Captain Mallender and his partner formed up into the Noah's Ark
procession--headed by Colonel Tallboys and the General's wife--and
presently found themselves in a room corresponding in height and size
to the one they had just quitted, and steered successfully into their
respective places at an oval table, glittering with crystal and silver
and embellished by exquisite flowers and fruit. In the background stood
a row of well-drilled attendants, commanded and marshalled by the gold
and white butler.
The new-comer noted the dainty appointments and careful details,
painted menus, crested Venetian glass, and three superb
epergnes--surely these had not been rescued from some filthy go-down?
As he withdrew his gaze, he encountered the glorious eyes of his
companion.
"Rather nice, isn't it?" she murmured; "you see, we are quite
up-to-date out here."
"Quite," he agreed.
"By the way, when did you arrive?"
"Last night--from Bombay."
"And how are all the dear old folks at home?"
"More or less cold and coughing--it's been a hard winter."
"And you came out to escape from it?" she questioned.
"Well--not exactly," he answered, after a momentary hesitation.
"Would it be too, _too_ rude, to enquire what _did_ bring you?"
Mallender found it impossible to impart to this charming lady, with
the soft voice and alluring eyes, the real, true, and only reason, for
his presence in the country. As he looked back at her, he realised how
ridiculous and preposterous his errand would appear.
"My house is under repair"--sudden happy thought--"and I really am
without a roof!"
"Then you are a wanderer like myself," she exclaimed. "I have spent
eight months in India, and I must soon be thinking of 'Home, sweet
Home.'"
"And no doubt your husband--but, of course, he is with you----"
Mallender stopped short; in an illuminating flash he recognised his
blunder. The lady's face had suddenly stiffened, her expression
undergone a curious change. She looked away for a moment, and then,
still looking away, let fall the deliberate words:
"I am a widow."
"Oh, I say! I do beg your pardon," he pleaded impetuously. "I'm most
frightfully sorry--I--er--I did not know----"
"Oh, how could you?" she interrupted; "in a country where grass widows
abound, a real widow is almost unknown. I suppose you are out for the
usual thing--to shoot big game?"
"No, I'm only out--er--just to have a look round."
Here, alas, was another lie!
"Ah, a looker-on, something like myself; since my loss, I have just
looked on--and envied happier people."
Mallender glanced at the fair speaker; she wore no outward sign of woe,
not even a mourning ring; he noticed her expressive hands, blazing with
diamonds, the studied perfection of her toilet; at the moment she was
thoughtfully scanning the menu, and he had an excellent opportunity
of critically observing her extraordinary good looks; the long black
lashes, resting on a delicate cheek, smooth as ivory; the chiselled
nose, clean-cut lips, and masses of dark auburn hair--which exhaled a
faint, and exquisite perfume.
"I've been up north, and to Simla and Calcutta," she resumed, when she
had replaced the menu with a little contented sigh, "and then I came
down to Madras to see dear old Fanny. I arrived three months ago--and
feel _rooted_!"
Mallender's raised brows indicated his amazement.
"Yes, I like this poor despised old city and its ways," here she cast a
glance round the circle of guests, the band of well-trained servants,
the delicacies that were being offered, and the champagne that, like a
popular novel, was enjoying a brisk circulation.
"I do love it; it's all so leisurely and so comfortable. Give _me_
comfort, and I ask no more!"
"Comfort!" thought her listener; "if this is merely comfort, what can
be her idea of luxury?"
"I appreciate the large houses," she continued, "the food, the
servants, who all speak English; though, of course, no stretch of
imagination can give Madras a cold weather!"
"No, I understand that this is their winter," rejoined Mallender, "and
to-day, you could have fried an egg on the roof of my _gharry_."
"Yes, I daresay, and yet I like Madras. My father was born out here,
and his father served most of his life in the Presidency--there must be
something in heredity."
"I believe there is no doubt of that. Do you happen to know the old man
opposite, who is staring so fixedly?"
"Oh, yes, Sir William Bream, a connection of Fanny's; enormously rich,
and immensely interested in cotton."
"I thought for a moment that he was immensely interested in us--or
rather, I should say, in you."
"Oh," spreading out her hand with a gesture of sudden confidence, "he
generally sits beside me--we are rather pals."
"The young lady next to him looks ill," observed Mallender, as he
glanced at a pale, thin girl with sunken eyes, and a frock that had
seen its best days.
"You mean Miss Sim; I don't think she is ill--only miserable." Mrs.
Villars helped herself to a salted almond, nibbled it daintily, and
then added unconcernedly, "You see, she has no belongings--and no home."
"How does she happen to be out here?"
"I fancy she had a pretty dull time in England, and they do say,
snatched at an invitation to Bombay, you know, one of those vague
things, that mean _nothing_! She contrived to get a passage, and
presented herself before the horrified people as a staying--not
paying--guest! Naturally, they passed her on, and she has been passing
on ever since, like the Queen in Old Maid," and unfeeling Mrs. Villars
gave a low amused laugh.
"But why doesn't she go home?" enquired Mallender.
"For the simple reason that she has no money."
"Poor girl!" he muttered. "What an awful situation!"
"Yes, isn't it?" the lady assented. "I'm afraid she's a dreadful
sponge, and not particularly interesting--let us talk of something
else. Do you notice the man near the end, with the fine head and beard?
He is Rolf, the celebrated artist, who has come out to paint the Rajah
of Gondalcond, and various other native nobles."
"Yes, I think I've seen his pictures in the Academy."
"I wonder if you saw _my_ picture there last year--painted by Le
Grande?"
"No, I'm sure I did not," and he smiled significantly.
"Because you would remember it--oh, yes!" and she showed her pretty
teeth.
"Was it a great success?"
"Yes, absolutely; not merely as a work of art, and a marvellous
likeness, but you know they say Le Grande has some mysterious psychical
power, and can discover and expose startling deficiencies, or
unsuspected traits, in the characters of his sitters," then, leaning a
little nearer, and looking up into Mallender's eyes, she dropped her
voice to a whisper, and breathed, "as for myself--he has painted my
_soul_!"
"What! You don't say so, how extraordinary!" stammered her companion,
not a little amazed. "I should like to see the picture--where is it?"
"Oh, Sir William bought it; it was a commission of his. I believe the
price was fabulous"; then, in quite a different key, "do have some of
this delicious iced asparagus!"
As Mrs. Villars conversed on various subjects, Mallender gathered that
his beautiful neighbour was a woman of wide travel and experience,
well-versed in all the social jargon of the day. Scotch moors,
Norwegian fishings, foreign spas, had in turn been illuminated by her
presence--and it was evident from her talk that she was as rich and
extravagant as she was lovely and fascinating. There was a temporary
silence as she helped herself to a dish, and a gay voice on his left
addressed him.
The voice belonged to a lady who had preceded him to the dining-room;
he had noticed her slim, graceful figure, and well-set-on head, with
its coils of dark hair; the countenance now turned to him, though full
of force and life, was disappointingly plain; it displayed a large
mouth, a too _retroussé_ nose, and a pair of wide-open grey eyes.
"I've been longing to get in a word edgeways," she began; "but now that
Major de Lacey has captured the ear of a woman who usually obliterates
the rest of the company, here is _my_ chance! Let me introduce myself;
I am Mrs. Brander, _née_ Nancy Bond. Mrs. Tallboys is my aunt, and
since Freddy is your relative, we are some sort of connection--shall we
say twenty-first cousins?" and she looked at him persuasively.
"I shall be only too delighted, and proud," he answered with a bow.
"I was exported to Fan years ago, and she married me off--wasn't she
clever?" As Mrs. Brander asked the question, her grey eyes twinkled
mischievously.
"Clever?" repeated Mallender; "I don't quite know what you mean?"
"Clever because I'm so ugly!" was the brisk rejoinder. "Do you realise
that your lot has been cast between a celebrated beauty, and the
opposite extreme?"
"Come, I can't allow you to say that!" he protested uncomfortably.
"Well, of course; some of us must be plain, as foils to show off the
others; if everyone were handsome, think how dull it would be! Tom,
that is my husband, is accustomed to me, and my nose has always been a
source of amusement to my family."
Mallender, who was at a complete loss for words, merely stared, as she
rattled on.
"I am spending a holiday with Aunt Fan--I've come for a bit of the
season."
"I hope you will enjoy it," he said lamely.
"Thank you, I'm blessed with the enjoying temperament, and have an
infinite capacity for taking pleasure--in short, a very frivolous
inferior sort of person, you are not married I believe?"
"No."
"You said that No, as if you were most truly thankful, but wait, Aunt
Fanny loves match-making, and if you are not very clever and _cunning_,
she will soon dispose of you!"
"She won't have a chance," he answered, "I'm off, the moment the polo
tournament is over."
"Are you really?" and she gazed at him interrogatively. "Well, Aunt Fan
can do great things in a week. Of course this is your first visit to
India?"
"No, I was up in the North-west, eight years ago."
"At school?"
"I am older than you suppose. I joined the Warlocks at Lucknow, and
after a couple of months had a bad go of typhoid, and was sent home.
However, the regiment followed next reliefs."
"They _must_ have been attached to you!" she exclaimed with an air of
grave conviction.
Mallender burst into a spontaneous laugh, then he said:
"And now here I am, in the benighted Presidency!"
"May I give you one little hint?" she whispered.
"A dozen--twenty dozen."
"Never say a word against Madras to Freddy, or he will boil over! He
is an infatuated Madrassi; talks very big of Clive, Charnock, Warren
Hastings--and his lady friend, Mrs. Anna Maria Imhoff, who lived in his
house at the Mount; also of Yale in the Fort, and others, precisely
as if they were all here to-day! He is so jealous, for the old, old,
original Presidency, and loves every temple, and toddy tree, between
this and Ceylon. I won't ask what you think of us _yet_."
"No, you must give me a longer start than one day; however, I have
experienced your wind and dust--both horrible!"
"Admitted," she answered with a nod, "but we Britons need not give
ourselves airs, for it is a well-known historical fact, that the Romans
fled out of our country, because they couldn't stand the climate!"
"Mrs. Brander, you are the latest from school, so I dare not presume to
argue, but hitherto I have been under the impression, that an incursion
of the Huns, recalled the legions."
"Well, don't let us quarrel over such a trifle," she rejoined with a
shrug. "This is your first dinner in Madras--I wonder what strikes you
particularly?"
"I'm afraid you'll be shocked, and think I'm frightfully greedy, when I
answer, the _dinner_ itself! We might be at the 'Ritz,' or Buckingham
Palace."
"Oh, I see you are not aware that this old city is celebrated for its
cuisine, and Sunday tiffins. The native is a born cook, and our French
predecessors instilled into him some very sound ideas, with respect to
sauces, soups, _soufflés_, and omelettes. No doubt, formerly, the nabob
who lived here, regaled himself and friends on rich food, mountainous
_pilaws_, and molten curries. Those days are gone; also the times when
the very boldest woman dared not enter that chamber of horrors,--her
cook-house."
"Why?"
"For fear of what she might discover! I pass over the story of
'master's sock,' and other well-authenticated details. The hand of the
butler no longer inscribes a startling menu, and you are spared the
alarming promise of 'Cold Roast Lion, and D----d Turkey'!"
"Oh, come, I say!" ejaculated Mallender.
"I could tell you of still worse items, but _nous avons changé tout
cela_. Now, the menu is in French, and the food is of the daintiest
description. To me, the best of it all is, that the sudden incursion of
half a dozen unexpected guests at a moment's notice has no appreciable
effect on the _chef's_ temper! Everything comes up to time, and there
is neither fuss nor skimping. I may whisper to you, that it is a good
thing to encourage your cook, put him on his mettle, and, so to speak,
_lard_ him with flattery! So much for cooks, and for their employers! I
suppose you know scarcely any of the present company?"
"No, but I'll be most grateful for information. I've made one awful
blunder already."
"Oh, have you! Do tell me all about it?" she asked eagerly.
Seldom had Mallender seen a face of such gay animation; for all its
snub nose, it was more piquante, attractive, and vivid, than that of
many a placid beauty. As he merely smiled, and shook his head, she
continued: "Then I'll be generous, and tell you what happened to _me_,
at my first Indian dinner-party. I was sent in with a young man--fairer
than either of us. He was just out from home, and made himself
agreeable, and when I enquired if he knew any of the guests? and he
said 'yes,' I immediately indicated two women opposite, and said, 'they
are as black as my ayah, who are they?' and he promptly replied, 'The
stout lady is my grandmother--the thin one, my mother.'
"I shrieked with laughter, at what I took to be a joke; but when at the
end of the evening I saw him march away, arm in arm with the fat dark
lady, I nearly fainted."
"I don't wonder," said Mallender. "Thanks to you, I am now warned, and
shall ask no questions."
"Then shall I take your questions for granted, and point out some of
the company? The man opposite is Sir William Bream--isn't he like an
old sea-lion? So large and inflated, with great dull eyes, and a beard."
"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.