy you sometimes," she said, as Helen, in her calm assurance,
kissed her and welcomed her in a patronising way; "surrounded as you are
with luxuries, you ought to be very happy."
"And yet I am not," said Helen, bitterly, and she turned to meet some
fresh arrivals.
"You've a deal to grumble about," said old Stuart, who had heard his
daughter's words. "What's all this but show and tinsel? What's it
worth? Bah!"
Her father's words did not comfort her, for she felt very sore; and as
she strolled with him down one of the paths she thought to herself that
there was an old fable about a dog in a manger, and in her quiet, homely
fashion, it seemed to her that Helen was playing that part.
For she had, in her unselfish sorrow, seen that for some little time
past Hilton was not happy in his love. Helen was playing with him, and
he seemed to feel it bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; and
she thought to herself, what would she not give to be able to whisper
comfort to the young officer, and pour out for him the riches of her
love--an impossibility, for in her way she was as proud as Helen
herself.
"Ah, Mr Stuart! How do, Miss Stuart?" drawled a voice just behind
them. "Glad to see you both. I say, Miss Stuart, do you want a fellow
to play cavalier? I'm quite at liberty. Mr Stuart, there's plenty of
claret-cup, champagne, and cigars in the little pagoda, and it's nice
and cool."
"It's like an oven out here," growled the merchant. "I say, Grey, you
don't want me, do you? Chumbley will take care of you. Come to me when
you want to go."
For answer she placed her hand on the lieutenant's arm, and he took her
round the grounds.
"Looks nice, doesn't it?" he said. "Seen all the grandees?"
"I have only seen Helen and Mr Perowne," she replied.
"Looks well to-night, 'pon my word. I saw Murad's eyes light up like a
firefly as he shook hands with her, but he pulled himself to directly.
Perowne does these things well. Old boy must be pretty rich."
"They say he is, very," replied Grey. "Here is the Rajah coming up.
Mr Chumbley, I always feel afraid of that man."
"Hold tight by my arm, then, and I'll punch his head if he looks at you.
He shan't run away with you while I am by."
Grey laughed merrily, and in the midst of her mirth the Rajah came up.
"You English people always seem so bright and merry," he said, smiling,
and looking very handsome as he stood by the side of a lantern. "We
people always feel dull and sad."
"Have a glass of champagne then, Rajah. It is a fine cure for sadness.
I say," continued Chumbley, "you'll have to imitate this, and give an
evening _fete_."
"Yes," he said, eagerly; "I was thinking so. But I would have more
lanterns in the trees, and more flowers."
"To be sure," said Chumbley. "You'll invite me?"
"Will you promise me to come?" said the Rajah, holding out his hand.
"I will indeed," replied Chumbley, grasping it in return.
"And you too, Miss Stuart?"
"You must ask papa," she said, quietly.
"I will," said the Rajah, earnestly. "Where is he?"
"Having a cigar in the little pagoda, Rajah," replied Chumbley; and the
Malay Prince nodded and smiled, and went away.
"Here, I say," said Chumbley, as soon as they were alone. "I'm going to
have a quarrel, Miss Stuart. I thought there would have been a chance
for me, and that my rejected addresses would be accepted, and now you
have behaved like this."
"What do you mean, Mr Chumbley? If it is an enigma, I cannot guess it;
if it is a joke, you must explain it; for I am only a Scottish maiden."
"Joke?--no," he said; "I call it no joke. Here you and the Rajah have
the effrontery to make up matters before me."
"I and the Rajah!" cried Grey.
"Yes; you told him to go and ask papa. I heard you."
"Oh, Mr Chumbley, what a poor joke," she cried; and then she stopped
short, for the handsome face and stately form of the Inche Maida,
followed by one attendant, suddenly came upon them from out of a dark
side-walk.
"Then I was right," she said, holding up her finger at both in turn.
"You two are lovers."
"And we always talk about other people," said Chumbley, as the Princess
kissed Grey rather coldly upon the forehead. "Come along with us, and
you shall hear."
His frank, easy manner seemed to chase away the Inche Maida's coldness,
and laying her gloved hand upon the young man's arm, she pressed it
rather more warmly than English etiquette requires, and together they
promenaded the grounds, coming twice over upon Hilton, who seemed dull
and out of sorts; while Helen was full of vivacity, her eyes sparkling,
her words full of bright repartee; and even the Resident, with his
rather sardonic humour, seemed to look at her more kindly than usual.
This look seemed to spoil her, for she immediately after began to flirt
merrily, first with one and then with another, sending poisoned stabs
through Hilton's breast, and making him gnaw his lip as he darted
reproachful glances at her from time to time.
Grey saw a good deal of this as the party gradually drew together to
where an _al fresco_ supper was spread upon the lawn, and her sufferings
were as acute as those of Hilton.
"She does not care for him in the least," she said to herself, as she
noted Helen's conduct with a young officer present.
"Miss Stuart, may I take you to a seat? They are going to have supper
now."
Grey started and turned pale. Why had Captain Hilton asked her? she
thought. Then her heart answered,--Because Helen was trifling with him.
"I am engaged to Mr Chumbley, I think," she said, coldly, torturing
herself by her words; for she felt as if she would have given worlds to
have been seated at his side.
"Perhaps the Princess will allow me to be her escort?" said Hilton,
stiffly.
"Yes, I will," said the Princess, quickly, and she went with him towards
the supper-table.
"Well," said Chumbley, "suppose we go and find places, Miss Stuart; only
if I bore you don't be above telling me."