COLONEL BAYARD’S BURDEN.
/The/ famous city of Qadirabad, the seat of such government as
Khemistan possessed, was not reached from Bab-us-Sahel without
difficulty. There was a ride across the desert first, which was so
much to Eveleen’s taste that she begged they might go the whole way by
land. But there was no camping equipment available, and Khemistan was
destitute of rest-houses, and there at the Bunder lay the steamer,
booked to make the journey in four days--what more could reasonable
woman desire? But Colonel Bayard had been right in saying that if the
steamers plying between Bombay and Bab-us-Sahel were small and
uncomfortable, those on the river were worse. Owing to her light
draught, the passenger accommodation of the _Asteroid_ was limited to
a single cabin, the berths in which--so a friendly subaltern confided
to Mrs Ambrose--were constructed of a wood specially selected for its
hardness. Had not Colonel Bayard come to the rescue by having a tent
pitched for her on deck, Eveleen must have turned every one else out,
and as it was, she felt guilty of grievously restricting the space
available for exercise. The salient characteristic of the scenes
through which they passed--as of all else that she had yet encountered
in Khemistan--was mud. Sometimes they were steaming through a country
so absolutely level that there seemed no reason why the river should
remain where it was instead of overflowing on either side--and
derelict channels and stretches of marsh showed that the river itself
was of the same mind. More often they found themselves passing between
banks of mud which formed a kind of natural aqueduct, confining the
river in a course high above the general level of the country, and the
wash of the steamer caused portions of these banks to dissolve and
slide gently into the water. Sometimes one bank was high and the other
low--looking for all the world as though the river were being softly
tilted sideways to allow the water to run off, and in this case the
higher bank was generally wooded, with tall spindly trees above and a
mass of dense undergrowth below. These woods were the famous
_shikargahs_ of the Khans--their hunting paradises, formed
artificially like the New Forest, and by similar methods, as the many
remains of ruined and deserted villages showed. They were strictly
preserved, and such villages as still existed were at a discreet
distance from them--dismal collections of mud-heaps surrounded by a
network of irrigation canals. The canals were shockingly kept up, but
the crops were wonderful, and Colonel Bayard pointed out to Eveleen
the obvious fertility of the soil, giving so much in return for so
little. He sighed as he remarked that under a civilised government the
whole land might be a garden, and then changed the subject by telling
her droll anecdotes of his friends the Khans.
Despite the waste of a good deal of powder and shot on various
crocodiles and aquatic birds--which invariably escaped unscathed--the
four days passed in such hot and confined quarters were long and
wearisome, and the passengers beheld joyfully the palms and greenery
which marked the approach to Qadirabad. The place was surrounded by a
belt of gardens, above which, as the steamer rounded a bend of the
river, rose in the distance a vast battlemented wall and great round
tower, bearing an absurd resemblance to Windsor Castle. This was the
Fort--or rather, fortress--palace of the Khans, dominating the city
proper, but the British Agency was closer at hand, in a garden
overhanging the river. It was a settlement rather than a house, for
besides the large block of buildings erected by Colonel Bayard--in
which the humorous detected a resemblance to a champagne-case set on
end, its divisions represented by the arches of the several tiers of
verandahs--some of his subordinates had built bungalows for
themselves, and the native servants and hangers-on had a village of
their own. There were quarters for the guards, a bazar, gardens and
orchards, and the whole was surrounded by a wall some five feet high,
of the usual mud-brick. Eveleen was astonished by the size of the
community, for the work of the Agency required the services of a large
number of resident Europeans, while there were fifty or sixty more,
employed at Sahar or other places higher up the river, who made it
their headquarters on occasion. Some of the local white men were
married, but mostly to country-born women, so that Eveleen was
unquestionably the Burree Beebee. Had her claims needed support, it
would have been supplied by the chivalry of Colonel Bayard, who
insisted that the Ambroses should take up their quarters in his own
house, and consider him as their guest while he was there. For the
next few months, he said, he would be little in Qadirabad, as duty
called him up the river, to look after the supply arrangements for the
British forces returning--or more literally retreating--from Ethiopia,
and he was sure his wife would like to think the rooms he had prepared
for her were in the occupation of his friends. As Richard Ambrose
acted as Resident in his chief’s absence, the arrangement seemed
natural, but Eveleen had qualms when she saw the elaborate and
expensive furniture--not lest she should spoil it, but lest Mrs Bayard
should think it had not been treated with proper respect. One trial
was spared her. Almost with tears in his eyes, her husband implored
Colonel Bayard not to impose upon her the task of housekeeping on so
large a scale, and she was saved from the certainty of disgracing
herself by reducing the Resident to bankruptcy. It is true that she
considered the arrangements of the responsible secretary to be at
least as lavish as her own had been, but at any rate he was in the
habit of keeping accounts.
It had not occurred to her that in the absence of all household duties
time might hang a little heavy on her hands. There were plenty of
people to ride with her morning and evening, but in office hours she
was the only idle person in a hive of industry. That, at least, was
her husband’s view, of which she was irreverently scornful. The native
clerks might be hard worked, but she declined to believe it of the
Europeans, who did nothing, so she declared, but sit and smoke, and
now and then sign their names to the documents that were put before
them. How much better for them to spend the pleasant hours of
mid-morning and late afternoon--which would so soon become too hot for
outdoor exercise--in healthful cross-country gallops! But the Indian
official day was far too firmly established to be overthrown by one
mutinous Irishwoman, and Eveleen had to make her own occupations. She
was training the little horse Bajazet--to the mingled amazement and
scandal of her neighbours, who pointed out unsparingly defects of form
and action which betrayed his mixed blood. He had a horror of
natives--probably due to ill-treatment in his youth--and his mistress
went through stormy scenes with half a dozen syces, dismissing one
after another before she found one who would do as he was told. This
was a meek patriarch who was content to sit by, shrouded in the
horse-blanket, while Bajazet was put through his paces and learned to
follow Eveleen about like a dog. Once he came up the verandah steps
after her, but he was ruthlessly ejected by the orders of her husband,
who vowed he would _not_ have the place turned into an Irish cabin,
and she was obliged to content herself thereafter with teaching him to
ask for dainties without coming in search of them.
The unwritten law which restricted her unescorted rides within the
limits of the Agency was naturally a challenge to the Irish mind, and
Eveleen never rested until it was abrogated in her favour. It was not
as if she wanted to go into the town, she said--who would? And indeed,
Qadirabad--for all its imposing appearance and historic renown--was a
sadly uninteresting place. Very soon after her arrival, Eveleen was
taken up to the Fort gate, to look thence down the long line of the
Grand Bazar, and obtain a general view of the city. A wilderness of
mud hovels, broken in places by the dome of a mosque or the blunted
pyramidal tower of a Hindu temple, with a two-storied house within
high walls here and there, but never a tree to relieve the monotony
until the eye hailed the grateful greenery of the encircling gardens
on the horizon--all was squalid, mean, miserable. The Bazars--famous
throughout Asia for their manufactures--seemed to have fallen upon
evil days, for such pottery and lacquered ware as was to be seen was
of the poorest, and the gold and silver work and precious stuffs of
old were hardly to be found nowadays. A reason might be discovered for
this in the bands of armed men constantly to be seen in the narrow
streets, eyeing the peaceable craftsmen as inferior beings permitted
to exist in order to minister to the needs of their superiors, but by
no means to lay up wealth for themselves. The Khans were not Khemis by
race. A century ago they had come from Arabitistan, across the
mountains to the north-west, swooping down resistlessly upon a people
“quiet and secure” and practically defenceless. They had parcelled out
the country among their rude retainers, who remained as feudal chiefs,
and Khans and Sardars alike drew upon the inexhaustible reservoir of
Arabitistan for warriors of their own race to maintain and extend
their dominion. Without this continual reinforcement, the soft life of
the plains and inter-marriage with the conquered people might have
enfeebled the ruling caste, but with fresh hordes of wild Arabit
horsemen to be summoned at need, they remained a power to be
respected--if not particularly respectable. With tulwar and shield and
lance, the wild men swaggered where they would, responsible only to
the Khans--and not always very amenable to them--and caring nothing
for anybody else. Eveleen admired their showy little active horses,
the ease and grace of the riders, and the bright silks and embroidered
shawls of their apparel, but she had sense enough to realise that they
were not people it would be desirable to meet if she were riding
alone.
But if the town was barred, the garden-belt outside it was surely a
very different thing. The Arabit horsemen were seldom to be found in
the neighbourhood of the Agency--unless one of the Khans should happen
to be paying a state visit to Colonel Bayard--and the country was
fairly open. What danger could there be for Eveleen if she did not go
too far away, respected _shikargahs_, and avoided growing crops? Yes,
she would take a mounted orderly--it would only be like a groom--but
not--oh, please not!--an escort of the irregular force known as the
Khemistan Horse, which had been enrolled as the Resident’s guard. How
could she ride at her ease if she had always to tag about with an army
behind her? Playing the part of the Importunate Widow, she succeeded
at last in imposing her will on Colonel Bayard, and that unfortunate
man, most unfairly cast for the part of the Unjust Judge, found that
he had carefully cultivated a thorn for his own side.
He was in his office one day, discussing weightily with Richard
Ambrose the various matters of importance which might arise during his
absence, when sounds of dispute outside interrupted their
deliberations. Some one was demanding to be allowed to enter, and was
being respectfully but firmly repulsed by the scandalised
attendants--and the voice left no doubt who the intruder was.
“Mrs Ambrose, as I live!” exclaimed Mrs Ambrose’s husband in
unflattering disgust. “What bee has she got in her bonnet now? Excuse
me one moment.”
“Mrs Ambrose appears to wish to see me,” said Colonel Bayard, with his
unfailing kindness. “We can’t let an English lady be turned away by
the _chobdars_. Come! Good morning, ma’am; is there something you want
me to do for you? Good heavens! what has happened? Has any one
dared----?” for Eveleen’s face was flushed and tearful, and her lips
trembled too much to speak. She wrung her hands together wildly.
“Murder--a woman!” it was a kind of hoarse scream.
“You have been attacked? No?” as his eye ran quickly over her
speckless habit. “What is it, then? Sit down and tell us about it.” He
led her to a chair, and waved the attendants away. “You have had a
shock? A glass of wine!” he signed to a waiting servant. “Now let us
hear what it is.”
“Compose yourself, for Heaven’s sake!” growled Richard Ambrose--not
encouragingly, but the harsh tone proved more effectual than the
Resident’s kindness in enabling Eveleen to pull herself together. With
her fingers tightly pressed against one another she sat upright and
spoke jerkily.
“’Twas a poor woman--just a bit of a girl. Her father and her husband
had quarrelled. The horrid wretch--the husband, I mean--went straight
home--and called her out. The creature came--and stood before him
trembling. He took hold of her hair--her beautiful long hair--and
twisted it--into a rope--and _strangled_ her with it--her own
hair----” Her voice rose into a scream again.
“Yes, yes--very distressing,” Colonel Bayard patted her hand kindly.
“These things will happen here, we know, but you are new to them. And
you were passing, and saw it done?”
“_Saw_ it?” she cried furiously. “D’ye think I would not have broke my
whip over the brute’s head, and poked his eyes out with the bits
after? No, I was passing, and heard the old women keening--her mother
and her mother-in-law--and I went in there and saw--her poor face--and
her hair---- And I made the syce ask them about it, and they told me,
and I came straight back to you at once, that you might get the wretch
found out and punished!”
“But, my dear lady, where do you think he is?”
“Why, in hiding, of course!” in surprise.
“Not a bit of it! A man don’t go into hiding in Khemistan for little
accidents like that. I dare be bound the fellow is now boasting to his
friends of the revenge he has taken on his father-in-law, and every
one of ’em is sympathising with him. That’s all.”
“But d’ye mean nothing will be done?”
“Nothing whatever.”
“You mean you will do nothing?”
“My dear Mrs Ambrose, what could I do? Killing is no murder here,
where a woman is concerned.”
“But it ought to be. You could go to the chief Khan----”
“He would merely laugh at me. ‘Murder, you say, sahib? Who was killed?
A _woman_? and the man’s _wife_? and he was angry with her father?
Why, of course he killed her. It was the natural thing to do.’ And
that’s precisely what it is--in Khemistan.”
“And you let them go on like this? You say nothing----”
“What could I say? And what good would it do? It ain’t as though the
poor creature were alive, and I could save her by intervening. It’s
too late--unfortunately.”
He added the last word in deference to the stormy look in Eveleen’s
eyes as she rose from her chair, knocking down the untasted glass of
wine at her elbow.
“You needn’t say any more. I see how it is--perfectly. If Ambrose
killed me, ’twould merely be, ‘Only a woman--only his wife--and he was
angry with _her_--and it served her right!’” defiantly.
“If Ambrose killed you, I would hang him with my own hands, and you
know it very well!” said Colonel Bayard, between jest and earnest.
Then his tone changed. “But you have no right even to associate such a
thought with your husband, Mrs Ambrose. It is abominably unfair to
him, and only to be excused because you are a little unstrung at this
moment.”
“Just look at his face, then!” cried Eveleen recklessly. “Is there
black murder in it, or is there not, I ask you?” and she
departed--leaving two discomfited men behind her--to cry her eyes out
in her own room, until her husband, really alarmed, insisted on a
visit from the doctor, and--so near is bathos to tragedy!--the
administration of a composing draught.
That incident was closed. Eveleen made numberless irrevocable
resolutions that never, no, never! in any circumstances whatever would
she attempt to appeal again to the compassion, or even the sense of
justice, of those two stony-hearted men--but evidently she was one of
the people to whom things are bound to happen. Colonel Bayard had gone
to pay his farewell visit to the Khans, attended by Richard Ambrose
and other subordinates, and preceded by _chobdars_ bearing silver
sticks and similar insignia of dignity, when the remaining occupants
of the Residency became aware that Mrs Ambrose had another row on
hand. They guessed it when she returned from her ride at a tearing
gallop--the syce left behind somewhere on the horizon--and dashed up
to the office verandah, demanding eagerly to see the Resident Sahib.
It was clear she had forgotten all about his absence, for those who
were peering at her through the tatties reported that she made a
gesture of despair, and mounting again, rode round to her own quarters
with a slow hopelessness very different from the ardour with which she
had ridden in. She sent her horse away, but stayed walking up and down
the verandah without going to change her habit, her sun hat thrown
aside. The two men whose rooms were on the opposite side of the
courtyard could see the white figure passing and repassing across the
dark space left by the updrawn blind. Sometimes she came to the steps
to call a servant, and sent him on some errand--evidently to see
whether the Resident had returned without her hearing him, but in
vain.
“If that woman tramps up and down much more, she’ll drive me
distracted. What’s the matter with her?” demanded one of the watchers
irritably at last.
“Couldn’t say,” was the laconic reply of his companion.
“Well, you might risk a guess, anyhow. Tell you what, I’m going to
see. Are you game to come too?”
The other reflected. “I suppose Ambrose ain’t likely to consider it an
intrusion?”
Captain Crosse characterised Scottish caution in unsuitable language.
“I always knew Ambrose would make trouble by bringing his wife up
here, but since he has brought her, one can’t in common humanity leave
the unfortunate creature to walk her feet off for want of some one to
help her. I’m going, and you have got to come too. Here goes!”
They went across to the Ambroses’ verandah, and Eveleen turned a
despairing face upon them at the sound of Captain Crosse’s hesitating
greeting, “Can we do anything, Mrs Ambrose? We were afraid something
must be wrong.”
“Sure I don’t know what to do!” she burst forth. “I’m in the most
frightful trouble. Do come in, the two of you, and tell me is there
anything you can do. But I don’t believe anybody but the Resident will
be any good, and it seems as if he’d never be back!”
“Sit down and tell us about it, ma’am,” urged Captain Crosse, while
the young Scotchman pulled a chair forward. “To fret yourself into a
fever will do nobody any good, and be precious uncomfortable for you.”
Eveleen hesitated, pushed back the damp hair from her temples, and
dropped into the chair. “It’s because there’s no time,” she said
despairingly. “Colonel Bayard said it was too late before, because the
poor creature was dead, but this time she could be saved, only there’s
no one to do it---- I suppose,” with reviving energy, “you wouldn’t
come with me and rescue her?”
A glance had passed between the two men over her head, and now, as she
sat up eagerly and grasped the arms of the chair preparatory to
rising, Lieutenant Haigh said, with discouraging slowness, “But who is
it you want to rescue, Mrs Ambrose--and what from?”
“The poor girl--child, rather. They carried her off--I saw the dust of
their horses in the distance----”
“But who carried her off?” patiently.
“Sure how would I know? A band of Arabit horsemen--they brought a
_palki_, and forced her in----”
“But who was she? and where did they take her? Try and tell us exactly
what has happened.”
Eveleen glanced upwards, as though in search of patience, and still
holding the chair, as if to anchor herself to it, spoke with
exaggerated deliberation. “She was a pretty little young girl--I have
often seen her; she would peep out in a shy sort of way and smile at
me. To-day she was not there, but the old father--he’s a poor sort of
fellow, that--was crying fit to break his heart and throwing dust in
the air, and the mother--that’s worth two of him--was all bleeding
where the wretches had knocked her about when she tried to hold her
daughter back, and the neighbours would all be sympathising with
them--but they ran away like mice, every one of them, when they saw
me.”
“But who had carried her off, and whither?” repeated Sir Dugald Haigh.
He was a poverty-stricken soldier burdened with an inherited
baronetcy.
“Sure I told you”--with some irritation. “A band of Arabit horsemen,
and they would be taking her to the Fort. The parents were
inconsolable--they said she was to have been married next week.”
“They would be--they’ll have to return the gifts,” said Sir Dugald
drily. Then his tone changed. “Well, ma’am, that puts an end to the
business. When a girl--or a woman either, for it would have made no
difference if the marriage was a week ago instead of a week hence--is
taken to the Fort, there she stays.”
Eveleen gazed at him, horror-stricken. “_Any_ girl--and against her
will--and no one minds?”
“That’s the way here,” curtly.
“You see, Mrs Ambrose”--Captain Crosse took up the parable--“it ain’t
the same with these people as it is with us. The Arabits take a girl
when they want her just as they take anything that pleases ’em from a
shop in the Bazar. These women don’t mind that sort of thing--rather
like it, in fact--think it a bit of an honour, as you might say.”
“If you had seen that poor old father and mother, you would never
believe that!” indignantly.
“That’s just for to-day. It’ll be all right when they have got over it
a bit. A ruler always exercises this power in the East--why, just as
it was in the Bible, you know.” He spoke with increased confidence,
feeling that the thing had been set on a proper footing. “I assure you
there are thousands of these women in the Fort--place is swarming with
’em. So you see, it’s quite the right thing here.”
“But how can it be right just because it’s always done? And I am sure
it’s not done in India.”
“Not in our districts, of course; but believe me, in some of the
native states within our borders, not only would the girl have been
taken, but the parents would have been killed for offering resistance,
and the house set on fire--for a warning to others, you see.”
“I don’t see that makes it any better--horrid though it be. What is
Colonel Bayard here for if it ain’t to stop things of this sort from
happening?”
“’Pon my word, ma’am----!” began Captain Crosse, quite taken aback,
but Lieutenant Haigh spoke slowly.
“You are making a mistake, ma’am. The Resident is here to seek to
persuade the Khans to keep their treaties with us, so that we may be
able to leave them in the enjoyment of their authority.”
“Authority to murder women and carry off girls? And he calls himself
an Englishman and a Christian!”
This was high treason, but though Captain Crosse showed signs of
flight, Sir Dugald argued patiently on. “You must know yourself, Mrs
Ambrose, that there’s no better-hearted person in the world than the
Resident. But he has enough to do with his proper business, and the
Khans have no mind to make it easy for him. They choose to go on
destroying villages to extend their _shikargahs_, and plundering
traders, and intercepting the river traffic by demanding tolls, and
they do it, never caring a pin about the difficulties they are making
for him.”
“Then he ought just wash his hands of them!” declared Eveleen
defiantly. “If I were in his place----”
“My dear Mrs Ambrose, what is the matter?” Colonel Bayard and Richard
came up the verandah steps, to find her confronting the two men. She
looked at him stormily.
“It’s a fool I am to expect anything----!” she began, and stopped,
unable to speak.
“Mrs Ambrose was unfortunately a witness--or nearly so--of the
carrying-off of a girl to the Fort, sir,” said Sir Dugald; “and the
lamentations of the parents have affected her sadly.”
“Positively, my dear Richard,” said Colonel Bayard, “you must not
allow Mrs Ambrose to distress herself in this way. She will make
herself ill, and our little society here will lack its brightest
ornament.”
Eveleen looked at him with absolute abhorrence. “And that’s all you
have to say about it?” she demanded.
“My dear lady, what can I say? The custom of the country permits the
rulers to recruit their zenanas in this way, and how is a stranger to
prevent it?”
“Go to the Khans and get her back! Tell me now, what’s the use of
their calling you their father and their mother if they’ll not do what
you tell them?”
“I fear their confidence stops short on the threshold of the zenana,”
said Colonel Bayard gravely. “But suppose, to gratify me, they
consented to the release of this girl--do you think she would choose
to be released? Nay, she would hug her chains, as you consider them,
and entreat to remain in the Fort.”
“The worse for her, then, the wretched creature! But sure you’d have
brought the Khans to book, and shown them the law was stronger than
they are.”
“What law? They would have been constrained by friendship, nothing
more. The English law don’t run here. The will of the ruler is the
law--at least, it comes to that.”
“And Colonel Bayard can reconcile it with his conscience to use all
his endeavours to prop up a system under which such things can
happen!” she cried. Her husband glanced round aghast to see the effect
of this blasphemy, but the other two men had discreetly faded away,
Colonel Bayard looked at her sadly.
“What can I say? I do my best for these people, but they will do
nothing to help me--to justify me. Yet to use force--to compel them to
virtue--would be an outrage, an iniquity. Ain’t it better for them to
govern themselves, even badly, than to be governed, however well, by
us?”
“Ah!” cried Eveleen suddenly, “that’s it, that’s it! You think of them
and of us--and not for one moment of the creatures they misgovern, the
women and the poor.”
“As Heaven is my witness, I do think of them--and constantly,” he
replied, with deep solemnity. “It is my earnest hope to ameliorate
their condition by influencing the Khans--in time. But never will I be
a party to seizing more territory under the pretext of seeing justice
done.”
“In time!” echoed Eveleen scornfully, but her husband interposed with
crushing effect.
“That will do, my dear. The Resident will think you are an advocate of
Women’s Rights, if you don’t take care. You will find it advisable to
rest a little after all this excitement, and it would not be amiss to
change your gown.”
When Richard spoke in that tone, he could have shifted an iceberg, so
Eveleen was wont to complain, with some confusion of thought. On the
present occasion, he certainly shifted her. She found herself sitting
on the couch in her bedroom, all the fight gone out of her, while he
stood before her, his face wearing what she called its hatefullest
expression.
“Now look here, my dear,” he said coldly, “there has been enough of
these heroics. Twice over you have badgered Bayard in a way that would
have made any other man on earth _jawab_ [dismiss] me on the spot, and
it is not to happen again. Why he don’t forbid you to set foot outside
the compound I don’t know.”
Defiance revived. “I do,” said Eveleen. “Because he knows ’twould be
no good.”
“Believe me, you would not find it easy to pass the gates in the teeth
of the guard.”
“As if I’d dream of trying it! I’d jump the wall, of course.”
He recognised the futility of argument. “At any rate, if he chooses to
leave you full liberty, I am going to restrict it. You won’t be able
to ride much longer in office hours, happily--the sun is getting too
hot--but as long as you do, you will be good enough to avoid the
villages. If you can’t ride past these people without interfering in
their concerns, why--take another direction, if you please.”
“I don’t mind,” listlessly. “Sure it’s no pleasure to me to see such
shocking things happening, and nobody with the heart to lift a finger
to prevent them!”
“Do you mean to say that after what Bayard told you, you still
expect----”
“Expect? I don’t expect anything of him at all. But will you tell me
that if Sir Harry Lennox was here, there would nothing be done?”
“That old ruffian? Oh, I dare say he’d be capable----”
“You may call him all the names you like, but I tell you he would have
hanged that murderer the other day, if it had been a Khan upon his
throne. And to-day he’d have ridden up to the Fort and broken the
gates down, and let all the women out.”
“And a nice thing that would be! Try to borrow a little common-sense,
my dear, even if you don’t possess any. The Fort is full of women, and
you talk calmly of turning ’em all out of doors--penniless, homeless,
accustomed to a luxurious existence! Take my word for it, they
wouldn’t thank you! A few might be silly enough to accept the offer of
freedom, but they would precious soon come begging to be let in again.
They have everything women can want--at any rate, these women--good
food, fine clothes----”
“Food and clothes!” scornfully. “Why, I have food and clothes!”
“And ain’t you happy, pray?”
“I am the most miserable woman alive!” with tremendous emphasis and
absolute--if transitory--conviction. For once Richard Ambrose was
staggered. Astonishment, remorse, resentment, incredulity--she read
them all in his face for one moment. Then he recovered himself.
“Pooh, pooh, my dear! you exaggerate,” he said sharply.