The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet of
water in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque than
any Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by graceful
over-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the setting
sun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparkle
like a bed of gems.
"Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed with
delight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where the
bright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and none
grow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs.
Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They would
add just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room."
"Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, though
the stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!----This excessively
long parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!"
But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight of
slippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing the
prize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, but
the tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined.
"Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes.
Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herself
ankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slipped
one step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into the
water. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to her
companion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both her
hands to help her.
The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walk
alongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake,
through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instant
crashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appeared
through the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with a
smiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in her
hand.
"Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display of
knight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the cross
walk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and her
companion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in a
bantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slithery
steps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! And
your pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you been
about to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing at
the older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings and
ruined frock and hastened to defend her friend.
"Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasol
she held out--but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr.
Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend.
The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked into
the refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of the
Pinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend.
Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her
guests, and said pointedly:
"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We
were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs.
Rayner."
"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you
call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me.
Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you _are_
wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"
"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here
comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."
Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her
plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened
silently to the account of her misfortune.
"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp
attack of fever."
"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes.
"But it will be wise to go--or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs.
Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying
clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.
"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied
Clarice, shaking her head.
"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester
quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would
carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was
therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off
alone.
"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and
look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring
round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think,
Cheveril? I shall drive you home."
"Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Will
that not be simplest?"--"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when he
recollected his semi-hostess was by his side.
"Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why,
you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!"
"You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr.
Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. The
Brigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too."
Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, though
she felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemen
disappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with the
ladies.
The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long in
that city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk had
fallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester when
she reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of the
afternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs.
Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. Major
Ryde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which had
obliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over which
Alfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for Mark
Cheveril, he might as well have still been on the _Bokhara_ for all she
had seen of him!
A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealing
over her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship;
and she was now to have a fresh proof of it.
The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into the
verandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her _jhapra_ for to hook up
Missus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message.
"What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, having
already made acquaintance with the useful article then coming into
vogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras.
"Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal done
put under, it make werry warm Missus clothes."
"That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirts
too," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten her
plight and its possible consequences.
"Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed her
mistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, all
excitement, gave directions for the placing of the _jhapra_ above the
charcoal fire.
Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks to
Mrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; its
promptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton's
party at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the
_jhapra_.
"We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr.
Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton was
in readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, having
been secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneous
with Hester's.
Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had been
placed for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would have
heard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidently
more perceptive than friendly.
"Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has just been
telling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She had
slipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got a
ducking."
"And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger home
in that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of that
fellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart.
Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. They
aren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only a
struggling barrister like myself!"
"And his wife a rector's daughter--told me so herself this afternoon
when Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound the
possibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde.
"You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She looks
charming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder too
how he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not an
heiress."
"What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth with
a benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperate
climate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteer
them over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, he
comes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form of
Regnier--some chap that came over with the Conqueror----"
"Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, what
more, Stapleton?"
"Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a large
allowance from his people."
"So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well,
anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor--such are not unknown on our
Indian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whose
appearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "I
hear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. at
Puranapore. Don't envy him his job!"
"No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said another
speaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited with
being slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a great
shikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between the
Hindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly.
He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Got
on badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately that
Printer was really a _mauvais sujet_. Cheveril looks an honest,
energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Rayner
tacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," he
ended, glancing at the two retreating figures.
"Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearly
exhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shall
see Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has with
Rayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too."
Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile,
Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond of
interest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links between
them than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he had
received a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that his
sister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to be
married in a few days.
Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regret
swept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whom
he had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himself
as best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautiful
little antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little note
of thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, a
treasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side.
Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and the
spirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for any
possibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expert
whip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was,
however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in the
wonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fading
glow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softly
stirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering the
road. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustling
murmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points of
light, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising even
from the grass and glittering against the darkening sky.
"What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had come
down from the firmament," said Mark.
"Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory,"
replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight,
they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transform
themselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our only
illusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," he
added, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin too
early to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by his
wife's description of the young man.
But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention.
They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down a
wayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctively
raised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!"
The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation.
"If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would have
been under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himself
with an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn't
we pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to be
waiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that so
nearly wrought him destruction!"
Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps,
planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of the
foot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of a
certain wistful, expectant look it wore.
"I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again.
"Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "He
needn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drive
in! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!"
"A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all the
more because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am of
mixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood with
such----"
"Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner,
after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added,
slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to me
something of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new to
India to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me that
even when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in some
talk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fine
Service--and lucky you are--you must keep a quiet tongue in your head
about that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry you
through if you persist in knocking your head against that post. And
there's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "I
was just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with Judge
Teape near you, that he looked much more _chi-chi_ than you did, though
he's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend upon
it Hester and I will never breathe your secret. Now there's a compact!"
And Rayner bowed graciously.
There was something so offensive in his tone and suggestion that Mark
was for a moment struck dumb.
Mistaking his silence, Rayner added, in a patronising tone: "You're
taking offence at what I've been saying, old chap. I assure you it's for
your good!"
"Offence? No, rather I should like to try to bring you to a better
mind," said Mark stoutly. "These prejudices of yours are not new to me.
I haven't attained to my years without having them dinned into me at
home----"
"Well, perhaps your cure will be best brought about by coming out here,
after all! You'll get disillusioned fast enough. Mark my words, I shall
enjoy watching the process! A vile, low set are these Eurasians--as they
like to be called. Now look here, Cheveril, I'll make a compact with
you. Watch these crawling creatures for six months in silence, without
disclosing your connection with them, and at the end of that time I'll
give you leave to proclaim yourself an East Indian!"
"Thanks, Rayner, you mean kindly, I've no doubt, but I cannot enter into
such a compact with you or any man. Not that I'm vain enough to take it
for granted that all the world is so interested in me or my forebears as
to think it necessary to descant on them at every market cross, but
truth and honour must be our shield and buckler," observed Mark in an
earnest tone.
It was too dark for him to see the sardonic smile that crossed his
companion's face, as he muttered to himself: "High-flown young fool! But
I must at once annex Hester, so that I may preserve him as a useful
friend in that Puranapore business. I must write to Zynool and tell him
to win over the young cub, by hook or by crook, before he cuts his
teeth!"
The handsome Australians were now dashing along the avenue, and halted
before the broad white flight of steps of the house in Clive's Road,
which in the dusk looked a genuine marble palace. Its portico of chunam
pillars was gleaming like the purest white Carrara. Lamps twinkled
everywhere, for its owner liked a display of light. Through the many
open windows of the large dining-room one could see the dinner table,
with its tall silver lamps, artistic arrangement of flowers, and elegant
furnishings, round which white-robed servants flitted.
Among the gleaming pillars of the verandah stood the lady of the house
clad in shimmering white, with the red water-lilies at her breast and a
joyful smile on her red lips.
"Here we are," said Rayner, throwing the reins to the syce. "If Mark
Cheveril, I.C.S., will honour my humble abode with his presence," he
added with a histrionic air.
"A humble abode, Rayner? Say rather a palace!" said Mark, springing from
the mail-phaeton.
"Well, a palace if you like," returned his host with the pride of
possession in his eyes. "And there stands my princess!"