The Banqueting Hall, as that important adjunct of Government House,
Madras, is called, scintillated with light. The lower branches of the
noble trees which line the approach were hung with innumerable lamps of
variegated colours, while the great white building gave forth a
resplendent glow from its many windows. The colonnades of pillars at its
entrance were reached by an immense flight of steps, the centre of which
was covered by a broad strip of crimson cloth. Along either side were
ranged rows of peons in long scarlet coats, their sashes belted
crossways on their chests, ornamented by bright badges, their neatly
folded turbans, their dignified and deferential mien, all contributing
to the impressive effect of the scene.
Through the wide open doors one caught glimpses of more pillars in the
entrance hall. The banisters and staircase landings were decorated with
great pots of glossy greenery. Peons were flitting about; an
aide-de-camp, gorgeous in gold lace, his nether man cased in tights and
Hessian boots, was in waiting in the hall; while groups of gentlemen,
both civil and military, stood talking together preparatory to making
their entrance.
The fashionable unpunctuality of arrival which prevails at home
functions did not at this period find favour at Government House. Most
of the guests of the evening were now streaming in as quickly as the
thronging of their equipages on the great gravel sweep outside would
permit. The ladies cloak-rooms were vocal with a chorus of English
voices as Hester Rayner entered. It seemed to her a happy babble as she
smilingly returned the greetings of various acquaintances, while she was
being divested of her cloak by one of the many Eurasian attendants.
Miss Clarice Glanton, robed in iridescent filmy gauze, glided
dragon-fly-like towards Hester, with a gracious smile on her face.
"Got your card full up, of course, Hester? Your husband says I may call
you so, and I mean henceforth to avail myself of his permission. Well,
how stands your card?"
"My card! I'm afraid I haven't even thought about it yet," replied
Hester simply.
"Why, I thought you were looking so happy that you must surely be in
luck! I think I know somebody who will be having many favours from you
to-night, but he didn't rise to my bait, though I showed him I had still
one or two blanks to fill."
Hester looked so evidently uncomprehending that she added:
"After all, it's only tit-for-tat! If you are to have possession of the
Puranapore Assistant, I'm going to have pity on your forsaken husband! I
was actually benevolent enough to promise him not less than three dances
when he came a-begging to my door this afternoon"; and Miss Glanton
glanced with a malicious smile at the young wife.
Her tone and her information both jarred on Hester. She recalled that
her husband had pleaded a business engagement as his reason for not
accompanying her to the beach, but she held her peace; indeed there was
no pause for further talk. Both ladies were swept forward to join their
gentlemen in the corridor and take their places for presentation.
Alfred Rayner had been waiting all impatience. Casting a rapid glance on
his wife, the result of which seemed satisfying to his vanity, he
offered his arm with a gratified smile.
"Come, my English rose is bound to win the prize," he whispered.
Taking their places in the long stream of guests, they moved slowly
along a side aisle under the gallery till they reached the neighbourhood
of the dais, then their turn came to ascend the flat crimson steps. The
A.D.C.-in-waiting stood receiving the cards of the guests and announced
their names.
Hester, with a grace which few could equal, at length made her curtsey
to the Queen's representative, His Excellency the Governor of Madras, a
stout-built, elderly man with scanty dark hair, a bushy grey beard, a
pair of keen, shrewd eyes which seemed to take in all his surroundings
at a glance. His hostess-daughter stood by his side receiving the
guests, while near by were two younger daughters who bowed and smiled in
recognition of acquaintances and chatted with members of the house-party
gathered on the dais; while the presented guests took their places among
the surrounding groups who stood watching the ceremony in progress.
None did so with more pleasure than Hester, whose artistic eye was
glamoured by the beautiful blending of colours throughout the stately
hall which would have made a worthy setting for any pageant. Every style
and colour of uniform was represented, from the brilliant scarlet and
gold of the Staff to the pale blue and silver of the Madras Cavalry, the
drab of some of the Native Infantry corps, and the artillery officers
from the Mount whose uniform was the short, slashed jacket, which,
though becoming to tall, slender figures, was by no means so to the fat
old Artillery colonels stepping about, serving as foils to the slim
young men.
The presentation now seemed at an end except in the case of a few
late-comers. His Excellency had turned to talk with some members of the
house-party. The regimental band, stationed in the front gallery, was
giving forth its first strains of music with stirring effect. A
distinguished soldier visitor from North India led forth the
hostess-daughter of the Governor, who, etiquette demanded, should open
the ball. The beautiful shiny parquet floor was presently peopled with
couples, and from the band came the favourite waltz air of the period,
"The Blue Danube."
Hester would have been quite contented to gaze on the picturesque scene
as a spectator only, but though she had not taken time by the forelock
like Miss Glanton, partners were not wanting. She was at once sought
after and began to enter into the rythmical waltz movement.
She was glad to see that her husband was enjoying the favours of Miss
Glanton, but as yet she had not caught sight of Mark Cheveril or his
chief, and began to fear that at the last moment Mr. Worsley had devised
some specious excuse for absenting himself. On being whirled, however,
to the neighbourhood of the dais, she perceived the Collector descending
from it, his arm linked in that of one of the Government house-party who
seemed delighted to have captured him, and was now leading him off to
one of the comparatively quiet side-aisles to pursue their talk
unmolested by the jostling dancers. Mr. Worsley's face broke into a
pleased smile as he happened to catch a glimpse in the mazes of the
waltz of his late companion on the beach, and he and his soldier friend
stood watching her for a moment before they retired to seek a quiet
nook.
Presently Hester also caught sight of Mark dancing with the younger
daughter of the Governor, a graceful girl who danced to perfection, and
not a few eyes followed the handsome pair.
Mark, though courteous in his duty to his partner, seemed somewhat
absent-minded. More than once she noticed his eyes following the
movements of the beautiful Mrs. Rayner. He was in truth trying to divine
how things had gone with her since they had parted that afternoon. He
had some fear that on her return to Clive's Road she might again have
had to encounter a repetition of the scene which still haunted him like
a nightmare. Great, therefore, was his surprise, after he had conducted
his partner to a seat, and was standing gazing at the bright scene, to
be accosted by Alfred Rayner.
"Good evening, Cheveril!" he said jauntily. "Glad to see you were
honoured by one of the Duke's daughters. I shouldn't have presumed--but
nothing venture nothing win!"
Mark, not having any reply ready, maintained a grave silence, which the
speaker evidently translated into an attitude of offence towards
himself, and still assuming a conciliatory tone, he said:
"Look here, Cheveril! I want to apologise in dust and ashes for making
such an ass of myself the other morning. The fact is a night at
Palaveram mess makes a wreck of a fellow. You must forgive and forget my
nasty fit of temper, and as a proof of this do go and ask Hester for the
next dance. I see she is at this moment wasting her fragrance on what I
should call 'the desert air'--talking to Mrs. Fellowes!"
"Thanks for the suggestion! I shall certainly speak to both ladies with
pleasure," returned Mark.
Whereupon Mr. Rayner seemed to take for granted that his favour deserved
a return. He laid his hand on Mark's sleeve, saying in a coaxing tone:
"I say, Cheveril, I'm going to ask a favour of you! Will you, like a
good fellow, introduce me to Mr. Worsley?--or rather, I should put
it--bring me again under his notice, for we were introduced at the Club
some time after my arrival in Madras. I left my card on him, but no
doubt he has now forgotten the name of the humble barrister."
Mark fervently wished that the Collector of Puranapore had forgotten it,
for he feared the requested introduction would prove a thorny business;
in fact he quickly decided that for Mr. Rayner's own sake it must not be
ventured on. Looking at him with frank, honest eyes he said quickly:
"I'm afraid I must not, Rayner, though in other circumstances nothing
would have given me greater pleasure."
He felt greatly relieved when at this moment a Club acquaintance claimed
his company and led him off.
"'Other circumstances,' forsooth, just like your half-caste impudence!"
muttered Mr. Rayner, as he turned on his heel and moved away. The band
struck up a new waltz and he remembered that Clarice Glanton had
promised him this dance. Threading his way towards her, they were soon
in the vortex of the shining floor. Clarice noticed that her companion's
gay mood was now replaced by an absent, gloomy air. She began at once to
chaff him concerning the change, and Rayner, who was often communicative
when reticence would have stood him in better stead, burst forth:
"Oh, it's that young jackanapes, Cheveril, who always rubs me up the
wrong way!"
"What, green-eyed jealousy again! I can't see you've any cause for it at
this moment. He hasn't once been dancing with your wife, though he has
had several partners--and dances well, I observe. As for your precious
Hester, she seems glued to a dark corner there, no doubt exchanging
views with Mrs. Fellowes about flannels and petticoats for their
'Friendly'!"
"You're always so literal, Clarice. I don't ever harp on one string! It
doesn't happen to be jealousy of Cheveril at this moment. Rayner's wife,
like Caesar's, is above suspicion! I'll tell you what's bothering me. I
happen, for business reasons, to want to have a word with the Collector
of Puranapore, and I asked Cheveril to introduce me to him. The surly
beggar shuffles out of it in the coolest manner possible. Very rude of
him, isn't it? No wonder I'm a bit ruffled!" Mr. Rayner wound up
peevishly.
"An introduction to old Mr. Worsley! Why, if that will make you a
smiling partner there's no difficulty about it. He's an old chum of the
pater's. I've known him since I was a little mite of a child, and he
has always a smile for me, for all they say he's such an old bear. Wait
till this dance is finished and we'll seek him out."
Miss Glanton was as good as her word. The iridescent-robed maiden looked
very charming, when, with her red lips parted showing shining white
teeth, she approached the Collector, holding out her hand:
"Clarice, of course," said Mr. Worsley, "transformed into a dragon-fly
or something of the kind."
"So glad you happen to know me this time," said the girl airily.
"Well, I don't take credit for any special intelligence, young lady, but
you haven't grown, for instance, since we last met!"
"Mercifully not! I don't admire tall women," she replied spitefully, her
eye travelling to Hester's graceful willowy figure gliding past with
Mark Cheveril. Then glancing at the man by her side she recalled her
present mission.
"I want to introduce my friend here who wishes to know the Collector of
Puranapore. Mr. Rayner--Mr. Worsley!"
The barrister made a profound bow, lowering his eyelids as he did so.
When he raised them, Mr. Worsley's nod had changed to a frown.
Recovering himself instantly he turned quickly to the lady, saying
lightly: "I hope you are enjoying the dance, Clarice? Plenty of
partners, eh?"
Alfred Rayner divined that he would fain have added, "Of a better sort
than your present one."
"Well, seeing we haven't the solace of dancing like you, Sir Frederick
and I were about to seek the distraction of the supper-table," pursued
Mr. Worsley, glancing round for his friend. "Good evening, Clarice! Tell
your father not to forget my little dinner at the Club to-morrow night!"
Then he turned on his heel and walked away without even bestowing a
single glance on Clarice's companion.
"The naughty old man, he didn't catch on at all," said Clarice,
puckering her forehead and looking at her companion with a slightly
embarrassed air. "I'm afraid you are vexed--but not with me, I hope. I
tried to do my level best."
"Sure you did, Clarice," returned Mr. Rayner, scowling. "But I'll tell
you what has happened. That puppy Cheveril has been slandering me to the
Collector. That's what it is!"
"More than likely," murmured Clarice, feeling uncomfortable, and
pondering what ailed Mr. Worsley at the young barrister. There must be
something rather serious or he would never have given him such a
downright snub, she decided, and was nothing loth to exchange her
discomfited partner for a lively Artilleryman from the Mount, and in a
few minutes had forgotten the incident.
Not so Alfred Rayner. He wandered about moodily, occasionally trying to
catch a glimpse of Hester and discover what she was about; his ruffled
temper being by no means soothed on perceiving that she was again
dancing with Mark. On issuing from the supper-room which he had visited
alone, he chanced to find himself behind Mr. Worsley and his friend. He
watched them as they walked along arm-in-arm till they came to a gap in
the rows of white pillars that lined the side-aisle under the gallery,
which were all gaily festooned to-night, so that the pair stood in the
midst of the greenery watching the giddy maze which, though the hours
were flying, did not seem to lose any of its fascination for the
dancers. There was at the moment a slightly cleared space on the shining
floor, and along it came a couple, evidently engaged in bright talk.
"Now look there, Worsley, that young man and maiden make a pretty
picture, don't they? 'Love's young dream,' I should say, and no
mistake!" The bright blue eyes of the gallant soldier rested with an
admiring smile on the pair advancing with slow and graceful steps, all
unconscious of being observed by any.
"Now there you are again, Sir Frederick, letting your romantic spirit
run away with you! Commend me to a soldier for that sort of thing!"
returned Mr. Worsley, with a laugh. "'Love's young dream,' forsooth! The
lady is already a wife, and the youth, who I admit is a rarely comely
one, is my Assistant at Puranapore. Now you see how your romance tumbles
like a house of cards!"
"Humph! Well, at all events its spirit remains. The pair do look as if
they were enjoying each other's company vastly"; and the ruddy,
weather-beaten face lit up with a benevolent smile as Mark and Hester
passed out of their range.
"I only wish it could be as you say," said Mr. Worsley, with a shrug of
his shoulders. "The girl's husband is, I fear, a thoroughly _mauvais
sujet_, and she is as good as gold--quite charming. By the way, you must
have known her people--Bellairs, a Worcestershire family. Of course you
did, and she's very like her handsome uncle Charlie."
"Why she must be the daughter of Philip Bellairs, the parson."
"She is! But how her father came to allow such an unprincipled scoundrel
to carry off his daughter, passes me to understand. A creature not fit
to touch the hem of her garment. I have a suspicion that he is----"
Mr. Worsley lowered his voice. It no longer reached the ear of the
listener who had been cowering on the other side of the festooned
pillar, hiding among its greenery. But Alfred Rayner had heard more than
enough. With a flame of fury in his eyes, his long fingers clenched, he
staggered forth to the nearest verandah. Leaning on its white balustrade
he gazed with unseeing eyes on the peaceful, dark blue, star-bespangled
vault, his heart a prey to misery and wrath.
"So I'm 'an unprincipled scoundrel,' am I?--not fit to touch the hem of
my own wife's garment, forsooth! Well, he's given me my character
anyhow! I know now what to expect from that quarter! No more white-flag
business for me--all red, red, red!" he muttered, gnashing his teeth
like a beast of prey. "I'll see Zynool to-morrow and put him up to a
trick or two that will perhaps make Mister Felix Worsley squirm in his
lounging chair!"
He stood motionless by the balustrade for some time, his haggard face
resting on his long thin hands as he hatched his evil plot.
Perhaps it was the peace of the starry night that spoke to him, for
there came stealing upon him at this unexpected juncture one of those
moments of self-revelation which visit even the basest and shallowest of
human hearts. Its searchlight seemed suddenly to reveal to the man
vistas that stretched back even to childish days. He saw himself again
the peevish, greedy little boy who wanted everything for himself only,
and domineered over the smaller boys, who cringed to the bully; who lied
and cheated on the class-bench and in the playground, hating better boys
than himself and loving to hear his doting aunt assure him that there
was no one so handsome or so smart as he. Yes, to be sure, Aunt Flo was
responsible for a good deal! Had not fibs rolled from her speech as
hairpins from her black shiny chignon? Had she not reared him to all
kinds of petty deceptions till he became proud of successfully conducted
small villainies? How spiteful was her attitude to any boy who seemed
likely to outstrip him in the race at school or college, and how
invariably she succeeded in inoculating him with her jealousy till he
had not a single friend left to whom he could turn with frank loyal
friendship!
What chance had he from the beginning with such an environment, he asked
himself querulously. And now, after all his efforts to secure a good
social and professional footing, he saw himself a distrusted man, for
in other eyes he had been able to trace something of the same scornful
aloofness which he saw in Mr. Worsley's. It was bitter indeed! And
Hester, what of her? Perhaps it was too true that he was unworthy to
touch the hem of her garment; but she, at least, had not turned the cold
shoulder on him yet! Never again would he subject her to these vile
ebullitions of temper. He would try to make her forget the scene of the
other morning, he vowed, as he gazed on the moon-silvered landscape and
drank in some of its peace.
He recalled Hester's look of kindness as they had driven home together
on that last Sunday evening from the little mission church on the
Esplanade to which she had been eager to take him, and he had thought
himself exceedingly complaisant in agreeing, for once, to accompany her
to the "unfashionable conventicle," as he called it, where Native
Christians, not to speak of Eurasians, sat side by side with the little
company of English folk.
The preacher that evening was a desperately earnest-looking man with
searching eyes and a penetrating voice. He had unfolded to his hearers
one of the old promises from the Sacred Book, the promise that to those
who turned to Him, God would give back the years the cankerworm had
eaten. As the organ-like voice of the gallant pleader for God had fallen
on his ear, Alfred Rayner acknowledged to himself that he was giving
more heed to a "parson's words" than he had ever done in his whole life.
And there had been a soft pleading light in Hester's eyes as they met
his, the silent meaning of which he could not mistake. What a pretty
picture she had made as she sat with reverent uplifted face, her arm
round a bright little English child whose parents had brought her to
this evening service! The little maid had been assiduous in offering her
hymn-book to the winning visitor, and as a supreme mark of confidence
had finally deposited her doll on Hester's knee, and then sat nestling
her fair shining curls against her arm. The picture came back to him
now, a tableau graven on his memory. Would that a little flaxen head
like that were their very own! What a changed man such a pledge of love
would make of him! How truly the promise would then be fulfilled on
which the preacher had dwelt in eloquent words! Then surely would the
years eaten by the cankerworm be given back! But no, the dream was
fading. He shivered as a light breeze blew softly through the verandah,
and turned his gaze from the starry heavens, muttering bitterly:
"The cankerworm has fretted through and through! Old Worsley ain't so
far wrong after all. I've got the making of a scoundrel in me. Ha, ha!
On the make, am I? Well, I'll give him a sample of my wares by-and-by if
Zynool will stir up! I declare this silly fit of introspection has made
me quite nervy, or the draughty verandah has given me a chill. I must
pull myself together."
Having no mind to join the festive gathering again, Rayner crept back to
the outer edges of the supper tables, and seeing a magnum of champagne,
which he decided was the best recipe for steadying his nerves, he
partook eagerly. He then took his stand again in the wide aisle and
scanned the ballroom, which was now rapidly emptying. The Governor and
his party had retired, though various guests still lingered, but the
room was beginning to wear the air of "a banquet-hall deserted."
Rayner glanced round furtively for his wife, and presently descried Mark
Cheveril in earnest conversation with another civilian.
"So far good," he muttered, "he at least is not taking advantage of my
absence to enjoy himself with this wife of mine whom Mr. Worsley places
on such a pedestal!"
But after he had gazed out from his corner a little longer, he perceived
a combination which aroused his anger.
On one of the sofas placed about for tired guests not far from where
Mark stood, sat Hester, and by her side, his own now declared enemy, the
Collector of Puranapore. Mr. Worsley was smiling as he talked, and his
conversation was evidently pleasing, judging from Hester's look of
interest and animation. The topic was, in fact, reminiscences of her
uncle, who had been Felix Worsley's particular friend at Oxford.
Striding rapidly across the room, Rayner laid his hand on his wife's
arm, saying sharply:
"Come along, Mrs. Rayner, our carriage stops the way."
Hardly allowing her time even to bow a good-night to her companion, and
himself ignoring his presence, he hurried her away, keeping his hold on
her arm till she reached the door of the cloak-room.
"Alfred, why were you so rude?" asked Hester in dismay. "Do you know it
was Mr. Worsley, whom you wanted so much to meet, that I was talking
to?"
"I knew it only too well, madam! Therefore it was I chivied you off as I
did. Sorry I interrupted what seemed, judging from your appearance, a
fascinating _tête-à-tête_, but a man must use his discretion where his
own wife is concerned! Don't be in any hurry, I've got to summon the
carriage yet," he called, as Hester, dumb with shame and vexation, was
disappearing into the cloak-room. "I'll send and let you know when Mrs.
Rayner's carriage stops the way!" Then he added to himself: "Meanwhile I
want a little more champagne to steady my nerves after all this worry."