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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..444e6e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53036 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53036) diff --git a/old/53036-0.txt b/old/53036-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 79f569d..0000000 --- a/old/53036-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7034 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of His Honour, and a Lady, by Mrs. Everard Cotes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: His Honour, and a Lady - -Author: Mrs. Everard Cotes - -Release Date: September 12, 2016 [EBook #53036] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Larry B. Harrison and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. The few -instances of blackletter font in the front matter use the ‘~’ as a -delimiter. - -The few footnotes have been positioned directly following the paragraph -in which they are referenced. - -Please consult the note at the end of this text for a discussion of any -textual issues encountered in its preparation. - - - - - HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY - - - - - BOOKS BY MRS. EVERARD COTES - - (SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN). - - ---------- - -=His Honour, and a Lady.= - - Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -=The Story of Sonny Sahib.= - - Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - -=Vernon’s Aunt.= - - With many Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -=A Daughter of To-Day.= - - A Novel. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -=A Social Departure.= - - HOW ORTHODOCIA AND I WENT ROUND THE WORLD BY OURSELVES. With 111 - Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 12mo. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, - $1.75. - -=An American Girl in London.= - - With 80 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 12mo. Paper, 75 cents; - cloth, $1.50. - -=The Simple Adventures of a Memsahib.= - - With 37 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - ------------------ - - New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. - -[Illustration: - - The situation made its voiceless demand. - (See page 33.) -] - - - - - HIS HONOUR, AND - A LADY - - BY - - MRS. EVERARD COTES - - (SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN) - - AUTHOR OF A SOCIAL DEPARTURE, AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON, - A DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY, VERNON’S AUNT, - THE STORY OF SONNY SAHIB, ETC. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1896 - - - - - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1895, 1896, - BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. - - -------------- - - - FACING - PAGE - - The situation made its voiceless demand _Frontispiece_ - - “She seems to be sufficiently entertained” 21 - - There was a moment’s pause 83 - - Notwithstanding, it was gay enough 150 - - “What do I know about the speech”! 215 - - She drove back 305 - - - - - HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -“The Sahib _walks_!” said Ram Prasannad, who dusted the office books and -papers, to Bundal Singh the messenger, who wore a long red coat with a -badge of office, and went about the business of the Queen-Empress on his -two lean brown legs. - -“What talk is that?” Bundal Singh shifted his betel quid to the other -cheek and lunged upon his feet. This in itself was something. When one -sits habitually upon one’s heels the process of getting up is not -undertaken lightly. The men looked out together between the whitewashed -stucco pillars of the long verandah that interposed between the -Commissioner’s clerks and the glare and publicity of the outer world of -Hassimabad. Overhead, in a pipal tree that threw sharp-cut patterns of -its heart-shaped leaves about their feet, a crow stretched its -grey-black throat in strenuous caws, since it was ten o’clock in the -morning and there was no reason to keep silence. Farther away a chorus -of other crows smote the sunlight, and from the direction of the bazar -came a murmur of the life there, borne higher now and then in the -wailing voice of some hawker of sweetmeats. Nevertheless there was a -boundless stillness, a stillness that might have been commanded. The -prodigal sun intensified it, and the trees stood in it, a red and dusty -road wound through it, and the figure of a man, walking quickly down the -road, seemed to be a concentration of it. - -“That signifies,” continued Ram Prasannad, without emotion, “news that -is either very good or very bad. The Government _lât_ had but arrived, -the sahib opened one letter only—which is now with him—and in a breath -he was gone, walking, though the horse was still fast between the -shafts. Myself, I think the news is good, for my cousin—he is a writing -baboo in the Home Office, dost thou understand, thou, runner of -errands!—has sent word to me that the sahib is much in favour with the -_Burra Lat_, and that it would be well to be faithful to him.” - -“I will go swiftly after with an umbrella, and from his countenance it -will appear,” remarked Bundal Singh; “and look thou, worthy one, if that -son of mud, Lal Beg, the grain dealer, comes again in my absence to try -to make petition to the sahib, and brings a pice less than one rupee to -me, do thou refuse him admission.” - -Bundal Singh ran after his master, as he said. As John Church walked -rapidly, and the habitual pace of a Queen’s messenger in red and gold is -a dignified walk, the umbrella was tendered with a devoted loss of wind. - -“It may be that your honour will take harm from the sun,” Bundal Singh -suggested, with the privilege all the Commissioner’s people felt -permitted to use. The Commissioner liked it—could be depended upon to -appreciate any little savour of personal devotion to him, even if it -took the form of a liberty. He had not a servant who was unaware of this -or failed to presume upon it, in his place and degree. This one got a -nod of acknowledgment as his master took the opened umbrella, and -observed, as he fell behind, that the sahib was too much preoccupied to -carry it straight. He went meditatively back to Ram Prasannad in the -verandah, who said, “Well?” - -“Simply it does not appear. The sahib’s forehead had twenty wrinkles, -and his mind was a thousand miles hence. Yet it was as if he had lately -smiled and would smile again. What will be, will be. Lal Beg has not -been here?” - -John Church walked steadily on, with his near-sighted eyes fixed always -upon the wide space of sunlit road, its red dust thick-printed with bare -feet and hoofs, that lay in front of him—seeing nothing, literally, but -the way home. He met no one who knew him except people from the bazar, -who regarded their vizier with serious wonder as they salaamed, the men -who sat upon low bamboo carts and urged, hand upon flank, the -peaceful-eyed cattle yoked to them, turning to stare as they jogged -indolently past. A brown pariah, curled up in the middle of the road, -lifted his long snout in lazy apology as Church stepped round him, -trusting the sense that told him it would not be necessary to get out of -the way. As he passed the last low wall, mossy and discoloured, that -divided its brilliantly tangled garden from the highway, and turned in -at its own gate, he caught himself out of his abstraction and threw up -his head. He entered his wife’s drawing-room considerately, and a ray of -light, slipping through the curtains and past the azaleas and across the -cool duskness of the place, fell on his spectacles and exaggerated the -triumph in his face. - -The lady, who sat at the other end of the room writing, rose as her -husband came into it, and stepped forward softly to meet him. If you had -known her you would have noticed a slight elation in her step that was -not usual, and made it more graceful, if anything, than it commonly was. - -“I think I know what you have come to tell me,” she said. Her voice -matched her personality so perfectly that it might have suggested her, -to a few people, in her darkened drawing-room, as its perfume would -betray some sweet-smelling thing in the evening. Not to John Church. “I -think I know,” she said, as he hesitated for words that would not show -extravagant or undignified gratification. “But tell me yourself. It will -be a pleasure.” - -“That Sir Griffiths Spence goes on eighteen months’ sick leave, and——” - -“And that you are appointed to officiate for him. Yes.” - -“Somebody has written?” - -“Yes—Mr. Ancram.” - -His wife had come close to him, and he noticed that she was holding out -her hands in her impulse of congratulation. He took one of them—it was -all he felt the occasion required—and shook it lamely. She dropped the -other with a little quick turn of her head and a dash of amusement at -her own expense in the gentle gravity of her expression. “Do sit down,” -she said, almost as if he had been a visitor, “and tell me all about -it.” She dragged a comfortable chair forward out of its relation with a -Burmese carved table, some pots of ferns and a screen, and sat down -herself opposite, leaning forward in a little pose of expectancy. Church -placed himself on the edge of it, grasping his hat with both hands -between his knees. - -“I must apologise for my boots,” he said, looking down: “I walked over. -I am very dusty.” - -“What does it matter? You are King of Bengal!” - -“Acting King.” - -“It is the same thing—or it will be. Sir Griffiths retires altogether in -two years—Lord Scansleigh evidently intends you to succeed him.” The -lady spoke with obvious repression, but her gray eyes and the warm -whiteness of her oval face seemed to have caught into themselves all the -light and shadow of the room. - -“Perhaps—perhaps. You always invest in the future at a premium, Judith. -I don’t intend to think about that.” - -Such an anticipation, based on his own worth, seemed to him -unwarrantable, almost indecent. - -“I do,” she said, wilfully ignoring the clouding of his face. “There is -so much to think about. First the pay—almost ten thousand rupees a -month—and we are poor. It may be a material consideration, but I don’t -mind confessing that the prospect of never having to cut the khansamah -appeals to me. We shall have a palace and a park to live in, with a -guard at the gates, and two outriders with swords to follow our -carriage. We shall live in Calcutta, where there are trams and theatres -and shops and people. The place carries knighthood if you are confirmed -in it, and you will be Sir John Church—that gratifies the snob that is -latent in me because I am a woman, John.” (She paused and glanced at his -face, which had grown almost morose.) “Best of all,” she added lightly, -“as Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal you will be practically sole ruler of -eighty millions of people. You will be free to carry out your own -theories, and to undertake reforms—any number of reforms! Mr. Ancram -says,” she went on, after a moment’s hesitation, “that the man and the -opportunity have come together.” - -John Church blushed, through his beard which was gray, and over the top -of his head which was bald, but his look lightened. - -“Ancram will be one of my secretaries,” he said. “Does he speak at -all—does he mention the way it has been taken in Calcutta?” - -Mrs. Church went to her writing-table and came back with the letter. It -was luxuriously written, in a rapid hand as full of curves and angles as -a woman’s, and covered, from “Dear Lady” to “Always yours sincerely,” -several broad-margined sheets. - -“I think he does,” she said, deliberately searching the pages. “Yes: -‘Church was not thought precisely in the running—you are so remote in -Hassimabad, and his work has always been so unostentatious—and there was -some surprise when the news came, but no cavil. It is known that the -Viceroy has been looking almost with tears for a man who would be strong -enough to redeem a few of Sir Griffiths’ mistakes if possible while he -is away—he has been, as you know, ludicrously weak with the natives—and -Church’s handling of that religious uproar you had a year ago has not -been forgotten. I need not expatiate upon the pleasure your friends -feel, but it may gratify you to know that the official mob is less ready -with criticism of His Excellency’s choice than usual.’” - -John Church listened with the look of putting his satisfaction under -constraint. He listened in the official manner, as one who has many -things to hear, with his head bent forward and toward his wife, and his -eyes consideringly upon the floor. - -“I am glad of that,” he said nervously when she had finished—“I am glad -of that. There is a great deal to be done in Bengal, and matters will be -simplified if they recognise it.“ - -“I think you would find a great deal to do anywhere, John,” remarked -Mrs. Church. It could almost be said that she spoke kindly, and a -sensitive observer with a proper estimate of her husband might have -found this irritating. During the little while that followed, however, -as they talked, in the warmth of this unexpected gratification, of what -his work had been as a Commissioner, and what it might be as a -Lieutenant-Governor, it would have been evident even to an observer who -was not sensitive, that here they touched a high-water mark of their -intercourse, a climax in the cordiality of their mutual understanding. - -“By the way,” said John Church, getting up to go, “when is Ancram to be -married?” - -“I don’t know!” Mrs. Church threw some interest into the words. Her -inflection said that she was surprised that she didn’t know. “He only -mentions Miss Daye to call her a ‘study in femininity,’ which looks as -if he might be submitting to a protracted process of education at her -hands. Certainly not soon, I should think.” - -“Ancram must be close on forty, with good pay, good position, good -prospects. He shouldn’t put it off any longer: a man has no business to -grow old alone in this country. He deteriorates.” - -Church pulled himself together with a shake—he was a loose-hung -creature—and put a nervous hand up to his necktie. Then he pulled down -his cuffs, considered his hat with the effect of making quite sure that -there was nothing more to say, and turned to go. - -“You might send me over something,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I -won’t be able to come back to breakfast. Already I’ve lost -three-quarters of an hour from work. Government doesn’t pay me for that. -You are pleased, then?” he added, looking round at her in a half -shamefaced way from the door. - -Mrs. Church had returned to the writing-table, and had again taken up -her pen. She leaned back in her chair and lifted her delicate chin with -a smile that had custom and patience in it. - -“Very pleased indeed,” she said; and he went away. The intelligent -observer, again, would have wondered how he refrained from going back -and kissing her. Perhaps the custom and the patience in her smile would -have lent themselves to the explanation. At all events, he went away. - -He was forty-two, exactly double her age, when he married Judith -Strange, eight years before, in Stoneborough, a small manufacturing town -in the north of England, where her father was a Nonconformist minister. -He was her opportunity, and she had taken him, with private -congratulation that she could respect him and private qualms as to -whether her respect was her crucial test of him—considered in the light -of an opportunity. Not in any sordid sense; she would be more inclined -perhaps to apologise for herself than I am to apologise for her. But -with an inordinately hungry capacity for life she had the narrowest -conditions to live in. She knew by intuition that the world was full of -colour and passion, and when one is tormented with this sort of -knowledge it becomes more than ever grievous to inhabit one of its -small, dull, grimy blind alleys, with the single anticipation of -enduring to a smoke-blackened old age, like one of Stoneborough’s lesser -chimneys. There was nothing ideal about John Church except his -honesty,—already he stooped, already he was grey, sallow and serious, -with the slenderest interest in questions that could not express their -utility in unquestionable facts,—but when he asked her to marry him, the -wall at the end of the alley fell down, and a breeze stole in from the -far East, with a vision of palms and pomegranates. She accepted him for -the sake of her imagination, wishing profoundly that he was not so much -like her father, with what her mother thought almost improper -promptitude; and for a long time, although he still stood outside it, -her imagination loyally rewarded her. She felt the East to her -fingertips, and her mere physical life there became a thing of vivid -experience, to be valued for itself. If her husband confounded this joy -in her expansion with the orthodox happiness of a devoted wife, it -cannot be said that he was particularly to blame for his mistake, for -numbers of other people made it also. And when, after eight years of his -companionship, and that of the sunburned policeman, the anæmic -magistrate, the agreeable doctor, their wives, the odd colonel, and the -stray subalterns that constituted society in the stations they lived in, -she began to show a little lassitude of spirit, he put it down not -unnaturally to the climate, and wished he could conscientiously take a -few months’ leave, since nothing would induce her to go to England -without him. By this time India had become a resource, India that lay -all about her, glowing, profuse, mysterious, fascinating, a place in -which she felt that she had no part, could never have any part, but that -of a spectator. The gesture of a fakir, the red masses of the gold-mohur -trees against the blue intensity of the sky, the heavy sweetness of the -evening wind, the soft colour and curves of the homeward driven cattle, -the little naked babies with their jingling anklets in the bazar—she had -begun to turn to these things seeking their gift of pleasure jealously, -consciously thankful that, in spite of the Amusement Club, she could -never be altogether bored. - -John Church went back to work with his satisfaction sweetened by the -fact that his wife had told him that she was very pleased indeed, while -Mrs. Church answered the Honourable Mr. Lewis Ancram’s letter. - -“I have been making my own acquaintance this morning,” she said among -other things, “as an ambitious woman. It is intoxicating, after this -idle, sun-filled, wondering life, with the single supreme care that John -does not wear ragged collars to church—as a Commissioner he ought to be -extravagant in collars—to be confronted with something to assume and -carry out, a part to play, with all India looking on. Don’t imagine a -lofty intention on my part to inspire my husband’s Resolutions. I assure -you I see myself differently. Perhaps, after all, it is the foolish -anticipation of my state and splendour that has excited my vain -imagination as much as anything. Already, prospectively, I murmur lame -nothings into the ear of the Viceroy as he takes me down to dinner! But -I am preposterously delighted. To-morrow is Sunday—I have an irreverent -desire for the prayers of all the churches.” - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -“Here you are at last!” remarked Mrs. Daye with vivacity, taking the -three long, pronounced and rustling steps which she took so very well, -toward the last comer to her dinner party, who made his leisurely -entrance between the _portières_, pocketing his handkerchief. “Don’t say -you have been to church,” she went on, holding out a condoning hand, -“for none of us will believe you.” - -Although Mr. Ancram’s lips curved back over his rather prominent teeth -in a narrow smile as he put up his eyeglass and looked down at his -hostess, Mrs. Daye felt the levity fade out of her expression: she had -to put compulsion on herself to keep it in her face. It was as if she, -his prospective mother-in-law, had taken the least of liberties with Mr. -Ancram. - -“Does the only road to forgiveness lie through the church gate?” he -asked. His voice was high and agreeable; it expressed discrimination; -his tone implied that, if the occasion had required it, he could have -said something much cleverer easily—an implication no one who knew him -would have found unwarrantable. - -“The padres say it does, as a rule, Ancram,” put in Colonel Daye. “In -this case it lies through the dining-room door. Will you take my wife -in?” - -In a corner of the room, which she might have chosen for its warm -obscurity, Rhoda Daye watched with curious scrutiny the lightest detail -of Mr. Lewis Ancram’s behaviour. An elderly gentleman, with pulpy red -cheeks and an amplitude of white waistcoat, stood beside her chair, -swaying out of the perpendicular with well-bred rigidity now and then, -in tentative efforts at conversation; to which she replied, “Really?” -and “Yes, I know,” while her eyes fixed themselves upon Ancram’s face, -and her little white features gleamed immobile under the halo which the -tall lamp behind her made with her fuzz of light-brown hair. “Mother’s -respect for him is simply outrageous,” she reflected, as she assured the -elderly gentleman that even for Calcutta the heat was really -extraordinary, considering that they were in December. “I -wonder—supposing he had not made love to me—if I could have had as -much!” She did not answer herself definitely—not from any lack of -candour, but because the question presented difficulties. She slipped -past him presently on the arm of the elderly gentleman, as Ancram still -stood with bent head talking to her mother. His eyes sought hers with a -significance that flattered her—there was no time for further -greeting—and the bow with which he returned her enigmatic little nod -singled her out for consideration. As she went in to dinner the nape of -Mr. Lewis Ancram’s neck and the parting of his hair remained with her as -pictorial facts. - -Mrs. Daye always gave composite dinner-parties, and this was one of -them. “If you ask nobody but military people to meet each other,” she -was in the habit of saying, “you hear nothing but the price of chargers -and the prospects of the Staff Corps. If you make your list up of -civilians, the conversation consists of abuse of their official -superiors and the infamous conduct of the Secretary of State about the -rupee.” On this occasion Mrs. Daye had reason to anticipate that the -price of chargers would be varied by the grievances of the Civil -Service, and that a touring Member of Parliament would participate in -the discussion who knew nothing about either; and she felt that her -blend would be successful. She could give herself up to the somewhat -fearful enjoyment she experienced in Mr. Ancram’s society. Mrs. Daye was -convinced that nobody appreciated Mr. Ancram more subtly than she did. -She saw a great deal of jealousy of him in Calcutta society, whereas she -was wont to declare that, for her part, she found nothing extraordinary -in the way he had got in—a man of his brains, you know! And if Calcutta -resented this imputation upon its own brains in ever so slight a degree, -Mrs. Daye saw therein more jealousy of the fact that her family circle -was about to receive him. When it had once opened for that purpose and -closed again, Mrs. Daye hoped vaguely that she would be sustained for -the new and exacting duty of living up to Mr. Ancram. - -[Illustration: “She seems to be sufficiently entertained.”] - -“_Please_ look at Rhoda,” she begged, in a conversational buzz that her -blend had induced. - -Mr. Ancram looked, deliberately, but with appreciation. “She seems to be -sufficiently entertained,” he said. - -“Oh, she is! She’s got a globe-trotter. Haven’t you found out that Rhoda -simply loves globe-trotters? She declares that she renews her youth in -them.” - -“Her first impressions, I suppose she means?” - -“Oh, as to what she _means_——” - -Mrs. Daye broke off irresolutely, and thoughtfully conveyed a minute -piece of roll to her lips. The minute piece of roll was Mr. Ancram’s -opportunity to complete Mrs. Daye’s suggestion of a certain interesting -ambiguity in her daughter; but he did not take it. He continued to look -attentively at Miss Daye, who appeared, as he said, to be sufficiently -entertained, under circumstances which seemed to him inadequate. Her -traveller was talking emphatically, with gestures of elderly dogmatism, -and she was deferentially listening, an amusement behind her eyes with -which the Chief Secretary to the Government at Bengal was not altogether -unfamiliar. He had seen it there before, on occasions when there was -apparently nothing to explain it. - -“It would be satisfactory to see her eating her dinner,” he remarked, -with what Mrs. Daye felt to be too slight a degree of solicitude. She -was obliged to remind herself that at thirty-seven a man was apt to take -these things more as matters of fact, especially—and there was a double -comfort in this reflection—a man already well up in the Secretariat and -known to be ambitious. “Is it possible,” Mr. Ancram went on, somewhat -absently, “that these are Calcutta roses? You must have a very clever -gardener.” - -“No”—and Mrs. Daye pitched her voice with a gentle definiteness that -made what she was saying interesting all round the table—“they came from -the Viceroy’s place at Barrackpore. Lady Emily sent them to me: so sweet -of her, I thought! I always think it particularly kind when people in -that position trouble themselves about one; they must have so _many_ -demands upon their time.” - -The effect could not have been better. Everybody looked at the roses -with an interest that might almost be described as respectful; and Mrs. -Delaine, whose husband was Captain Delaine of the Durham Rifles, said -that she would have known them for Their Excellencies’ roses -anywhere—they always did the table with that kind for the Thursday -dinners at Government House—she had never known them to use any other. - -Mrs. St. George, whose husband was the Presidency Magistrate, found this -interesting. “Do they really?” she exclaimed. “I’ve often wondered what -those big Thursday affairs were like. Fancy—we’ve been in Calcutta -through three cold weathers now, and have never been asked to anything -but little private dinners at Government House—not more than eight or -ten, you know!” - -“Don’t you prefer that?” asked Mrs. Delaine, taking her quenching with -noble equanimity. - -“Well, of course one sees more _of_ them,” Mrs. St. George admitted. -“The last time we were there, about a fortnight ago, I had a long chat -with Lady Emily. She is a sweet thing, and perfectly wild at being out -of the school-room!” Mrs. St. George added that it was a charming -family, so well brought up; and this seemed to be a matter of special -congratulation as affecting the domestic arrangements of a Viceroy. -There was a warmth and an emphasis in the corroboration that arose which -almost established relations of intimacy between Their Excellencies and -Mrs. Daye’s dinner-party. Mrs. Daye’s daughter listened in her absorbed, -noting manner; and when the elderly gentleman remarked with a certain -solemnity that they were talking of the Scansleighs, he supposed, the -smile with which she said “Evidently” was more pronounced than he could -have had any right to expect. - -“They seem to be delightful people,” continued the elderly gentleman, -earnestly. - -“I daresay,” Miss Daye replied, with grave deliberation. “They’re very -decorative,” she added absently. “That’s a purely Indian vegetable, Mr. -Pond. Rather sticky, and without the ghost of a flavour; but you ought -to try it, as an experience, don’t you think?” - -It occurred to Mrs. Daye sometimes that Mr. Ancram was unreasonably -difficult to entertain, even for a Chief Secretary. It occurred to her -more forcibly than usual on this particular evening, and it was almost -with trepidation that she produced the trump card on which she had been -relying to provoke a lively suit of amiabilities. She produced it -awkwardly too; there was always a slight awkwardness, irritating to so -_habile_ a lady, in her manner of addressing Mr. Ancram, owing to her -confessed and painful inability to call him “Lewis”—yet. “Oh,” she said -finally, “I haven’t congratulated you on your ‘Modern Influence of the -Vedic Books.’ I assure you, in spite of its being in blue paper covers -and printed by Government I went through it with the greatest interest. -And there were no pictures either,” Mrs. Daye added, with the -ingenuousness which often clings to Anglo-Indian ladies somewhat late in -life. - -Mr. Ancram was occupied for the moment in scrutinising the contents of a -dish which a servant patiently presented to his left elbow. It was an -ornate and mottled conception visible through a mass of brown jelly, and -the man looked disappointed when so important a guest, after perceptible -deliberation, decisively removed his eyeglass and shook his head. Mrs. -Daye was in the act of reminding herself of the probably impaired -digestion of a Chief Secretary, when he seemed suddenly recalled to the -fact that she had spoken. - -“Really?” he said, looking fully at her, with a smile that had many -qualities of compensation. “My dear Mrs. Daye, that was doing a good -deal for friendship, wasn’t it?” - -His eyes were certainly blue and expressive when he allowed them to be, -his hostess thought, and he had the straight, thin, well-indicated nose -which she liked, and a sensitive mouth for a man. His work as part of -the great intelligent managing machine of the Government of India -overimpressed itself upon the stamp of scholarship Oxford had left on -his face, which had the pallor of Bengal, with fatigued lines about the -eyes, lines that suggested to Mr. Ancram’s friends the constant reproach -of over-exertion. A light moustache, sufficiently well-curled and -worldly, effectually prevented any tinge of asceticism which might -otherwise have been characteristic, and placed Mr. Ancram among those -who discussed Meredith, had an expensive taste in handicrafts, and -subscribed to the _Figaro Salon_. His secretary’s stoop was not a -pronounced and local curve, rather a general thrusting forward of his -personality which was fitting enough in a scientific investigator; and -his long, nervous, white hands spoke of a multitude of well-phrased -Resolutions. It was ridiculous, Mrs. Daye thought, that with so -agreeable a manner he should still convey the impression that one’s -interest in the Vedic Books was not of the least importance. It must be -that she was over-sensitive. But she would be piqued notwithstanding. -Pique, when one is plump and knows how to hold oneself, is more -effective than almost any other attitude. - -“You are exactly like all the rest! You think that no woman can possibly -care to read anything but novels! Now, as a matter of fact I am -_devoted_ to things like Vedic Books. If I had nothing else to do I -should dig and delve in the archaic from morning till night.” - -“The implication being,” returned Mr. Ancram sweetly, “that I have -nothing else to do.” - -Mrs. Daye compressed her lips in the manner of one whose patience is at -an end. “It would serve you perfectly right,” she exclaimed, “if I -didn’t tell you what a long review of it I saw the other day in one of -the home papers.” - -Ancram looked up with an almost imperceptible accession of interest. - -“How nice!” he said lightly. “A fellow out here always feels himself in -luck when his odds and ends get taken up at home. You don’t happen to -remember the paper—or the date?” - -“I’m almost sure it was the _Times_,” Mrs. Daye replied, with rather an -accentuation of rejoiceful zeal; “but Richard can tell you. It was he -who drew my attention to the notice.” - -Mr. Ancram’s eyebrows underwent a slight contraction. “Notice” did not -seem to be a felicitous word. - -“Oh, thanks,” he said. “Never mind; one generally comes across those -things sooner or later.” - -“I say, Ancram,” put in Mr. St. George, who had been listening on Mrs. -Daye’s left, “you Asiatic Society fellows won’t get as much out of -Church for your investigations as you did out of Spence.” - -Ancram looked fixedly at a porcelain cherub that moored a boatful of -pink-and-white confectionery to the nearest bank of the Viceregal roses. -“Sir Griffiths was certainly generous,” he said. “He gave Pierson a -quarter of a lakh, for instance, to get his ethnological statistics -together. It was easy to persuade him to recognise the value of these -things.” - -“It won’t be easy to get this man to recognise it,” persisted St. -George. “He’s the sort of fellow who likes sanitation better than -Sanscrit. He’s got a great scheme on for improving the village -water-supply for Bengal, and I hear he wants to reorganise the -vaccination business. Great man for the people!” - -“Wants to spend every blessed pice on the bloomin’ ryot,” remarked -Captain Delaine, with humorous resentment. - -“Let us hope the people will be grateful,” said Ancram vaguely. - -“They won’t, you know,” remarked Rhoda Daye to Mr. Pond. “They’ll never -know. They are like the cattle—they plough and eat and sleep; and if a -tenth of them die of cholera from bad water, they say it was written -upon their foreheads; and if Government cleans the tanks and the tenth -are spared, they say it is a good year and the gods are favourable.” - -“Dear me!” said Mr. Pond: “that’s very interesting.” - -“Isn’t it? And there’s lots more of it—all in the Calcutta newspapers, -Mr. Pond: you should read them if you wish to be informed.” And Mr. Pond -thought that an excellent idea. - -When a Lieutenant-Governor drops into the conversational vortex of a -Calcutta dinner-party he circles on indefinitely. The measure of his -hospitality, the nature of his tastes, the direction of his policy, his -quality as a master, and the measure of his popularity, are only a few -of the heads under which he is discussed; while his wife is made the -most of separately, with equal thoroughness and precision. Just before -Mrs. Daye looked smilingly at Mrs. St. George, and the ladies flocked -away, some one asked who Mrs. Church’s friends were in Calcutta, anyway: -she seemed to know hardly any one person more than another—a delightful -impartiality, the lady added, of course, after Lady Spence’s -favouritism. The remark fell lightly enough upon the air, but Lewis -Ancram did not let it pass. He looked at nobody in particular, but into -space: it was a way he had when he let fall anything definite. - -“Well,” he said, “I hope I may claim to be one. My pretension dates back -five years—I used to know them in Kaligurh. I fancy Mrs. Church will be -appreciated in Calcutta. She is that combination which is so much less -rare than it used to be—a woman who is as fine as she is clever, and as -clever as she is charming.” - -“With all due deference to Mr. Ancram’s opinion,” remarked Mrs. Daye -publicly, with one hand upon the banister, as the ladies went up to the -drawing-room, “I should _not_ call Mrs. Church a fine woman. She’s much -too slender—really almost thin!” - -“My dear mummie,” exclaimed Rhoda, as Mrs. St. George expressed her -entire concurrence, “don’t be stupid! He didn’t mean that.” - -Later Ancram stepped out of one of the open French windows and found her -alone on the broad verandah, where orchids hung from the roof and big -plants in pots made a spiky gloom in the corners. A tank in the garden -glistened motionless below; the heavy fronds of a clump of sago palms -waved up and down uncertainly in the moonlight. Now and then in the -moist, soft air the scent of some hidden temple tree made itself felt. A -cluster of huts to the right in the street they looked down upon stood -half-concealed in a hanging blue cloud of smoke and fog. Far away in the -suburbs the wailing cry of the jackals rose and fell and recommenced; -nearer the drub-drubbing of a tom-tom announced that somewhere in the -bazar they kept a marriage festival. But for themselves and the -moonlight and the shadow of the creeper round the pillars, the verandah -was quite empty, and through the windows came a song of Mrs. Delaine’s -about love’s little hour. The situation made its voiceless demand, and -neither of them were unconscious of it. Nevertheless he, lighting a -cigarette, asked her if she would not come in and hear the music; and -she said no—she liked it better there; whereat they both kept the -silence that was necessary for the appreciation of Mrs. Delaine’s song. -When it was over, Rhoda’s terrier, Buzz, came out with inquiring -cordiality, and they talked of the growth of his accomplishments since -Ancram had given him to her; and then, as if it were a development of -the subject, Rhoda said: - -“Mrs. Church has a very interesting face, don’t you think?” - -“Very,” Ancram replied unhesitatingly. - -“She looks as if she cared for beautiful things. Not only pictures and -things, but beautiful conceptions—ideas, characteristics.” - -“I understand,” Ancram returned: “she does.” - -There was a pause, while they listened to the wail of the jackals, which -had grown wild and high and tumultuous. As it died away, Rhoda looked up -with a little smile. - -“I like that,” she said; “it is about the only thing out here that is -quite irrepressible. And—you knew her well at Kaligurh?” - -“I think I may say I did,” Ancram replied, tossing the end of his -cigarette down among the hibiscus bushes. “My dear girl, you must come -in. There is nothing like a seductive moonlight night in India to give -one fever.” - -“I congratulate you,” said Miss Daye—and her tone had a defiance which -she did not intend, though one could not say that she was unaware of its -cynicism—“I congratulate you upon knowing her well. It is always an -advantage to know the wife of the Lieutenant-Governor well. The most -delightful things come of it—Commissionerships, and all sorts of things. -I hope you will make her understand the importance of the Vedic Books in -their bearing upon the modern problems of government.” - -“You are always asking me to make acknowledgments—you want almost too -many; but since it amuses you, I don’t mind.” Rhoda noted the little -gleam in his eyes that contradicted this. “Sanscrit is to me now exactly -what Greek was at Oxford—a stepping-stone, and nothing more. One must do -something to distinguish oneself from the herd; and in India, thank -fortune, it’s easy enough. There’s an enormous field, and next to nobody -to beat. Bless you, a Commissariat Colonel can give himself an aureole -of scientific discovery out here if he cares to try! If I hadn’t taken -up Sanscrit and Hinduism, I should have gone in for palæontology, or -conchology, or folk-lore, or ferns. Anything does: only the less other -people know about it the better; so I took Sanscrit.” A combined -suggestion of humour and candour gradually accumulated in Mr. Ancram’s -sentences, which came to a climax when he added, “You don’t think it -very original to discover that!” - -“And the result of being distinguished from the herd?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, they don’t send one to administer the -Andamans or Lower Burmah,” he said. “They conserve one’s intellectual -achievements to adorn social centres of some importance, which is more -agreeable. And then, if a valuable post falls vacant, one is not -considered disqualified for it by being a little wiser than other -people. Come now—there’s a very big confession for you! But you mustn’t -tell. We scientists must take ourselves with awful seriousness if we -want to be impressive. That’s the part that bores one.” - -Mr. Ancram smiled down at his betrothed with distinct good-humour. He -was under the impression that he had spontaneously given his soul an -airing—an impression he was fond of. She listened, amused that she could -evoke so much, and returned to the thing he had evaded. - -“Between the Vedic Books and Mrs. Church,” she said, “our future seems -assured.” - -Ancram’s soul retired again, and shut the door with a click. - -“That is quite a false note,” he said coolly: “Mrs. Church will have -nothing to do with it.” - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -It became evident very soon after Miss Rhoda Daye’s appearance in -Calcutta that she was not precisely like the other young ladies in -sailor hats and cambric blouses who arrived at the same time. For one -superficial thing, anybody could see that she had less colour; and this -her mother mourned openly—a girl depended so entirely for the first -season on her colour. As other differences became obvious Mrs. Daye had -other regrets, one of them being that Rhoda had been permitted so -absolutely to fashion her own education. Mrs. Daye had not foreseen one -trivial result of this, which was that her daughter, believing herself -devoid of any special talent, refused to ornament herself with any -special accomplishment. This, in Mrs. Daye’s opinion, was carrying -self-depreciation and reverence for achievement and all that sort of -thing a great deal too far: a girl had no right to expect her parents to -present her to the world in a state of artistic nudity. It was not in -the nature of compensation that she understood the situation with the -Amir and the ambitions of the National Congress; such things were almost -unmentionable in Calcutta society. And it was certainly in the nature of -aggravation that she showed, after the first month of it, an -inexplicable indifference to every social opportunity but that of -looking on. Miss Daye had an undoubted talent for looking on; and she -would often exercise it—mutely, motionlessly, half hidden behind a -pillar at a ball, or abandoned in a corner after dinner—until her mother -was mortified enough to take her home. Presently it appeared that she -had looked on sufficiently to know her ground. She made her valuation of -society; she picked out the half-dozen Anglo-Indian types; it may be -presumed that she classified her parents. She still looked on, but with -less concentration: she began to talk. She developed a liking for the -society of elderly gentlemen of eminence, and an abhorrence for that of -their wives, which was considered of doubtful propriety, until the Head -of the Foreign Office once congratulated himself openly upon sitting -next her at dinner. After which she was regarded with indulgence, it was -said in corners that she must be clever, subalterns avoided her, and her -mother, taking her cue unerringly, figuratively threw up her hands and -asked Heaven why she of all people should be given a _fin-de-siècle_ -daughter. - -Privately Mrs. Daye tried to make herself believe, in the manner of -the Parisian playwright, that a _succès d’estime_ was infinitely to be -preferred to the plaudits of the mob. I need hardly say that she was -wholly successful in doing so, when Mr. Lewis Ancram contributed to -the balance in favour of this opinion. Mr. Ancram was observing too: -he observed in this case from shorter and shorter distances, and -finally allowed himself to be charmed by what he saw. Perhaps that is -not putting it quite strongly enough. He really encouraged himself to -be thus charmed. He was of those who find in the automatic monotony of -the Indian social machine, with its unvarying individual—a machine, he -was fond of saying, the wheels of which are kept oiled with the -essence of British Philistinism—a burden and a complaint. In London he -would have lived with one foot in Mayfair and the other in the Strand; -and there had been times when he talked of the necessity of chaining -his ambition before his eyes to prevent his making the choice of a -career over again, though it must be said that this violent proceeding -was carried out rather as a solace to his defrauded capacity for -culture than in view of any real danger. He had been accustomed to -take the annually fresh young ladies in straw hats and cambric blouses -who appeared in the cold weather much as he took the inevitable -functions at Government House—to be politely avoided, if possible; if -not, to be submitted to with the grace which might be expected from a -person holding his office and drawing his emoluments. When he found -that Rhoda Daye was likely to break up the surface of his blank -indifference to evening parties he fostered the probability. Among all -the young ladies in sailor hats and cambric blouses he saw his single -chance for experience, interest, sensation; and he availed himself of -it with an accumulated energy which Miss Daye found stimulating enough -to induce her to exert herself, to a certain extent, reciprocally. She -was not interested in the Hon. Mr. Lewis Ancram because of his -reputation: other men had reputations—reputations almost as big as -their paybills—who did not excite her imagination in the smallest -degree. It would be easy to multiply accounts upon which Mr. Ancram -did not interest Miss Daye, but it is not clear that any result would -be arrived at that way, and the fact remains that she was interested. -From this quiet point—she was entirely aware of its advantage—she -contemplated Mr. Ancram’s gradual advance along the lines of -attraction with a feeling very like satisfaction. She had only to -contemplate it. Ancram contributed his own impetus, and reached the -point where he believed his affections involved with an artistic shock -which he had anticipated for weeks as quite divinely enjoyable. She -behaved amusingly when they were engaged: she made a little comedy of -it, would be coaxed to no confessions and only one vow—that, as they -were to go through life together, she would try always to be -agreeable. If she had private questionings and secret alarms, she hid -them with intrepidity; and if it seemed to her to be anything -ridiculous that the wayward god should present himself behind the -careful countenance and the well-starched shirt-front of early -middle-age, holding an eyeglass in attenuated fingers, and mutely -implying that he had been bored for years, she did not betray her -impression. The thrall of their engagement made no change in her; she -continued to be the same demure, slender creature, who said unexpected -things, that she had been before. That he had covetable new privileges -did not seem to make much difference; her chief value was still that -of a clever acquaintance. She would grow more expensive in time, he -thought vaguely; but several months had passed, as we have seen, -without this result. On the other hand, there had been occasions when -he fancied that she deliberately disassociated herself from him in -that favourite pursuit of observation, in order to obtain a point of -view which should command certain intellectual privacies of his. He -wondered whether she would take this liberty with greater freedom when -they were one and indivisible; and, while he felt it absurd to object, -he wished she would be a little more communicative about what she saw. - -They were to be married in March, when Ancram would take a year’s -furlough, and she would help him to lave his stiffened powers of -artistic enjoyment in the beauties of the Parthenon and the inspirations -of the Viennese galleries and the charms of Como and Maggiore. They -talked a great deal of the satisfaction they expected to realise in this -way. They went over it in detail, realising again and again that it must -represent to him compensation for years of aridity and to her a store -against the future likely to be drawn upon largely. Besides, it was a -topic upon which they were quite sure of finding mutual understanding, -even mutual congratulation—an excellent topic. - -Meanwhile Ancram lived with Philip Doyle in Hungerford Street under the -ordinary circumstances which govern Calcutta bachelors. Doyle was a -barrister. He stood, in Calcutta, upon his ability and his -individuality, and as these had been observed to place him in familiar -relations with Heads of Departments, it may be gathered that they gave -him a sufficient elevation. People called him a “strong” man because he -refused their invitations to dinner, but the statement might have had a -more intelligent basis and been equally true. It would have surprised -him immensely if he could have weighed the value of his own opinions, or -observed the trouble which men who appropriated them took to give them a -tinge of originality. He was a survival of an older school, -certainly—people were right in saying that. He had preserved a -courtliness of manner and a sincerity of behaviour which suggested an -Anglo-India that is mostly lying under pillars and pyramids in rank -Calcutta cemeteries now. He was hospitable and select—so much of both -that he often experienced ridiculous annoyance at having asked men to -dinner who were essentially unpalatable to him. His sensitiveness to -qualities in personal contact was so great as to be a conspicuous -indication, to the discerning eye, of Lewis Ancram’s unbounded tact. - -Circumstances had thrown the men under one roof, and even if the younger -of them had not made himself so thoroughly agreeable, it would have been -difficult to alter the arrangement. - -It could never be said of Lewis Ancram that he did not choose his -friends with taste, and in this case his discrimination had a foundation -of respect which he was in the habit of freely mentioning. His -admiration of Doyle was generous and frank, so generous and frank that -one might have suspected a virtue in the expression of it. -Notwithstanding this implication, it was entirely sincere, though he -would occasionally qualify it. - -“I often tell Doyle,” he said once to Rhoda, “that his independence is -purely a matter of circumstance. If he had the official yoke upon his -neck he would kow-tow like the rest of us.” - -“I don’t believe that,” she answered quickly. - -“Ah well, now that I think of it I don’t particularly believe it myself. -Doyle’s the salt of the earth anyhow. He makes it just possible for -officials like myself to swallow officialdom.” - -“Did it ever occur to you,” she asked slowly, “to wonder what he thinks -of you?” - -“Oh, I daresay he likes me well enough. Irishmen never go in for -analysing their friends. At all events we live together, and there are -no rows.” - -They were driving, and the dogcart flew past the ships along the -Strand—Ancram liked a fast horse—for a few minutes in silence. Then she -had another question. - -“Have you succeeded in persuading Mr. Doyle to—what do the newspapers -say?—support you at the altar, yet?” - -“No, confound him. He says it would be preposterous at his age—he’s not -a year older than I am! I wonder if he expects me to ask Baby Bramble, -or one of those little boys in the Buffs! Anyway it won’t be Doyle, for -he goes to England, end of February—to get out of it, I believe.” - -“I’m not sorry,” Rhoda answered; but it would have been difficult for -her to explain, at the moment, why she was not sorry. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -“I don’t mind telling you,” said Philip Doyle, knocking the ashes out of -his pipe, “that, personally, His Acting Honour represents to me a number -of objectionable things. He is a Radical, and a Low Churchman, and a -Particularist. He’s that objectionable ethical mixture, a compound of -petty virtues. He believes this earth was created to give him an -atmosphere to do his duty in; and he does it with the invincible courage -of short-sightedness combined with the notion that the ultimate court of -appeal for eighty million Bengalis should be his precious Methodist -conscience. But the brute’s honest, and if he insists on putting this -University foolishness of his through, I’m sorry for him. He’s a dead -man, politically, the day it is announced.” - -“He is,” replied Ancram, concentrating his attention on a match and the -end of his cigar. “There’s—no doubt—about that.” - -The two men were smoking after dinner, with the table and a couple of -decanters between them. Roses drooped over the bowl of Cutch silver that -gleamed in the middle of the empty cloth, and a lemon leaf or two -floated in the finger-glass at Ancram’s elbow. He threw the match into -it, and looked across at Doyle with his cigar between his teeth in the -manner which invites further discussion. - -“In point of political morality I suppose he’s right enough——” - -“He generally is,” Ancram interrupted. “He’s got a scent for political -morality keen enough to upset every form of Government known to the -nineteenth century.” - -“But they see political morality through another pair of spectacles in -England. To withdraw State aid from education anywhere at this end of -the century is as impracticable as it would be to deprive the British -workman of his vote. It’s retrogressive, and this is an age which will -admit anything except a mistake of its own.” - -“He doesn’t intend to withdraw State aid from education. He means to -spend the money on technical schools.” - -“A benevolent intention. But it won’t make the case any better with the -Secretary of State. He will say that it ought to be done without -damaging the sacred cause of higher culture.” - -“Damn the sacred cause of higher culture!” replied Ancram, with an -unruffled countenance. “What has it done out here? Filled every -sweeper’s son of them with an ambition to sit on an office stool and be -a gentleman!—created by thousands a starveling class that find nothing -to do but swell mass-meetings on the Maidan and talk sedition that gets -telegraphed from Peshawur to Cape Comorin. I advertised for a baboo the -other day, and had four hundred applications—fifteen rupees a month, -poor devils! But the Dayes were a fortnight in getting a decent cook on -twenty.” - -“Bentinck should have thought of that; it’s too late now. You can’t -bestow a boon on the masses in a spirit of progressiveness and take it -away sixty years later in a spirit of prudence. It’s decent enough of -Church to be willing to bear the consequences of somebody else’s -blunder; but blunders of that kind have got to take their place in the -world’s formation and let the ages retrieve them. It’s the only way.” - -“Oh, I agree with you. Church is an ass: he ought not to attempt it.” - -“Why do you fellows let him?” - -Ancram looked in Doyle’s direction as he answered—looked near him, fixed -his eyes, with an effect of taking a view at the subject round a corner, -upon the other man’s tobacco-jar. The trick annoyed Doyle; he often -wished it were the sort of thing one could speak about. - -“Nobody is less amenable to reason,” he said, “than the man who wants to -hit his head against a stone wall, especially if he thinks the world -will benefit by his inconvenience. And, to make matters worse, Church -has complicated the thing with an idea of his duty toward the people at -home who send out the missionaries. He doesn’t think it exactly -according to modern ethics that they should take up collections in -village churches to provide the salvation of the higher mathematics for -the sons of fat _bunnias_ in the bazar—who could very well afford to pay -for it themselves.” - -“He can’t help that.” - -Ancram finished his claret. “I believe he has some notion of advertising -it. And after he has eliminated the missionary who teaches the Georgics -instead of the Gospels, and devoted the educational grants to turning -the gentle Hindoo into a skilled artisan, he thinks the cause of higher -culture may be pretty much left to take care of itself. He believes we -could bleed Linsettiah and Pattore and some of those chaps for -endowments, I fancy, though he doesn’t say so.” - -“Better try some of the smaller natives. A maharajah won’t do much for a -C. I. E. or an extra gun nowadays: it isn’t good enough. He knows that -all Europe is ready to pay him the honours of royalty whenever he -chooses to tie up his cooking-pots and go there. He’ll save his money -and buy hand-organs with it, or panoramas, or sewing-machines. -Presently, if this adoration of the Eastern potentate goes on at home, -we shall have the maharajah whom we propose to honour receiving our -proposition with his thumb applied to his nose and all his fingers out!” - -Ancram yawned. “Well, it won’t be a question of negotiating for -endowments: it will never come off. Church will only smash himself over -the thing if he insists; and,” he added, as one who makes an -unprejudiced, impartial statement on fatalistic grounds, “he will -insist. I should find the whole business rather amusing if, as -Secretary, I hadn’t to be the mouthpiece for it.” He looked at his -watch. “Half-past nine. I suppose I ought to be off. You’re not coming?” - -“Where?” - -“To Belvedere. A ‘walk-round,’ I believe.” - -“Thanks: I think not. It would be too much bliss for a corpulent -gentleman of my years. I remember—the card came last week, and I gave it -to Mohammed to take care of. I believe Mohammed keeps a special -_almirah_ for the purpose; and in it,” Mr. Doyle continued gravely, “are -the accumulations of several seasons. He regards them as a trust only -second to that of the Director of Records, and last year he made them -the basis of an application for more pay.” - -“Which you gave him,” laughed Ancram, getting into his light overcoat as -the brougham rolled up to the door. “I loathe going; but for me there’s -no alternative. There seems to be an Act somewhere providing that a man -in my peculiar position must show himself in society.” - -“So long as you hover on the brink of matrimony,” said the other, “you -must be a butterfly. Console yourself: after you take the plunge you can -turn ascidian if you like.” - -The twinkle went out of Philip Doyle’s eyes as he heard the carriage -door shut and the wheels roll crunching toward the gate. He filled his -pipe again and took up the _Saturday Review_. Half an hour later he was -looking steadily at the wall over the top of that journal, considering -neither its leading articles nor its reviews nor its advertisements, but -Mr. Lewis Ancram’s peculiar position. - -At that moment Ancram leaned against the wall in a doorway of the -drawing-room at Belvedere, one leg lightly crossed over the other, his -right hand in his pocket, dangling his eyeglass with his left. It was -one of the many casual attitudes in which the world was informed that a -Chief Secretary, in Mr. Ancram’s opinion, had no prescriptive right to -give himself airs. He had a considering look: one might have said that -his mind was far from the occasion—perhaps upon the advisability of a -tobacco tax; but this would not have been correct. He was really -thinking of the quantity and the quality of the people who passed him, -and whether as a function the thing could be considered a success. With -the white gleam on the pillars, and the palms everywhere, and the moving -vista of well-dressed women through long, richly-furnished rooms -arranged for a large reception, it was certainly pretty enough; but -there was still the question of individuals, which had to be determined -by such inspection as he was bestowing upon them. It would have been -evident to anybody that more people recognised Ancram than Ancram -recognised; he had by no means the air of being on the look-out for -acquaintances. But occasionally some such person as the Head of the -Telegraph Department looked well at him and said, “How do, Ancram?” with -the effect of adding “I defy you to forget who I am!” or a lady of -manner gave him a gracious and pronounced inclination, which also said, -“You are the clever, the rising Mr. Ancram. You haven’t called; but you -are known to despise society. I forgive you, and I bow.” One or two -Members of Council merely vouchsafed him a nod as they passed; but it -was noticeably only Members of Council who nodded to Mr. Ancram. An -aide-de-camp to the Viceroy, however—a blue-eyed younger son with his -mind seriously upon his duty—saw Ancram in his path, and hesitated. He -had never quite decided to what extent these fellows in the Bengal -Secretariat, and this one in particular, should be recognised by an -aide-de-camp; and he went round the other way. Presently there was a -little silken stir and rustle, a parting of the ladies’ trains, and a -lull of observation along both sides of the lane which suddenly formed -itself among the people. His Excellency the Viceroy had taken his early -leave and was making his departure. Lord Scansleigh had an undisguised -appreciation of an able man, and there was some definiteness in the way -he stopped, though it was but for a moment, and shook hands with Ancram, -who swung the eyeglass afterwards more casually than he had done before. -The aide-de-camp, following after, was in no wise rebuked. What the -Viceroy chose to do threw no light on his difficulty. He merely cast his -eyes upon the floor, and his fresh coloured countenance expressed a -respectfully sad admiration for the noble manner in which his lord -discharged every obligation pertaining to the Viceregal office. - -The most privileged hardly cares to make demands upon his hostess as -long as she has a Viceroy to entertain, and Ancram waited until their -Excellencies were well on their way home, their four turbaned Sikhs -trotting after them, before he made any serious attempt to find Mrs. -Church. A sudden and general easefulness was observable at the same -time. People began to look about them and walk and talk with the -consciousness that it was no longer possible that they should be -suspected of arranging themselves so that Lord Scansleigh _must_ bow. -The Viceroy having departed, they thought about other things. She was -standing, when presently he made his way to her, talking to Sir William -Scott of the Foreign Department, and at the moment, to the Maharajah of -Pattore. Ancram paused and watched her unperceived. It was like the -pleasure of looking at a picture one technically understands. He noted -with satisfaction the subtle difference in her manner toward the two -men, and how, in her confidence with the one and her condescending -recognition of the other’s dignity, both were consciously receiving -their due. He noticed the colour of her heliotrope velvet gown, and -asked himself whether any other woman in the room could possibly wear -that shade. Mentally he dared the other women to say that its simplicity -was over-dramatic, or that by the charming arrangement of her hair and -her pearls and the yellowed lace, that fell over her shoulders Judith -Church had made herself too literal a representation of a -great-grandmother who certainly wore none of these things. He paused -another second to catch the curve of her white throat as she turned her -head with a little characteristic lifting of her chin; and then he went -up to her. The definite purpose that appeared in his face was enough of -itself to assert their intimacy—to this end it was not necessary that he -should drop his eyeglass. - -“Oh,” she said, with a step forward, “how do you do! I began to -think——Maharajah, when you are invited to parties you always come, don’t -you? Well, this gentleman does not always come, I understand. I beg you -will ask a question about it at the next meeting of the Legislative -Council. The Honourable the Chief Secretary is requested to furnish an -explanation of his lamentable failure to perform his duties toward -society.” - -The native smiled uncomfortably, puzzled at her audacity. His membership -of the Bengal Legislative Council was a new toy, and he was not sure -that he liked any one else to play with it. - -“His Highness of Pattore,” said Ancram, slipping a hand under the fat -elbow in its pink-and-gold brocade, “would be the very last fellow to -get me into a scrape. Wouldn’t you, Maharaj!” - -His Highness beamed affectionately upon Ancram. There was, at all -events, nothing but flattery in being taken by the elbow by a Chief -Secretary. “Certainlie,” he replied—“the verrie last”; and he laughed -the unctuous, irresponsible laugh of a maharajah, which is accompanied -by the twinkling of pendant emeralds and the shaking of personal -rotundities which cannot be indicated. - -Sir William Scott folded his arms and refolded them, balanced himself -once or twice on the soles of his shoes, pushed out his under-lip, and -retreated in the gradual and surprised way which would naturally be -adopted by the Foreign Department when it felt itself left out of the -conversation. The Maharajah stood about uneasily on one leg for a -moment, and then with a hasty double salaam he too waddled away. Mrs. -Church glanced after his retreating figure—it was almost a perfect -oval—with lips prettily composed to seemly gravity. Then, as her eyes -met Ancram’s, she laughed like a schoolgirl. - -“Oh,” she said, “go away! I mustn’t talk to you. I shall be forgetting -my part.” - -“You are doing it well. Lady Spence, at this stage of the proceedings, -was always surrounded by bank-clerks and policemen. I do not observe a -member of either of those interesting species,” he said, glancing round -through his eyeglass, “within twenty yards. On the contrary, an -expectant Member of Council on the nearest sofa, the Commander-in-Chief -hovering in the middle distance, and a fringe of Departmental Heads on -the horizon.” - -“I do not see any of them,” she laughed, looking directly at Ancram. “We -are going to sit down, you and I, and talk for four or six minutes, as -the last baboo said who implored an interview with my husband”; and Mrs. -Church sank, with just a perceptible turning of her shoulder upon the -world, into the nearest armchair. It was a wide gilded arm-chair, -cushioned in deep yellow silk. Ancram thought, as she crossed her feet -and leaned her head against the back of it, that the effect was -delicious. - -“And you really think I am doing it well!” she said. “I have been dying -to know. I really dallied for a time with the idea of asking one of the -aides-de-camp. But as a matter of fact,” she said confidentially, -“though I order them about most callously, I am still horribly afraid of -the aides-de-camp—in uniform, on duty.” - -“And in flannels, off duty?” - -“In flannels, off duty, I make them almond toffee and they tell me their -love affairs. I am their sisterly mother and their cousinly aunt. We -even have games of ball.” - -“They are nice boys,” he said, with a sigh of resignation: “I daresay -they deserve it.” - -There was an instant’s silence of good fellowship, and then she moved -her foot a little, so that a breadth of the heliotrope velvet took on a -paler light. - -“Yes,” he nodded, “it is quite—regal.” - -She laughed, flushing a little. “Really! That’s not altogether correct. -It ought to be only officiating. But I can’t tell you how delicious it -is to be _obliged_ to wear pretty gowns.” - -At that moment an Additional Member of Council passed them so -threateningly that Mrs. Church was compelled to put out a staying hand -and inquire for Lady Bloomsbury, who was in England, and satisfy herself -that Sir Peter had quite recovered from his bronchitis, and warn Sir -Peter against Calcutta’s cold-weather fogs. Ancram kept his seat, but -Sir Peter stood with stout persistence, rooted in his rights. It was -only when Mrs. Church asked him whether he had seen the new portrait, -and told him where it was, that he moved on, and then he believed that -he went of his own accord. By the time an Indian official arrives at an -Additional Membership he is usually incapable of perceiving anything -which does not tend to enhance that dignity. - -“You have given two of my six minutes to somebody else, remember,” -Ancram said. For an instant she did not answer him. She was looking -about her with a perceptible air of having, for the moment, been -oblivious of something it was her business to remember. Almost -immediately her eye discovered John Church. He was in conversation with -the Bishop, and apparently they were listening to each other with -deference, but sometimes Church’s gaze wandered vaguely over the heads -of the people and sometimes he looked at the floor. His hands were -clasped in front of him, his chin was so sunk in his chest that the most -conspicuous part of him seemed his polished forehead and his heavy black -eyebrows, his expression was that of a man who submits to the -inevitable. Ancram saw him at the same moment, and in the silence that -asserted itself between them there was a touch of embarrassment which -the man found sweet. He felt a foolish impulse to devote himself to -turning John Church into an ornament to society. - -“This sort of thing——” he suggested condoningly. - -“Bores him. Intolerably. He grudges the time and the energy. He says -there is so much to do.” - -“He is quite right.” - -“Oh, don’t encourage him! On the contrary—promise me something.” - -“Anything.” - -“When you see him standing about alone—he is really very -absent-minded—go up and make him talk to you. He will get your ideas—the -time, you see, will not be wasted. And neither will the general public,” -she added, “be confronted with the spectacle of a Lieutenant-Governor -who looks as if he had a contempt for his own hospitality.” - -“I’ll try. But I hardly think my ideas upon points of administration are -calculated to enliven a social evening. And don’t send me now. The -Bishop is doing very well.” - -“The Bishop?” She turned to him again, with laughter in the dark depths -of her eyes. “I realised the other day what one may attain to in -Calcutta. His Lordship asked me, with some timidity, what I thought of -the length of his sermons! Tell me, please, who is this madam bearing -down upon me in pink and grey?” - -Ancram was on his feet. “It is Mrs. Daye,” he said. “People who come so -late ought not to insist upon seeing you.” - -“Mrs. Daye! Oh, of course; your——” But Mrs. Daye was clasping her -hostess’s hand. “And Miss Daye, I think,” said Mrs. Church, looking -frankly into the face of the girl behind, “whom I have somehow been -defrauded of meeting before. I have a great many congratulations -to—divide,” she went on prettily, glancing at Ancram. “Mr. Ancram is an -old friend of ours.” - -“Thank you,” replied Miss Daye. Her manner suggested that at school such -acknowledgments had been very carefully taught her. - -“My dear, you should make a pretty curtsey,” her mother said jocularly, -and then looked at Rhoda with astonishment as the girl, with an unmoved -countenance, made it. - -Ancram looked uncomfortable, but Mrs. Church cried out with vivacity -that it was charming—she was so glad to find that Miss Daye could unbend -to a stranger; and Mrs. Daye immediately stated that she _must_ hear -whether the good news was true that Mrs. Church had accepted the -presidency—presidentship (what should one say?)—of the Lady Dufferin -Society. Ah! that was delightful—now _everything_ would go smoothly. -Poor dear Lady Spence found it _far_ too much for her! Mrs. Daye touched -upon a variety of other matters as the four stood together, and the -gaslights shone down upon the diamond stars in the women’s hair, and the -band played on the verandah behind the palms. Among them was the -difficulty of getting seats in the Cathedral in the cold weather, and -the fascinating prospect of having a German man-of-war in port for the -season, and that dreadful frontier expedition against the Nagapis; and -they ran, in the end, into an allusion to Mrs. Church’s delightful -Thursday tennises. - -“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Church replied, as the lady gave utterance to this, with -her dimpled chin thrust over her shoulder, in the act of departure: “you -must not forget my Thursdays. And you,” she said to Rhoda, with a -directness which she often made very engaging—“you will come too, I -hope?” - -“Oh, yes, thank you,” the girl answered, with her neat smile: “I will -come too—with pleasure.” - -“Why didn’t you go with them?” Mrs. Church exclaimed a moment later. - -Ancram looked meditatively at the chandelier. “We are not exactly a -demonstrative couple,” he said. “She likes a decent reticence, I -believe—in public. I’ll find them presently.” - -They were half a mile on their way home when he began to look for them; -and Mrs. Daye had so far forgotten herself as to comment unfavourably -upon his behaviour. - -“My dear mummie,” her daughter responded, “you don’t suppose I want to -interfere with his amusements!” - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -A bazar had been opened in aid of a Cause. The philanthropic heart of -Calcutta, laid bare, discloses many Causes, and during the cold weather -their commercial hold upon the community is as briskly maintained as it -may be consistently with the modern doctrine of the liberty of the -subject. The purpose of this bazar was to bring the advantages of the -piano and feather-stitch and Marie Bashkirtseff to young native ladies -of rank. It had been for some time obvious that young native ladies of -rank were painfully behind the van of modern progress. It was known that -they were not in the habit of spending the golden Oriental hours in the -search for wisdom as the bee obtains honey from the flowers: they much -preferred sucking their own fingers, cloyed with sweetmeats from the -bazar. Yet a few of them had tasted emancipation. Their husbands allowed -them to show their faces to the world. Of one, who had been educated in -London, it was whispered that she wore stays, and read books in three -languages besides Sanscrit, and ate of the pig! These the memsahibs -fastened upon and infected with the idea of elevating their sisters by -annual appeals to the public based on fancy articles. Future generations -of Aryan lady-voters, hardly as yet visible in the effulgence of all -that is to come, will probably fail to understand that their privileges -were founded, towards the end of the nineteenth century, on an -antimacassar; but thus it will have been. - -The wife of the Lieutenant-Governor had opened the bazar. She had done -it in black lace and jet, which became her exceedingly, with a pretty -little speech, which took due account of the piano and feather-stitch -and Marie Bashkirtseff under more impressive names. She had driven there -with Lady Scott. The way was very long and very dusty and very native, -which includes several other undesirable characteristics; and Lady Scott -had beguiled it with details of an operation she had insisted on -witnessing at the Dufferin Hospital for Women. Lady Scott declared that, -holding the position she did on the Board, she really felt the -responsibility of seeing that things were properly done, but that -henceforth the lady-doctor in charge should have her entire confidence. -“I only wonder,” said Mrs. Church, “that, holding the position you do on -the Board, you didn’t insist on performing the operation yourself”; and -her face was so grave that Lady Scott felt flattered and deprecated the -idea. - -Then they had arrived and walked with circumstance through the little -desultory crowd of street natives up the strip of red cloth to the door, -and there been welcomed by three or four of the very most emancipated, -with two beautiful, flat, perfumed bouquets of pink-and-white roses and -many suffused smiles. And then the little speech, which gave Mrs. Gasper -of the High Court the most poignant grief, in that men, on account of -the unemancipated, were excluded from the occasion; she would simply -have given anything to have had her husband hear it. After which Mrs. -Church had gone from counter to counter, with her duty before her eyes. -She bought daintily, choosing Dacca muslins and false gods, brass -plaques from Persia and embroidered cloths from Kashmir. A dozen or two -of the unemancipated pressed softly upon her, chewing betel, and -appraising the value of her investments, and little Mrs. Gasper noted -them too from the other side of the room. Lady Scott was most kind in -showing dear Mrs. Church desirable purchases, and made, herself, -conspicuously more than the wife of the Lieutenant-Governor. On every -hand a native lady said, “Buy something!” with an accent less expressive -of entreaty than of resentful expectation. One of the emancipated went -behind a door and made up the total of Mrs. Church’s expenditure. She -came out again looking discontented: Lady Spence the year before had -spent half as much again. - -Mrs. Church felt as she drove away that she had left behind her an -injury which might properly find redress under a Regulation. - -She was alone, Lady Scott having to go on to a meeting of the “Board” -with Mrs. Gasper. The disc of pink-and-white roses rolled about with the -easy motion of the barouche, on the opposite seat. It was only half-past -four, and the sun was still making strong lines with the tawdry -flat-roofed yellow shops that huddled along the crowded interminable -streets. She looked out and saw a hundred gold-bellied wasps hovering -over a tray of glistening sweetmeats. Next door a woman with her red -cloth pulled over her head, and her naked brown baby on her hip, paused -and bought a measure of parched corn from a bunnia, who lolled among his -grain heaps a fat invitation to hunger. Then came the square dark hole -of Abdul Rahman, where he sat in his spectacles and sewed, with his long -lean legs crossed in front of him, and half a dozen red-beaked -love-birds in a wicker cage to keep him company. And then the -establishment of Saddanath Mookerjee, announcing in a dazzling fringe of -black letters: - - ――――――――――――――― - PAINS FEVERANDISEASES CURED - ―――――――― - WHILE YOU WAIT - -She looked at it all as she rolled by with a little tender smile of -reconnaissance. The old fascination never failed her; the people and -their doings never became common facts. Nevertheless she was very tired. -The crowd seethed along in the full glare of the afternoon, hawking, -disputing, gesticulating. The burden of their talk—the naked coolies, -the shrill-jabbering women with loads of bricks upon their heads, the -sleek baboos in those European shirts the nether hem of which no canon -of propriety has ever taught them to confine—the burden of their talk -reached her where she sat, and it was all of _paisa_[A] and _rupia_, the -eternal dominant note of the bazar. She closed her eyes and tried to put -herself into relation with a life bounded by the rim of a copper coin. -She was certainly very tired. When she looked again a woman stooped over -one of the city standpipes and made a cup with her hand and gave her -little son to drink. He was a very beautiful little son, with a string -of blue beads round his neck and a silver anklet on each of his fat -brown legs, and as he caught her hand with his baby fingers the mother -smiled over him in her pride. - ------ - -Footnote A: - - Halfpence. - ------ - -Judith Church suddenly leaned back among her cushions very close to -tears. “It would have been better,” she said to herself—“so much -better,” as she opened her eyes widely and tried to think about -something else. There was her weekly dinner-party of forty that night, -and she was to go down with the Bishop. Oh, well! that was better than -Sir Peter Bloomsbury. She hoped Captain Thrush had not forgotten to ask -some people who could sing—and _not_ Miss Nellie Vansittart. She smiled -a little as she thought how Captain Thrush had made Nellie Vansittart’s -pretty voice an excuse for asking her and her people twice already this -month. She must see that Captain Thrush was not on duty the afternoon of -Mrs. Vansittart’s _musicale_. She felt indulgent towards Captain Thrush -and Nellie Vansittart; she give that young lady plenary absolution for -the monopoly of her lieutenant on the Belvedere Thursdays; she thought -of them by their Christian names. Then to-morrow—to-morrow she opened -the _café chantant_ for the Sailors’ Home, and they dined at the Fort -with the General. On Wednesday there was the Eurasian Female Orphans’ -prize-giving, and the dance on board the _Boetia_. On Friday a “Lady -Dufferin” meeting—or was it the Dhurrumtollah Self-Help Society, or the -Sisters’ Mission?—she must look it up in her book. And, sandwiched in -somewhere, she knew there was a German bacteriologist and a lecture on -astronomy. She put up both her slender hands in her black gloves and -yawned; remembering at the same time that it was ten days since she had -seen Lewis Ancram. Her responsibilities, when he mocked at them with -her, seemed light and amusing. He gave her strength and stimulus: she -was very frank with herself in confessing how much she depended upon -him. - -The carriage drew up on one side of the stately width of Chowringhee. -That is putting it foolishly; for Chowringhee has only one side to draw -up at—the other is a footpath bordering the great green Maidan, which -stretches on across to the river’s edge, and is fringed with masts from -Portsmouth and Halifax and Ispahan. When the sun goes down behind -them——But the sun had not gone down when Mrs. Church got out of her -carriage and went up the steps of the School of Art: it was still -burnishing the red bricks of that somewhat insignificant building, and -lying in yellow sheets over the vast stucco bulk of the Indian Museum on -one side, and playing among the tree-tops in the garden of the -Commissioner of Police on the other. Anglo-Indian aspirations, in their -wholly subordinate, artistic form, were gathered together in an -exhibition here, and here John Church, who was inspecting a gaol at the -other end of Calcutta, had promised to meet his wife at five o’clock. - -The Lieutenant-Governor had been looking forward to this: it was so -seldom, he said, that he found an opportunity of combining a duty and a -pleasure. Judith Church remembered other Art Exhibitions she had seen in -India, and thought that one category was enough. - -At the farther end of the room a native gentleman stood transfixed with -admiration before a portrait of himself by his own son. Two or three -ladies with catalogues darted hurriedly, like humming-birds, from -water-colour to water-colour. A cadaverous planter from the Terai, who -turned out sixty thousand pounds of good tea and six yards of bad -pictures annually, talked with conviction to an assenting broker with -his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, about the points of his -“Sunset View of Kinchinjunga,” that hung among the oils on the other -wall. There was no one else in the room but Mr. Lewis Ancram, who wore a -straw hat and an air of non-expectancy, and looked a sophisticated -twenty-five. - -For a moment, although John Church was the soul of punctuality, it did -not seem remarkable to Mrs. Church that her husband had failed to turn -up. Ancram had begun to explain, indeed, before it occurred to her to -ask; and this, when she remembered it, brought a delicate flush to her -cheeks which stayed there, and suggested to the Chief Secretary the -pleasant recollection of a certain dewy little translucent flower that -grew among the Himalayan mosses very high up. - -“It was a matter His Honour thought really required looking into—clear -evidence, you know, that the cholera was actually being communicated -inside the gaol—and when I offered to bring his apologies on to you I -honestly believe he was delighted to secure another hour of -investigation.” - -“John works atrociously hard,” she replied; and when he weighed this -afterward, as he had begun to weigh the things she said, he found in it -appreciably more concern for John’s regrettable habit of working -atrociously hard than vexation at his failure to keep their engagement. - -They walked about for five minutes and looked at the aspirations. Ancram -remembered Rhoda Daye’s hard little sayings on the opening day, and -reflected that some women could laugh with a difference. Mrs. Church did -it with greatest freedom, he noticed, at the prize pictures. For the -others she had compunction, and she regarded the “Sunset View of -Kinchinjunga” with a smile that she plainly atoned for by an inward -tear. “Don’t!” she said, looking round the walls, as he invested that -peak with the character of a strawberry ice. “It means all the bloom of -their lives, poor things. At all events it’s ideality, it isn’t——” - -“Pig-sticking!” - -“Yes,” she said softly. “If I knew what in the world to do with it, I -would buy that ‘Kinchin.’ But its ultimate disposal does present -difficulties.” - -“I don’t think you would have any right to do that, you know. You -couldn’t be so dishonest with the artist. Who would sell the work of his -hand to be burned!” - -He was successful in provoking her appreciation. “You are quite right,” -she said. “The patronage of my pity! You always see!” - -“I _have_ bought a picture,” Ancram went on, “by a fellow named Martin, -who seems to have sent it out from England. It’s nothing great, but I -thought it was a pity to let it go back. That narrow one, nearest to the -corner.” - -“It is good enough to escape getting a prize,” she laughed. “Yes, I like -it rather—a good deal—very much indeed. I wish I were a critic and could -tell you why. It will be a pleasure to you; it is so green and cool and -still.” - -Mr. Ancram’s purchase was of the type that is growing common enough at -the May exhibitions—a bit of English landscape on a dull day towards -evening, fields and a bank with trees on it, a pool with water-weeds in -it, the sky crowding down behind and standing out in front in the quiet -water. Perhaps it lacked imagination—there was no young woman leaning -out of the canoe to gather water-lilies—but it had been painted with a -good deal of knowledge. - -Mr. James Springgrove at the moment was talking about it to another -gentleman. Mr. Springgrove was one of Calcutta’s humourists. He was also -a member of the Board of Revenue; and for these reasons, combined with -his subscription, it was originally presumed that Mr. Springgrove -understood Art. People generally thought he did, because he was a -Director and a member of the Hanging Committee, but this was a mistake. -Mr. Springgrove brought his head as nearly as possible into a line with -the other gentleman’s head, from which had issued, in weak commendation, -the statement that No. 223 reminded it of home. - -[Illustration: There was a moment’s pause.] - -“If you asked what it reminded _me_ of,” said Mr. Springgrove, clapping -the other on the back, “I should say verdigris, sir—verdigris.” Mrs. -Church and the Honourable Mr. Lewis Ancram looked into each other’s eyes -and smiled as long as there was any excuse for smiling. - -“I am glad you are not a critic,” he said. She was verging toward the -door. “What are you going to do now?” - -“Afterward—we meant to drive to Hastings House. John thought there would -be time. It is quite near Belvedere, you know. But——And I shall not have -another free afternoon for a fortnight.” - -They went out in silence, past the baboo who sat behind a table at the -receipt of entrance money, and down the steps. The syce opened the -carriage door, and Mrs. Church got in. There was a moment’s pause, while -the man looked questioningly at Ancram, still holding open the door. - -“If he invites himself,” said Judith inwardly, with the intention of -self-discipline; and the rest was hope. - -“Is there any reason——?” he asked, with his foot on the step; and it was -quite unnecessary that he should add “against my coming?” - -“No—there is no reason.” Then she added, with a visible effort to make -it the commonplace thing it was not, “Then you will drive out with me, -and I shall see the place after all? How nice!” - -They rolled out into the gold-and-green afternoon life of the Maidan, -along wide pipal-shadowed roads, across a bridge, through a lane or two -where the pariahs barked after the carriage and the people about the -huts stared, shading their eyes. There seemed very little to say. They -thought themselves under the spell of the pleasantness of it—the lifting -of the burden and the heat of the day, the little wind that shook the -fronds of the date palms and stole about bringing odours from where the -people were cooking, the unyoked oxen, the hoarse home-going talk of the -crows that flew city-ward against the yellow sky with a purple light on -their wings. - -“Let the carriage stay here,” Judith said, as they stopped beside a -dilapidated barred gate. “I want to walk to the house.” - -A salaaming creature in a _dhoty_ hurried out of a clump of bamboos in -the corner and flung open the gate. It seemed to close again upon the -world. They were in an undulating waste that had once been a stately -pleasure-ground, and it had a visible soul that lived upon its memories -and was content in its abandonment. It was so still that the great teak -leaves, twisted and discoloured and full of holes like battered bronze, -dropping singly and slowly through the mellow air, fell at their feet -with little rustling cracks. - -“What a perfection of silence!” Judith exclaimed softly; and then some -vague perception impelled her to talk of other things—of her -dinner-party and Nellie Vansittart. - -Ancram looked on, as it were, at her conversation for a moment or two -with his charming smile. Then, “Oh, dear lady,” he broke in, “let them -go—those people. They are the vulgar considerations of the time which -has been—which will be again. But this is a pause—made for _us_.” - -She looked down at the rusty teak-leaves, and he almost told her, as he -knocked them aside, how poetic a shadow clung round her eyelids. The -curve of the drive brought them to the old stucco mansion, dreaming -quietly and open-eyed over its great square porch of the Calcutta of -Nuncomar and Philip Francis. - -“It broods, doesn’t it?” said Judith Church, standing under the yellow -honeysuckle of the porch. “Don’t you wish you could see the ghost!” - -The gatekeeper reappeared, and stood offering them each a rose. - -“This gentleman,” replied Ancram, “will know all about the ghost. He -probably makes his living out of Warren Hastings, in the tourist season. -Without doubt, he says, there is a _bhut_, a very terrible _bhut_, which -lives in the room directly over our heads and wears iron boots. Shall we -go and look for it?” - -Half way up the stairs Ancram turned and saw the gatekeeper following -them. “You have leave to go,” he said in Hindustani. - -At the top he turned again, and found the man still salaaming at their -heels. “_Jao!_” he shouted, with a threatening movement, and the native -fled. - -“It is preposterous,” he said apologetically to Mrs. Church, “that one -should be dogged everywhere by these people.” - -They explored the echoing rooms, and looked down the well of the ruined -staircase, and decided that no ghost with the shadow of a title to the -property could let such desirable premises go unhaunted. They were in -absurdly good spirits. They had not been alone together for a fortnight. -The sky was all red in the west as they stepped out upon the wide flat -roof, and the warm light that was left seemed to hang in mid-air. The -spires and domes of Calcutta lay under a sulphur-coloured haze, and the -palms on the horizon stood in filmy clouds. The beautiful tropical day -was going out. - -“We must go in ten minutes,” said Judith, sitting down on the low mossy -parapet. - -“Back into the world.” He reflected hastily and decided. Up to this time -Rhoda Daye had been a conventionality between them. He had a sudden -desire to make her the subject of a confidence—to explain, perhaps to -discuss, anyhow to explain. - -“Tell me, my friend,” he said, making a pattern on the lichen of the -roof with his stick, “what do you think of my engagement?” - -She looked up startled. It was as if the question had sprung at her. She -too felt the need of a temporary occupation, and fell upon her rose. - -“You had my congratulations a long time ago,” she said, carefully -shredding each petal into three. - -“Don’t!” he exclaimed impatiently: “I’m serious!” - -“Well, then—it is not a fair thing that you are asking me. I don’t know -Miss Daye. I never shall know her. To me she is a little marble image -with a very pretty polish.” - -“And to me also,” he repeated, seizing her words: “she is a little -marble image with a very pretty polish.” He put an unconscious demand -for commiseration into his tone. Doubtless he did not mean to go so far, -but his inflection added, “And I’ve got to marry her!” - -“To you—to you!” She plucked aimlessly at her rose, and searched vainly -for something which would improve the look of his situation. But the -rush of this confidence had torn up commonplaces by the roots. She felt -it beating somewhere about her heart; and her concern, for the moment, -in hearing of his misfortune, was for herself. - -“The ironical part of it is,” he went on, very pale with the effort of -his candour, “that I was blindly certain of finding her sympathetic. You -know what one means by that in a woman. I wanted it, just then. I seemed -to have arrived at a crisis of wanting it. I made ludicrously sure of -it. If you had been here,” he added with conviction, “it would never -have happened.” - -She opened her lips to say “Then I wish I had been here,” but the words -he heard were, “People tell me she is very clever.” - -“Oh,” he said bitterly, “she has the qualities of her defects, no doubt. -But she isn’t a woman—she’s an intelligence. Conceive, I beg of you, the -prospect of passing one’s life in conjugal relations with an -intelligence!” - -Judith assured herself vaguely that this brutality of language had its -excuse. She could have told him very fluently that he ought not to marry -Rhoda Daye under any circumstances, but something made it impossible -that she should say anything of the sort. She strove with the instinct -for a moment, and then, as it overthrew her, she looked about her -shivering. The evening chill of December had crept in and up from the -marshes; one or two street lamps twinkled out in the direction of the -city; light white levels of mist had begun to spread themselves among -the trees in the garden below them. - -“We must go,” she said, rising hurriedly: “how suddenly it has grown -cold!” And as she passed before him into the empty house he saw that her -face was so drawn that even he could scarcely find it beautiful. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -“Mummie,” remarked Miss Daye, as she pushed on the fingers of a new pair -of gloves in the drawing-room, “the conviction grows upon me that I -shall never become Mrs. Ancram.” - -“Rhoda, if you talk like that you will certainly bring on one of my -headaches, and it will be the third in a fortnight that I’ll have to -thank you for. Did I or did I not send home the order for your wedding -dress by last mail?” - -“You did, mummie. But you could always advertise it in the local papers, -you know. Could you fasten this? ‘_By Private Sale—A Wedding Dress -originally intended for the Secretariat. Ivory Satin and Lace. Skirt -thirty-nine inches, waist twenty-one. Warranted never been worn._’ -Thanks so much!” - -“Rhoda! you are capable of anything——” - -“Of most things, mummie, I admit. But I begin to fear, not of that!” - -“Are you going to break it off? There he is this minute! Don’t let him -come in here, dear—he would know instantly that we had been discussing -him. You _have_ upset me so!” - -“He shan’t.” Miss Daye walked to the door. “You are not to come any -farther, my dear sir,” said she to the Honourable Mr. Ancram among the -Japanese pots on the landing: “mummie’s going to have a headache, and -doesn’t want you. I’m quite ready!” She stood for a moment in the -doorway, her pretty shoulders making admirably correct lines, in a -clinging grey skirt and silver braided zouave, that showed a charming -glimpse of blue silk blouse underneath, buttoning her second glove. -Ancram groaned within himself that he must have proposed to her because -she was _chic_. Then she looked back. “Don’t worry, mummie. I’ll let you -know within a fortnight. You won’t have to advertise it after all—you -can countermand the order by telegraph!” Mrs. Daye, on the sofa, threw -up her hands speechlessly, and her eyes when her daughter finally left -the room were round with apprehension. - -Ancram had come to take his betrothed for a drive in his dog-cart. It is -a privilege Calcutta offers to people who are engaged: they are -permitted to drive about together in dog-carts. The act has the binding -force of a public confession. Mr. Ancram and Miss Daye had taken -advantage of it in the beginning. By this time it would be more proper -to say that they were taking refuge in it. - -He had seen Mrs. Church several times since the evening on which he had -put her into her carriage at the gates of Hastings House, and got into -his own trap and driven home with a feeling which he analysed as -purified but not resigned. She had been very quiet, very self-contained, -apparently content to be gracious and effective in the gown of the -occasion; but once or twice he fancied he saw a look of waiting, a gleam -of expectancy, behind her eyes. It was this that encouraged him to ask -her, at the first opportunity, whether she did not think he would be -perfectly justified in bringing the thing to an end. She answered him, -with an unalterable look, that she could not help him in that decision; -and he brought away a sense that he had not obtained the support on -which he had depended. This did not prevent him from arriving very -definitely at the decision in question unaided. Nothing could be more -obvious than that the girl did not care for him; and, granting this, was -he morally at liberty, from the girl’s own point of view, to degrade her -by a marriage which was, on her side, one of pure ambition? If her -affections had been involved in the remotest degree——but he shrugged his -shoulders at the idea of Rhoda Daye’s affections. He wished to Heaven, -like any schoolboy, that she would fall in love with somebody else, but -she was too damned clever to fall in love with anybody. The thing would -require a little finessing; of course the rupture must come from her. -There were things a man in his position had to be careful about. But -with a direct suggestion——Nothing was more obvious than that she did not -care for him. He would make her say so. After that, a direct suggestion -would be simple—and wholly justifiable. These were Mr. Lewis Ancram’s -reflections as he stood, hat in hand, on Mrs. Daye’s landing. They were -less involved than usual, but in equations of personal responsibility -Mr. Ancram liked a formula. By the intelligent manipulation of a formula -one could so often eliminate the personal element and transfer the -responsibility to the other side. - -The beginning was not auspicious. - -“Is that _le dernier cri_?” he asked, looking at her hat as she came -lightly down the steps. - -“Papa’s? Poor dear! yes. It was forty rupees, at Phelps’s. You’ll find -me extravagant—but horribly!—especially in hats. I adore hats; they’re -such conceptions, such ideas! I mean to insist upon a settlement in -hats—three every season, in perpetuity.” - -They were well into the street and half-way to Chowringhee before he -found the remark, at which he forced himself to smile, that he supposed -a time would arrive when her affections in millinery would transfer -themselves to bonnets. The occasion was not propitious for suggestions -based on emotional confessions. The broad roads that wind over the -Maidan were full of gaiety and the definite facts of smart carriages and -pretty bowing women. The sun caught the tops of the masts in the river, -and twinkled there; it mellowed the pillars of the bathing-ghats, and -was also reflected magnificently from the plate-glass mirrors with which -Ram Das Mookerjee had adorned the sides of his barouche. A white patch a -mile away resolved itself into a mass of black heads and draped bodies -watching a cricket match. Mynas chattered by the wayside, stray notes of -bugle practice came crisply over the walls of the Fort; there was an -effect of cheerfulness even in the tinkle of the tram bells. If the -scene had required any further touch of high spirits, it was supplied in -the turn-out of the Maharajah of Thuginugger, who drove abroad in a -purple velvet dressing gown, with pink outriders. Ancram had a fine -susceptibility to atmospheric effect, and it bade him talk about the -Maharajah of Thuginugger. - -“That chap Ezra, the Simla diamond merchant, told me that he went with -the Maharajah through his go-downs once. His Highness likes pearls. Ezra -saw them standing about in bucketsful.” - -“Common wooden buckets?” - -“I believe so.” - -“How satisfying! Tell me some more.” - -“There isn’t any more. The rest was between Ezra and the Maharajah. I -dare say there was a margin of profit somewhere. What queer weather they -seem to be having at home!” - -“It’s delicious to live in a place that hasn’t any weather—only a -permanent fervency. I like this old Calcutta. It’s so wicked and so rich -and so cheerful. People are born and burned and born and burned, and -nothing in the world matters. Their nice little stone gods are so easy -to please, too. A handful of rice, a few marigold chains, a goat or two: -hardly any of them ask more than that. And the sun shines every day—on -the just man who has offered up his goat, and on the unjust man who has -eaten it instead.” - -She sat up beside him, her slender figure swaying a little with the -motion of the cart, and looked about her with a light in her grey eyes -that seemed the reflection of her mood. He thought her chatter -artificial; but it was genuine enough. She always felt more than her -usual sense of irresponsibility with him in their afternoon drives. The -world lay all about them and lightened their relation; he became, as a -rule, the person who was driving, and she felt at liberty to become the -person who was talking. - -“There!” she exclaimed, as three or four coolie women filed, laughing, -up to a couple of round stones under a pipal tree by the roadside, and -took their brass lotas from their heads and carefully poured water over -the stones. “Fancy one’s religious obligations summed up in a -cooking-potful of Hughli water! Are those stones sacred?” - -“I suppose so.” - -“The author of ‘The Modern Influence of the Vedic Books,’” she suggested -demurely, “should be quite sure. He should have left no stone unturned.” - -She regarded him for a moment, and, observing his preoccupation, just -perceptibly lifted her eyebrows. Then she went on: “But perhaps big -round stones under pipal trees that like libations come in the second -volume. When does the second volume appear?” - -“Not until Sir Griffiths Spence comes out again and this lunatic goes -back to Hassimabad, I fancy. I want an appropriation for some further -researches first.” - -The most enthusiastic of Mr. Ancram’s admirers acknowledged that he was -not always discreet. - -“And he won’t give it to you—this lunatic?” - -“Not a pice.” - -“Then,” she said, with a ripple of laughter, “he _must_ be a fool!” - -She was certainly irritating this afternoon. Ancram gave his Waler as -smart a cut as he dared, and they dashed past Lord Napier, sitting on -his intelligent charger in serious bronze to all eternity, and rounded -the bend into the Strand. The brown river tore at its heaving buoys; the -tide was racing out. The sun had dipped, and the tall ships lay in the -after-glow in twos and threes and congeries along the bank, along the -edge of Calcutta, until in the curving distance they became mere -suggestions of one another and a twilight of tilted masts. Under their -keels slipped great breadths of shining water. Against the glow on it a -country-boat, with its unwieldy load of hay, looked like a floating -barn. On the indistinct other side the only thing that asserted itself -was a factory chimney. They talked of the eternal novelty of the river, -and the eternal sameness of the people they met; and then he lapsed -again. - -Rhoda looked down at the bow of her slipper. “Have you got a headache?” -she asked. The interrogation was one of cheerful docility. - -“Thanks, no. I beg your pardon: I’m afraid I was inexcusably -preoccupied.” - -“Would it be indiscreet to ask what about? Don’t you want my opinion? I -am longing to give you my opinion.” - -“Your opinion would be valuable.” - -Miss Daye again glanced down at her slipper. This time her pretty -eyelashes shaded a ray of amused perception. “He thinks he can do it -himself,” she remarked privately. “He is quite ready to give himself all -the credit of getting out of it gracefully. The amount of flattery they -demand for themselves, these Secretaries!” - -“A premium on my opinion!” she said. “How delightful!” - -Ancram turned the Waler sharply into the first road that led to the -Casuerina Avenue. The Casuerina Avenue is almost always poetic, and -might be imagined to lend itself very effectively, after sunset, to the -funeral of a sentiment which Mr. Ancram was fond of describing to -himself as still-born. The girl beside him noted the slenderness of his -foot and the excellent cut of his grey tweed trousers. Her eyes dwelt -upon the nervously vigorous way he handled the reins, and her glance of -light bright inquiry ascertained a vertical line between his eyebrows. -It was the line that accompanied the Honourable Mr. Ancram’s Bills in -Council, and it indicated a disinclination to compromise. Miss Daye, -fully apprehending its significance, regarded him with an interest that -might almost be described as affectionate. She said to herself that he -would bungle. She was rather sorry for him. And he did. - -“I should be glad of your opinion of our relation,” he said—which was -very crude. - -“I think it is charming. I was never more interested in my life!” she -declared frankly, bringing her lips together in the pretty composure -with which she usually told the vague little lie of her satisfaction -with life. - -“Does that sum up your idea of—of the possibilities of our situation?” -He felt that he was doing better. - -“Oh no! There are endless possibilities in our situation—mostly stupid -ones. But it is a most agreeable actuality.” - -“I wish,” he said desperately, “that you would tell me just what the -actuality means to you.” - -They were in the Avenue row, and the Waler had been allowed to drop into -a walk. The after-glow still lingered in the soft green duskiness over -their heads; there was light enough for an old woman to see to pick up -the fallen spines in the grass; the nearest tank, darkling in the -gathering gloom of the Maidan, had not yet given up his splash of red -from over the river. He looked at her intently, and her eyes dropped to -the thoughtful consideration of the crone who picked up spines. It might -have been that she blushed, or it might have been some effect of the -after-glow. Ancram inclined to the latter view, but his judgment could -not be said to be impartial. - -“Dear Lewis!” she answered softly, “how very difficult that would be!” - -In the sudden silence that followed, the new creaking of the Waler’s -harness was perceptible. Ancram assured himself hotly that this was -simple indecency, but it was a difficult thing to say. He was still -guarding against the fatality of irritation when Rhoda added daintily: - -“But I don’t see why you should have a monopoly of catechising. Tell me, -sir—I’ve wanted to know for ever so long—what was the first, the very -first thing you saw in me to fall in love with?” - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -The Honourable Mr. Ancram’s ideal policy toward the few score million -subjects of the Queen-Empress for whose benefit he helped to legislate, -was a paternalism somewhat highly tempered with the exercise of -discipline. He had already accomplished appreciable things for their -advantage, and he intended to accomplish more. It would be difficult to -describe intelligibly all that he had done; besides, his tasks live in -history. The publications of the Government of India hold them all, and -something very similar may be found in the record which every retired -civilian of distinction cherishes in leather, behind the glass of his -bookcases in Brighton or Bournemouth. It would therefore be unnecessary -as well. - -It was Mr. Ancram’s desire to be a conspicuous benefactor—this among -Indian administrators is a matter of business, and must not be smiled at -as a weakness—and in very great part he had succeeded. The fact should -be remembered in connection with his expressed opinion—it has been said -that he was not always discreet—that the relatives in the subordinate -services of troublesome natives should be sent, on provocation, to the -most remote and unpleasant posts in the province. To those who -understand the ramifications of cousinly connection in the humbler -service of the _sircar_, the detestation of exile and the claims of -family affection in Bengal, the efficacy of this idea for promoting -loyalty will appear. It was Mr. Ancram’s idea, but he despaired of -getting it adopted. Therefore he talked about it. Perhaps upon this -charge he was not so very indiscreet after all. - -It will be observed that Mr. Ancram’s policy was one of exalted -expediency. This will be even more evident when it is understood that, -in default of the opportunity of coercing the subject Aryan for his -highest welfare, Mr. Ancram conciliated him. The Chief Secretary had -many distinguished native friends. They were always trying to make him -valuable presents. When he returned the presents he did it in such a way -that the bond of their mutual regard was cemented rather than -otherwise—cemented by the tears of impulsive Bengali affection. He had -other native friends who were more influential than distinguished. They -spoke English and wrote it, most of them. They created the thing which -is quoted in Westminster as “Indian Public Opinion.” They were in the -van of progress, and understood all the tricks for moving the wheels. -The Government of India in its acknowledged capacity as brake found -these gentlemen annoying; but Mr. Ancram, since he could not imprison -them, offered them a measure of his sympathy. They quite understood that -it was a small measure, but there is a fascination about the friendship -of a Chief Secretary, and they often came to see him. They did not bring -him presents, however; they knew very much better than that. - -Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty was one of these inconspicuously influential -friends. Mohendra was not a maharajah: he was only a baboo, which -stands, like “Mr.” for hardly anything at all. To say that he was a -graduate of the Calcutta University is to acknowledge very little; he -was as clever before he matriculated as he was after he took his degree. -But it should not be forgotten that he was the editor and proprietor of -the _Bengal Free Press_; that was the distinction upon which, for the -moment, he was insisting himself. The _Bengal Free Press_ was a voice of -the people—a particularly aggressive and pertinacious voice. It sold for -two pice in the bazar, and was read by University students at the rate -of twenty-five to each copy. It was regularly translated for the benefit -of the Amir of Afghanistan, the Khan of Kelat, and such other people as -were interested in knowing how insolent sedition could be in Bengal with -safety; and it lay on the desk of every high official in the Province. -Its advertisements were very funny, and its editorial English was more -fluent than veracious: but when it threw mud at the Viceroy, and called -the Lieutenant-Governor a contemptible tyrant, and reminded the people -that their galls were of the yoke of the stranger, there was no -mistaking the direction of its sentiment. - -Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty sat in the room the Chief Secretary called -his workshop, looking, in a pause of their conversation, at the Chief -Secretary. No one familiar with that journal would have discovered in -his amiable individuality the incarnation of the _Bengal Free Press_. On -his head he wore a white turban, and on his countenance an expression of -benign intelligence just tinged with uncertainty as to what to say next. -His person was buttoned up to his perspiring neck in a tight black -surtout, which represented his compromise with European fashions, and -across its most pronounced rotundity hung a substantial gold -watch-chain. From the coat downwards he fell away, so to speak, into -Aryanism: the indefinite white draperies of his race were visible, and -his brown hairy legs emerged from them bare. He had made progress, -however, with his feet, on which he wore patent leather shoes, almost -American in their neatness, with three buttons at the sides. He sat -leaning forward a little, with his elbows on his knees, and his plump -hands, their dimpled fingers spread apart, hanging down between them. -Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty’s attitude expressed his very genuine anxiety -to make the most of his visit. - -Ancram leaned back in his tilted chair, with his feet on his desk, -sharpening a lead pencil. “And that’s my advice to you,” he said, with -his eyes on the knife. - -“Well, I am grateful foritt! I am very much ob_liged_ foritt!” Mohendra -paused to relieve his nerves by an amiable, somewhat inconsequent laugh. -“It iss my wish offcourse to be guided as far as possible by your -opinion.” Mohendra glanced deprecatingly at the matting. “But this is a -_sir_rious grievance. And there are others who are always spikking with -me and pushing me——” - -“No grievance was ever mended in a day or a night, or a session, Baboo. -Government moves slowly. Ref—changes are made by inches, not by ells. If -you are wise, you’ll be content with one inch this year and another -next. It’s the only way.” - -Mohendra smiled in sad agreement, and nodded two or three times, with -his head rather on one side. It was an attitude so expressive of -submission that the Chief Secretary’s tone seemed unnecessarily -decisive. - -“The article on that admirable Waterways Bill off yours I hope you -recivved. I sent isspecial marked copy.” - -“Yes,” replied Ancram, in cordial admission: “I noticed it. Very much to -the point. The writer thoroughly grasped my idea. Very grammatical -too—and all that.” Mr. Ancram yawned a little. “But you’d better keep my -name out of your paper, Baboo—unless you want to abuse me. I’m a modest -man, you know. That leader you speak of made me blush, I assure you.” - -It required all Mohendra’s agility to arrive at the conclusion that if -the Honourable Mr. Ancram really considered the influence of the _Bengal -Free Press_ of no importance, he would not take the trouble to say so. -He arrived at it safely, though, while apparently he was only shaking -his head and respectfully enjoying Mr. Ancram’s humour, and saying, “Oh, -no, no! If sometimes we blame, we must also often praise. Oh yess, -certainlie. And _efery_ one says it iss a good piece off work.” - -Ancram looked at his watch. The afternoon was mellowing. If Mohendra -Lall Chuckerbutty had come for the purpose of discussing His Honour the -Lieutenant-Governor’s intentions towards the University Colleges, he had -better begin. Mr. Ancram was aware that in so far as so joyous and -auspicious an event as a visit to a Chief Secretary could be dominated -by a purpose, Mohendra’s was dominated by this one; and he had been for -some time reflecting upon the extent to which he would allow himself to -be drawn. He was at variance with John Church’s administration—now that -three months had made its direction manifest—at almost every point. He -was at variance with John Church himself—that he admitted to be a matter -of temperament. But Church had involved the Government of Bengal in -blunders from which the advice of his Chief Secretary, if he had taken -it, would have saved him. He had not merely ignored the advice: he had -rejected it somewhat pointedly, being a candid man and no diplomat. If -he had acknowledged his mistakes ever so privately, his Chief Secretary -would have taken a fine ethical pleasure in forgiving them; but the -Lieutenant-Governor appeared to think that where principle was concerned -the consideration of expediency was wholly superfluous, and continued to -defend them instead, even after he could plainly see, in the _Bengal -Free Press_ and elsewhere, that they had begun to make him unpopular. -Ancram’s vanity had never troubled him till now. It had grown with his -growth, and strengthened with his strength, under the happiest -circumstances, and he had been as little aware of it as of his arterial -system. John Church had made him unpleasantly conscious of it, and he -was as deeply resentful as if John Church had invested him with it. The -Honourable Mr. Ancram had never been discounted before, and that this -experience should come to him through an official superior whom he did -not consider his equal in many points of administrative sagacity, was a -circumstance that had its peculiar irritation. Mohendra Lall -Chuckerbutty was very well aware of this; and yet he did not feel -confident in approaching the matter of His Honour and the higher -culture. It was a magnificent grievance. Mohendra had it very much at -heart, the _Free Press_ would have it very much at heart, and nothing -was more important than the private probing of the Chief Secretary’s -sentiment regarding it; yet Mohendra hesitated. He wished very much that -there were some tangible reason why Ancram should take sides against the -Lieutenant-Governor, some reason that could be expressed in rupees: then -he would have had more confidence in hoping for an adverse criticism. -But for a mere dislike, a mere personal antagonism, it would be so -foolish. Thus Mohendra vacillated, stroking his fat cheek with his -fingers, and looking at the matting. Ancram saw that his visitor would -end by abandoning his intention, and became aware that he would prefer -that this should not happen. - -“And what do you think,” he said casually, “of our proposal to make you -all pay for your Greek?” - -Mohendra beamed. “I think, sir, that it cannot be _your_ proposal.” - -“It isn’t,” said Ancram sententiously. - -“If it becomes law, it will be the signal for a great disturbance. I -mean, off course,” the Baboo hastened to add, “of a pa_cific_ kind. No -violence, of course! Morally speaking the community is already up in -arms—_morally_ speaking! It is destructive legislation, sir; we _must_ -protest.” - -“I don’t blame you for that.” - -“Then you do not yourself approve off it?” - -“I think it’s a mistake. Well-intentioned, but a mistake.” - -“Oh, the _intention_, that iss good! But impracticable,” Mohendra -ventured vaguely: “a bubble in the air—that is all; but the question -i—iz,” he went on, “will it become law? Yesterday only I first heard -offitt. Mentally I said, ‘I will go to my noble friend and find out for -myself the rights offitt!’ _Then_ I will act.” - -“Oh, His Honour intends to put it through. If you mean to do anything -there’s no time to lose.” Ancram assured himself afterwards that between -his duty as an administrator and his private sentiment toward his chief -there could be no choice. - -“We will petition the Viceroy.” - -Ancram shook his head. “Time wasted. The Viceroy will stick to Church.” - -“Then we can petition the Secretary-off-State.” - -“That might be useful, if you get the right names.” - -“We will have it fought out in Parliament. Mr. Dadabhai——” - -“Yes,” Ancram responded with a smile, “Mr. Dadabhai——” - -“There will be mass meetings on the Maidan.” - -“Get them photographed and send them to the _Illustrated London News_.” - -“And every paper will be agitating it. The _Free Press_, the -_Hindu Patriot_, the _Bengalee_—all offthem will be writing about it——” - -“There is one thing you must remember if the business goes to -England—the converts of these colleges from which State aid is to be -withdrawn.” - -“Christians?” Mohendra shook his head with a smile of contempt. “There -are none. It iss not to change their religion that the Hindus go to -college.” - -“Ah!” returned Ancram. “There are none? That is a pity. Otherwise you -might have got them photographed too, for the illustrated papers.” - -“Yes. It iss a pity.” - -Mohendra reflected profoundly for a moment. “But I will remember what -you say about the fottograff—if any can be found.” - -“Well, let me know how you get on. In my private capacity—in my -_private_ capacity, remember—as the friend and well-wisher of the -people, I shall be interested in what you do. Of course I talk rather -freely to you, Baboo, because we know each other well. I have not -concealed my opinion in this matter at any time, but for all that it -mustn’t be known that I have active sympathies. You understand. This is -entirely confidential.” - -“Oh, offcourse! my gracious goodness, yes!” - -Mohendra’s eyes were moist—with gratification. He was still trying to -express it when he withdrew, ten minutes later, backing toward the door. -Ancram shut it upon him somewhat brusquely, and sent a servant for a -whisky-and-soda. It could not be said that he was in the least nervous, -but he was depressed. It always depressed him to be compelled to take up -an attitude which did not invite criticism from every point of view. His -present attitude had one aspect in which he was compelled to see himself -driving a nail into the acting Lieutenant-Governor’s political coffin. -Ancram would have much preferred to see all the nails driven in without -the necessity for his personal assistance. His reflections excluded -Judith Church as completely as if the matter were no concern of hers. He -considered her separately. The strengthening of the bond between them -was a pleasure which had detached itself from all the other interests of -his life; he thought of it tenderly, but the tenderness was rather for -his sentimental property in her than for her in any material sense. She -stood, with the dear treasure of her sympathy, apart from the Calcutta -world, and as far apart from John Church as from the rest. - -That evening, at dinner, Ancram told Philip Doyle and another man that -he had been drawing Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty on the University College -question, and he was convinced that feeling was running very high. - -“The fellow had the cheek to boast about the row they were going to -make,” said Mr. Ancram. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -Philip Doyle did not know at all how it was that he found himself at the -Maharajah of Pattore’s garden-party. He had not the honour of knowing -the Maharajah of Pattore—his invitation was one of the many amiabilities -which he declared he owed to his distinguished connection with the -Bengal Secretariat in the person of Lewis Ancram. Certainly Ancram had -asked him to accept, and take his, Ancram’s, apologies to the Maharajah; -but that seemed no particular reason why he should be there. The fact -was, Doyle assured himself, as he bowled along through the rice-fields -of the suburbs to His Highness’s garden-house—the fact was, he was -restless, he needed change supremely, and anything out of the common -round had its value. Things in Calcutta had begun to wear an unusually -hard and irritating look; he felt his eye for the delinquencies of human -nature growing keener and more critical. This state of things, taken in -connection with the possession of an undoubted sense of humour, Doyle -recognised to be grave. He told himself that, although he was unaware of -anything actually physically wrong, the effects of the climate were most -insidious, and he made it a subject of congratulation that his passage -was taken in the _Oriental_. - -There was a festival arch over the gate when he reached it, and a -multitude of little flags, and “WELLCOME” pendent in yellow marigolds. -Doyle was pleased that he had come. It was a long time since he had -attended a Maharajah’s garden party; its features would be fresh and in -some ways soothing. He shook hands gravely with the Maharajah’s eldest -son, a slender, subdued, cross-eyed young man in an embroidered -smoking-cap and a purple silk frock-coat, and said “Thank you—thank -you!” for a programme of the afternoon’s diversions. The programme was -printed in gold letters, and he was glad to learn from it that His -Highness’s country residence was called “Floral Bower.” This was -entirely as it should be. He noticed that the Maharajah had provided -wrestling and dancing and theatricals for the amusement of his guests, -and resolved to see them all. He had a pleasant sense of a strain -momentarily removed, and he did not importune himself to explain it. -There were very few English people in the crowd that flocked about the -grounds, following with docile admiration the movements of the principal -guests; it was easy to keep away from them. He had only to stroll about, -and look at the curiously futile arrangement of ponds and grottoes and -fountains and summer-houses, and observe how pretty a rose-bush could be -in spite of everything and how appropriately brilliant the clothes of -the Maharajah’s friends were. Some of the younger ones were playing -football, with much laughter and screaming and wonderfully high kicks. -He stood and watched them, smilingly reflecting that he would back a -couple of Harrovians against the lot. His eyes were still on the boys -and the smile was still on his lips when he found himself considering -that he would reach England just about the day of Ancram’s wedding. Then -he realised that Ancram’s wedding had for him some of the -characteristics of a physical ailment which one tries, by forgetting, to -conjure out of existence. The football became less amusing, and he was -conscious that much of its significance had faded out of the Maharajah’s -garden-party. Nevertheless he followed the feebly curved path which led -to His Highness’s private menagerie, and it was while he was returning -the unsympathetic gaze of a very mangy tiger in a very ramshackle cage, -that the reflection came between them, as forcibly as if it were a new -one, that he would come back next cold weather to an empty house. Ancram -would be married. He acknowledged, still carefully examining the tiger, -that he would regret the man less if his departure were due to any other -reason; and he tried to determine, without much success, to what extent -he could blame himself in that his liking for Ancram had dwindled so -considerably during the last few months. By the time he turned his back -upon the zoölogical attraction of the afternoon he had fallen into the -reverie from which he hoped to escape in the _Oriental_—the -recollection, perfect in every detail, of the five times he had met -Rhoda Daye before her engagement, and a little topaz necklace she had -worn three times out of the five, and the several things that he wished -he had said, and especially the agreeable exaltation of spirit in which -he had called himself, after every one of these interviews, an elderly -fool. - -His first thought when he saw her, a moment after, walking towards him -with her father, was of escape—the second quickened his steps in her -direction, for she had bowed, and after that there could be no idea of -going. He concluded later, with definiteness, that it would have been -distinctly rude when there were not more than twenty Europeans in the -place. Colonel Daye’s solid white-whiskered countenance broke into a -square smile as Doyle approached—a smile which expressed that it was -rather a joke to meet a friend at a maharajah’s garden party. - -“You’re a singular being,” he said, as they shook hands; “one never -comes across you in the haunts of civilisation. Here’s _my_ excuse.” -Colonel Daye indicated his daughter. “Would come. Offered to take her to -the races instead—wouldn’t look at it!” - -“If I had no reason for coming before, I’ve found one,” said Doyle, with -an inclination towards Rhoda that laid the compliment at her feet. There -were some points about Philip Doyle that no emotional experience could -altogether subdue. He would have said precisely the same thing, with -precisely the same twinkle, to any woman he liked. - -Rhoda looked at him gravely, having no response ready. If the in-drawing -of her under-lip betrayed anything it was that she felt the least bit -hurt—which, in Rhoda Daye, was ridiculous. If she had been asked she -might have explained it by the fact that there were people whom she -preferred to take her seriously, and in the ten seconds during which her -eyes questioned this politeness she grew gradually delicately pink under -his. - -“Rum business, isn’t it?” Colonel Daye went on, tapping the backs of his -legs with his stick. “Hallo! there’s Grigg. I must see Grigg—do you -mind? Don’t wait, you know—just walk on. I’ll catch you up in ten -minutes.” - -Without further delay Colonel Daye joined Grigg. - -“That’s like my father,” said the girl, with a trace of embarrassment: -“he never can resist the temptation of disposing of me, if it’s only for -ten minutes. We ought to feel better acquainted than we do. I’ve been -out seven months now, but it is still only before people that we dare to -chaff each other. I think,” she added, turning her grey eyes seriously -upon Doyle, “that he finds it awkward to have so much of the society of -a young lady who requires to be entertained.” - -“What a pity that is!” Doyle said involuntarily. - -She was going to reply with one of her bright, easy cynicisms, and then -for some reason changed her mind. “I don’t know about the advantage of -very deep affections,” she said involuntarily, and there was no -flippancy in her tone. Doyle fancied that he detected a note of pathos -instead, but perhaps he was looking for it. - -They were walking with a straggling company of baboos in white muslin -down a double row of plantains towards the wrestling ring. Involuntarily -he made their pace slower. - -“You can’t be touched by that ignoble spirit of the age—already.” - -Miss Daye felt her moral temperature fall several degrees from the -buoyant condition in which she contrived to keep it as a rule. To say -she experienced a chill in the region of her conscience is perhaps to -put it grotesquely, but she certainly felt inclined to ask Philip Doyle -with some astonishment what difference it made to him. - -“The spirit of the age is an annoying thing. It robs one of all -originality.” - -“Pray,” he said, “be original in some other direction. You have a very -considerable choice.” - -His manner disarmed his words. It was grave, almost pleading. She -wondered why she was not angry, but the fact remained that she was only -vaguely touched, and rather unhappy. Then he spoiled it. - -“In my trade we get into dogmatic ways,” he apologised. “You won’t mind -the carpings of an elderly lawyer who has won a bad eminence for himself -by living for twenty years in Calcutta. By the way, I had Ancram’s -apologies to deliver to the Maharajah. If he had known he would perhaps -have entrusted me with more important ones.” Doyle made this speech in -general compensation, to any one who wanted it, for being near her—with -her. If he expected blushing confusion he failed to find it. - -“He didn’t know,” she said indifferently; “and if he had——Oh, there are -the wrestlers.” She looked at them for a moment with disfavour. “Do you -like them? I think they are like performing animals.” - -The men separated for a moment and rubbed their shining brown bodies -with earth. Somewhere near the gate the Maharajah’s band struck up “God -Save the Queen,” four prancing pennons appeared over the tops of the -bushes, and with one accord the crowd moved off in that direction. A -moment later His Highness was doubling up in appreciation of His -Excellency’s condescension in arriving. His Excellency himself was -surrounded ten feet deep by his awe-struck and delighted fellow-guests, -and the wrestlers, bereft of an audience, sat down and spat. - -What Doyle always told himself that he must do with regard to Miss Daye -was to approach her in the vein of polished commonplace—polished because -he owed it to himself, commonplace because its after effect on the -nerves he found to be simpler. Realising his departure from this -prescribed course, he fervently set himself down a hectoring idiot, and -looked round for Colonel Daye. Colonel Daye radiated the commonplace; he -was a most usual person. In his society there was not the slightest -danger of saying anything embarrassing. But he was not even remotely -visible. - -“Believe me,” said Rhoda, with sudden divination, “we shall be lucky if -we see my father again in half an hour. I am very sorry, but he really -is a most unnatural parent.” There was a touch of defiance in her laugh. -He should not lecture her again. “Where shall we go?” - -“Have you seen the acting?” - -“Yes. It’s a conversation between Rama and Shiva. Rama wears a red wig -and Shiva wears a yellow one; the rest is tinsel and pink muslin. They -sit on the floor and argue—that is the play. While one argues the other -chews betel and looks at the audience. I’ve seen better acting,” she -added demurely, “at the Corinthian Theatre.” - -Doyle laughed irresistibly. Calcutta’s theatrical resources, even in the -season, lend themselves to frivolous suggestion. - -“I could show you the Maharajah’s private chapel, if you like,” she -said. - -Doyle replied that nothing could be more amusing than a Maharajah’s -private chapel; and as they walked together among the rose bushes he -felt every consideration, every scruple almost, slip away from him in -the one desire her nearness always brought him—the desire for that kind -of talk with her which should seal the right he vaguely knew was his to -be acknowledged in a privacy of her soul that was barred against other -people. Once or twice before he had seemed almost to win it, and by some -gay little saying which rang false upon his sincerity she had driven him -back. She assuredly did not seem inclined to give him an opportunity -this afternoon. It must be confessed that she chattered, in that wilful, -light, irrelevant way that so stimulated his desire to be upon tenderly -serious terms with her, by no means as her mentor, but for his own -satisfaction and delight. She chattered, with her sensitiveness alive at -every point to what he should say and to what she thought she could -guess he was thinking. She believed him critical, which was distressing -in view of her conviction that he could never understand her—never! He -belonged to an older school, to another world; his feminine ideal was -probably some sister or mother, with many virtues and no opinions. He -was a person to respect and admire—she did respect and she did admire -him—but to expect any degree of fellowship from him was absurd. The -incomprehensible thing was that this conclusion should have any soreness -about it. For the moment she was not aware that this was so; her -perception of it had a way of coming afterwards, when she was alone. - -“Here it is,” she said, at the entrance of a little grotto made of -stucco and painted to look like rock, serving no particular purpose, by -the edge of an artificial lake. “And here is the shrine and the -divinity!” - -As a matter of fact, there was a niche in the wall, and the niche held -Hanuman with his monkey face and his stolen pineapple, coy in painted -plaster. - -Miss Daye looked at the figure with a crisp assumption of interest. -“Isn’t he amusing!” she remarked: “‘Bloomin’ idol made o’ mud’!” - -“And so this is where you think His Highness comes to say his prayers?” -Doyle said, smiling. - -“Perhaps he has a baboo to say them for him,” she returned, as they -strolled out. “That would be an ideal occupation for a baboo—to make -representations on behalf of one exalted personage to another. I wonder -what he asks Hanuman for! To be protected from all the evils of this -life, and to wake up in the next another maharajah!” - -He was so engaged with the airiness of her whimsicality and the tilt of -the feather in her hat that he found no answer ready for this, and to -her imagination he took the liberty of disapproving her flippancy. -Afterwards she told herself that it was not a liberty—that the -difference in their ages made it a right if he chose to take it—but at -the moment the idea incited her to deepen his impression. She cast about -her for the wherewithal to make the completest revelation of her cheaper -qualities. In a crisis of candour she would show him just how audacious -and superficial and trivial she could be. Women have some curious -instincts. - -“I am dying,” she said, with vivacity, “to see how His Highness keeps -house. They say he has a golden chandelier and the prettiest harem in -Bengal. And I confide to you, Mr. Doyle, that I should like a glass of -simpkin—immensely. It goes to my head in the most amusing way in the -middle of the afternoon.” - -“His ideal young woman,” she declared to herself, “would have said -‘champagne’—no, she would have preferred tea; and she would have died -rather than mention the harem.” - -But it must be confessed that Philip Doyle was more occupied for the -moment with the curve of her lips than with anything that came out of -them, except in so far that everything she said seemed to place him more -definitely at a distance. - -“I’m afraid,” he returned, “that the ladies are all under double lock -and key for the occasion, but there ought to be no difficulty about the -champagne and the chandelier.” - -At that moment Colonel Daye’s tall grey hat came into view, threading -the turbaned crowd in obvious quest. Rhoda did not see it, and Doyle -immediately found a short cut to the house which avoided the encounter. -He had suddenly remembered several things that he wanted to say. They -climbed a flight of marble stairs covered with some dirty yards of -matting, and found themselves almost alone in the Maharajah’s -drawing-room. The Viceroy had partaken of an ice and gone down again, -taking the occasion with him; and the long table at the end of the room -was almost as heavily laden as when the confectioner had set it forth. - -“A little pink cake in a paper boat, please,” she commanded, “with jam -inside”; and then, as Doyle went for it, she sat down on one of -Pattore’s big brocaded sofas, and crossed her pretty feet, and looked at -the chromolithographs of the Prince and Princess of Wales askew upon the -wall, and wondered why she was making a fool of herself. - -“I’ve brought you a cup of coffee: do you mind?” he asked, coming back -with it. “His Highness’ intentions are excellent, but the source of his -supplies is obscure. I tried the champagne,” he added apologetically: -“it’s unspeakable!” - -No, Miss Daye did not mind. Doyle sat down at the other end of the sofa, -and reflected that another quarter of an hour was all he could possibly -expect, and then—— - -“I am going home, Miss Daye,” he said. - -Since there was no other way of introducing himself to her -consideration, he would do it with a pitchfork. - -“I knew you were. Soon?” - -“The day after to-morrow, in the _Oriental_. I suppose Ancram told you?” - -“I believe he did. You and he are great friends, aren’t you?” - -“We live together. Men must be able to tolerate each other pretty fairly -to do that.” - -“How long shall you be in England?” - -“Six months, I hope.” - -She was silent, and he fancied she was thinking, with natural -resentment, that he might have postponed his departure until after the -wedding. Doyle hated a lie more than most people, but he felt the -situation required that he should say something. - -“The exigency of my going is unkind,” he blundered. “It will deprive me -of the pleasure of offering Ancram my congratulations.” - -There was only the faintest flavour of mendacity about this; but she -detected it, and fitted it, with that unerring feminine instinct we hear -so much about, to her thought. For an instant she seemed lost in -buttoning her glove; then she looked up, with a little added colour. - -“Don’t tamper with your sincerity for me,” she said quickly: “I’m not -worth it. It’s very kind of you to consider my feelings, but I would -much rather have the plain truth between us—that you don’t approve of me -or of the—the marriage. I jar upon you—oh! I see it! a dozen times in -half an hour—and you are sorry for your friend. For his sake you even -try to like me: I’ve seen you doing it. Please don’t: it distresses me -to know that you take that trouble——” - -“Here you are!” exclaimed Colonel Daye, in the doorway. “Much obliged to -you, Doyle, really, for taking care of this little girl. Most difficult -man to get hold of, Grigg.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -It has been obvious, I hope, that Lewis Ancram was temperamentally equal -to adjusting himself to a situation. His philosophy was really -characteristic of him; and none the less so because it had a pessimistic -and artistic tinge, and he wore it in a Persian motto inside a crest -ring on his little finger. It can hardly be said that he adjusted -himself to his engagement and his future, when it became apparent to him -that the one could not be broken or the other changed, with -cheerfulness—for cheerfulness was too commonplace a mental condition to -have characterised Mr. Ancram under the happiest circumstances. Neither -can it be denied, however, that he did it with a good deal of dignity -and some tact. He permitted himself to lose the abstraction that had -been overcoming him so habitually in Rhoda’s society, and he said more -of those clever things to her which had been temporarily obscured by the -cloud on his spirits. They saw one another rather oftener than usual in -the fortnight following the evening on which Mr. Ancram thought he could -suggest a course for their mutual benefit to Miss Daye and her daintily -authoritative manner with him convinced him that his chains were riveted -very firmly. At times he told himself that she had, after all, -affectionate potentialities, though he met the problem of evolving them -with a shrug. He disposed himself to accept all the ameliorations of the -situation that were available, all the consolations he could find. One -of the subtlest and therefore most appreciable of these was the -necessity, which his earlier confidence involved, of telling Judith -Church in a few suitably hesitating and well-chosen words that things -were irrevocable. Judith kept silence for a moment, and then, with a -gravely impersonal smile, she said, “I hope—and think—you may be happier -than you expect,” in a manner which made further discussion of the -matter impossible. It cannot be doubted, however, that she was able to -convey to him an under-current of her sympathy without embarrassment. -Otherwise he would hardly have found himself so dependent on the odd -half-hours during which they talked of Henley’s verses and Swan’s -pictures and the possibility of barricading oneself against the moral -effect of India. Ancram often gave her to understand, in one delicate -way or another, that if there were a few more women like her in the -country it could be done. - -The opinion seemed to be general, though perhaps nobody else formulated -it exactly in those terms. People went about assuring each other that -Mrs. Church was the most charming social success, asserting this as if -they recognised that it was somewhat unusual to confer such a decoration -upon a lady whose husband had as yet none whatever. People said she was -a really fascinating woman in a manner which at once condoned and -suggested her undistinguished antecedents—an art which practice has made -perfect in the bureaucratic circles of India. They even went so far as -to add that the atmosphere of Belvedere had entirely changed since the -beginning of the officiating period—which was preposterous, for nothing -could change the social atmosphere of any court of Calcutta short of the -reconstruction of the Indian Empire. The total of this meant that Mrs. -Church had a good memory, much considerateness, an agreeable -disposition, and pretty clothes. Her virtues, certainly her virtues as I -know them, would hardly be revealed in the fierce light which beats upon -the wife of an acting Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal from November until -April, though a shadow of one of them might have been detected in the -way she behaved to the Dayes. Ancram thought her divine in this, but she -was only an honest woman with a temptation and a scruple. Her dignity -made it difficult; she was obliged to think out delicate little ways of -offering them her friendship in the scanty half hours she had to herself -after dinner, while the unending scratch of her husband’s pen came -through the portière that hung across the doorway into his -dressing-room. What she could do without consulting them she did; though -it is not likely that Colonel Daye will ever attribute the remarkable -smoothness of his official path at this time to anything but the spirit -of appreciation in which he at last found Government disposed to regard -his services. The rest was not so easy, because she had to count with -Rhoda. On this point her mother was in the habit of invoking Rhoda’s -better nature, with regrettable futility. Mrs. Daye said that for her -part she accepted an invitation in the spirit in which it was given, and -it is to be feared that no lady in Mrs. Church’s “official position” -would be compelled to make overtures twice to Mrs. Daye, who told other -ladies, in confidence, that she had the best reason to believe Mrs. -Church a noble-minded woman—a beautiful soul. It distressed her that she -was not able to say this to Rhoda also, to be frank with Rhoda, to -discuss the situation and perhaps to hint to the dear child that her -non-responsiveness to Mrs. Church’s very kind attitude looked “the least -bit in the world like the little green monster, you know, dearest one.” -It was not, Mrs. Daye acknowledged, that Rhoda actively resisted Mrs. -Church’s interest; she simply appeared to be unaware of it, and sat on a -chair beside that sweet woman in the Belvedere drawing-room with the -effect of being a hundred miles away. Mrs. Daye sometimes asked herself -apprehensively how soon Mrs. Church would grow tired of coaxing Rhoda, -how long their present beatitudes might be expected to last. It was with -this consideration in mind that she went to her daughter’s room the day -after the Maharajah of Pattore’s garden-party, which was Thursday. The -windows of that apartment were wide open, letting in great squares of -vivid sunlight, and their muslin curtains bellied inward with the -pleasant north wind. It brought gusts of sound from the life outside—the -high plaintive cheeling of the kites, the interminable cawing of the -crows, the swish of the palm fronds, the scolding of the mynas; and all -this life and light and clamour seemed to centre in and circle about the -yellow-haired girl who sat, half-dressed, on the edge of the bed writing -a letter. She laid it aside face downward, at her mother’s knock, and -that amiable lady found her daughter seated before the looking-glass -with a crumpled little brown ayah brushing her hair. - -Mrs. Daye cried out at the glare, at the noise. “It’s like living in one -of those fretwork marble summer-houses at Delhi where the kings of -what-you-may-call-it dynasty kept their wives!” she declared, with her -hands pressed on her eyes and a thumb in each ear; and when the shutters -were closed and the room reduced to some degree of tranquillity, broken -by glowing points where the green slats came short of the sash, she -demanded eau-de-cologne and sank into a chair. “I’ve come for ‘Cruelle -Enigme,’ Rhoda,” Mrs. Daye announced. - -“No, you haven’t, mummie. And besides, you can’t have it—it isn’t a nice -book for you to read.” - -“Can’t I?” Mrs. Daye asked plaintively. “Well, dear, I suppose I must -take your opinion—you know how much my wretched nerves will stand. From -all I hear I certainly can’t be too thankful to you for protecting me -from Zola.” - -“Ayah,” Rhoda commanded in the ayah’s tongue, “give me the yellow book -on the little table—the yellow one, owl’s daughter! Here’s one you can -have, mother,” she said, turning over a few of the leaves with a touch -that was a caress—“‘Robert Helmont’—you haven’t read that.” - -Mrs. Daye glanced at it without enthusiasm. - -“It’s about a war, isn’t it? I’m not fond of books about wars as a rule, -they’re so ‘bluggy,’” and the lady made a little face; “but of course—oh -yes, Daudet, I know he would be charming even if he _was_ bluggy. Rhoda, -don’t make any engagement for Sunday afternoon. I’ve accepted an -invitation from Belvedere for a river-party.” - -The face in the looking-glass showed the least contraction between the -eyebrows. The ayah saw it, and brushed even more gently than before. -Mrs. Daye was watching for it, and hurried on. “I gather from Mrs. -Church’s extremely kind note—she writes herself, and not the -aide-de-camp—that it is a little _fête_ she is making especially, in a -manner, for you and Mr. Ancram, dear—in celebration, as it were. She has -asked only people we know very well indeed; it is really almost a family -affair. _Very_ sweet of her I call it, though of course Lewis Ancram is -an old friend of—of the Lieutenant-Governor’s.” - -The contraction between the girl’s brows deepened seriously, gave place -to a considering air, and for a moment she looked straight into her own -eyes in the glass and said nothing. They rewarded her presently with a -bubble of mischievous intelligence, which almost broke into a smile. -Mrs. Daye continued to the effect that nothing did one so much good as a -little jaunt on the river—it seemed to blow the malaria out of one’s -system—for her part she would give up anything for it. But Rhoda had no -other engagement? - -“Oh dear no!” Miss Daye replied. “There is nothing in the world to -interfere!” - -“Then you will go, dearest one?” - -“I shall be delighted.” - -“My darling child, you _have_ relieved my mind! I was so afraid that -some silly little fad—I know how much you dislike the glare of the -river——” then, forgetfully, “I will write at once and accept for us -all.” Mrs. Daye implanted a kiss upon her daughter’s forehead, with a -sense that she was picturesquely acknowledging dutiful obedience, and -rustled out. “Robert Helmont” remained on the floor beside her chair, -and an indefinitely pleasant freshness was diffused where she had been. - -As Rhoda twisted her hair a little uncontrollable smile came to her lips -and stayed there. “Ayah, worthy one,” she said, “give me the letter from -the bed”; and having read what she had written she slowly tore it into -very small pieces. “After all,” she reflected, “that would be a stupid -way.” - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -The opinion was a united one on board the _Annie Laurie_ the next Sunday -afternoon that Nature had left nothing undone to make the occasion a -success. This might have testified to less than it did; for a similar -view has been expressed as unanimously, and adhered to as firmly, on -board the _Annie Laurie_ when the banks of the Hooghly have been grey -with deluge and the ladies have saved their skirts by sitting on one -another’s knees in her tiny cabin. The _Annie Laurie_ being the -Lieutenant-Governor’s steam-launch, nobody but the Lieutenant-Governor -presumes to be anything but complimentary as to the weather experienced -aboard her. And this in India is natural. It could not be said, however, -that there was anything necessarily diplomatic even in Mrs. Daye’s -appreciation of this particular afternoon. The air—they all dilated on -the air—blew in from the sea, across the salt marshes, through the -plantains and the cocoanut-trees of the little villages, and brought a -dancing crispness, softened by the sun. The brown river hurtled outwards -past her buoys, and a great merchant ship at anchor in midstream swung -slowly round with the tide. A vague concourse of straight masts and -black hulls and slanting funnels stretched along the bank behind them -with the indefiniteness that comes of multitude, for every spar and line -stood and swung clear cut in the glittering sun; and the point they were -bound for elbowed itself out into the river two miles farther down, in -the grey greenness of slanting, pluming palms. Already the water was -growing more golden where the palms toppled over the river: there would -not be more than two good hours of daylight. As Mrs. Daye remarked to -the Lieutenant-Governor, life was all too short in the cold weather -really to absorb, to drink in, the beauties of nature—there was so much -going on. - -“Then,” said His Honour, “we must make the most of our time.” But he did -not prolong his gaze at Mrs. Daye by way of emphasising his remark, as -another man, and especially another lieutenant-governor, might have -done. He fixed it instead on the dilapidated plaster façade on the left -bank of the river, formerly inhabited by the King of Oudh and his -relatives, and thought of the deplorable sanitation there. - -Not that John Church was by any means unappreciative of the beauties of -nature. It was because he acknowledged the moral use of them that he -came on these Sunday afternoon picnics. He read the poets, and would pay -a good price for a bronze or a picture, for much the same reason. They -formed part of his system of self-development; he applied them to his -mind through the medium which nature has provided, and trusted that the -effect would be good. He did it, however, as he did everything, with the -greatest possible economy of time, and sometimes other considerations -overlapped. That very afternoon he meant to speak to the Superintendent -of the Botanical Gardens—the green elbow of the river crooked about this -place—concerning the manufacture and distribution of a new febrifuge, -and he presently edged away from Mrs. Daye with the purpose of finding -out her husband’s views concerning the silting up of river-beds in -Bengal and the cost of preventive measures. Life with John Church could -be measured simply as an area for effort. - -[Illustration: Notwithstanding, it was gay enough.] - -Notwithstanding these considerations, it was gay enough. Captain Thrush, -A.D.C., sat on the top of the cabin, and swung his legs to the -accompaniment of his amusing experiences the last time he went quail -shooting. The St. Georges were there, and the St. Georges were -proverbial in Calcutta for lightheartedness. Sir William Scott might -have somewhat overweighted the occasion; but Sir William Scott had taken -off his hat, the better to enjoy the river-breeze, and this reduced him -to a name and a frock coat. In the general good spirits the abnegation -and the resolution with which Lewis Ancram and Judith Church occupied -themselves with other people might almost have passed unnoticed. Rhoda -Daye found herself wondering whether it would be possible for Ancram to -be pathetic under the most moving circumstances, so it may be presumed -that she perceived it; but the waves of mirth engendered by Captain -Thrush and the St. Georges rolled over it so far as the rest were -concerned, as they might over a wreck of life and hope. This pretty -simile occurred to Miss Daye, who instantly dismissed it as mawkish, but -nevertheless continued, for at least five minutes, to reflect on the -irony of fate, as, for the moment, she helped to illustrate it. A new -gravity fell upon her for that period, as she sat there and watched -Judith Church talking to Sir William Scott about his ferns. For the -first time she became aware that the situation had an edge to it—that -she was the edge. She was the saturnine element in what she had hitherto -resolutely regarded as a Calcutta comedy; she was not sure that she -could regard it as a comedy any longer, even from the official point of -view. Ancram evidently had it in mind to make an exhibition to the world -in general, and to Mrs. Church in particular, of devotion to his -betrothed. She caught him once or twice in the act of gratefully -receiving Mrs. Church’s approving glance. Nevertheless she had an -agreeable tolerance for all that he found to do for her. She forbade -herself, for the time being, any further analysis of a matter with which -she meant to have in future little concern. In that anticipation she -became unaccountably light-hearted and talkative and merry. So much so, -that Captain Thrush, A.D.C., registered his conviction that she was -really rather a pretty girl—more in her than he thought; and the -Honourable Mr. Lewis Ancram said to himself that she was enjoying, in -anticipation, the prestige she would have a month later, and that the -cleverest of women were deplorably susceptible to social ambition. - -The Superintendent met them at the wharf, and John Church led the way up -the great central avenue of palms, whose grey, shaven polls look as if -they had been turned by some giant lathe, with his hand on the arm of -this gentleman. The others arranged themselves with a single eye to -avoiding the stupidity of walking with their own wives and trooped -after. - -“We are going to the orchid-houses, John,” Mrs. Church called after her -husband, as Sir William Scott brought them to a halt at a divergent road -he loved; and Church took off his hat in hurried acquiescence. - -“Notice my new Dendrobium!” cried the Superintendent, turning a rueful -countenance upon them. “The only one in Asia!” Then his head resumed its -inclination of respectful attention, and the pair disappeared. - -Mrs. Church laughed frankly. “Poor Dr. James!” she exclaimed. “My -husband is double-dyed in febrifuge to-day.” - -Ancram took the privilege—it was one he enjoyed—of gently rebuking her. -“It is one of those common, urgent needs of the people,” he said, “that -His Honour so intimately understands.” - -Judith looked at him with a sudden sweet humility in her eyes. “You are -quite right,” she returned. “I sometimes think that nobody knows him as -you do. Certainly,” she added, in a lower tone, as the two fell back, -“nobody has more of his confidence, more of his dependence.” - -“I don’t know,” Ancram answered vaguely. “Do you really think so? I -don’t know.” - -“I am sure of it.” - -He looked straight before him in silence, irritated in his sensitive -morality—the morality which forbade him to send a Government -_chuprassie_ on a private errand, or to write to his relations in -England on office paper. A curve in the walk showed them Rhoda Daye, -standing alone on the sward, beside a bush in crimson-and-orange flower, -intently examining a spray. Almost involuntarily they paused, and Ancram -turned his eyes upon Mrs. Church with the effect of asking her what he -should do, what he must do. - -“Go!” she said; and then, as if it were a commonplace: “I think Miss -Daye wants you. I will overtake the others.” - -She thought he left her very willingly, and hurried on with the -conviction that, like everything else, it would come right—quite -right—in the end. She was very happy if in any way she had helped it to -come right—so happy that she longed to be alone with her sensations, and -revolted with all her soul against the immediate necessity of Sir -William Scott and the St. Georges. To be for a few hours quite alone, -unseen and unknown, in the heart of some empty green wilderness like -this, would help her, she knew, to rationalise her satisfaction. “My -dear boy,” she said, with nervous patience, as Captain Thrush appeared -in search of her, “did you think I had fallen into a tank? Do go and -take care of the other people.” An aide-de-camp was not a serious -impediment to reflection, but at the moment Judith would have been -distressed by the attendance of her own shadow, if it were too -perceptible. - -Ancram crossed over to Rhoda, with his antipathy to the -Lieutenant-Governor sensibly aggravated by the fact that his wife took -an interest in him—an appreciative interest. It was out of harmony, -Ancram felt vaguely, that she should do this—it jarred. He had so -admired her usual attitude of pale, cool, sweet tolerance toward John -Church—had so approved it. That attitude had been his solace in thinking -about her in her unique position and with her rare temperament. To -suppose her counting up her husband’s virtues, weighing them, doing -justice to them, tinged her with the commonplace, and disturbed him. - -“That’s a curious thing,” he said to Rhoda. - -She let go her hold of the twig, and the red-and-gold flower danced up -like a flame. - -“It belongs to the sun and the soil; so it pleases one better than any -importation.” - -“An orchid is such a fairy—you can’t expect it to have a nationality,” -he returned. - -She stood, with her head thrown back a little, looking at the sprays -that swung above the line of her lips. Her wide-brimmed hat dropped a -soft shadow over the upper part of her face; her eyes shone through it -with a gleam of intensely feminine sweetness, and the tender curve of -her throat gave him an unreasoned throb of anticipation. In six weeks he -would be married to this slender creature; it would be an excursion into -the unknown, not unaccompanied by adventures. Tentatively, it might be -agreeable; it would certainly be interesting. He confessed to a -curiosity which was well on the way to become impatient. - -“Then do you want to go and see the Dendrobium?” she asked. - -“Not if you prefer to do anything else.” - -“I think I would enjoy the cranes more, or the pink water-lilies. The -others will understand, won’t they, that we two might like to take a -little walk?” - -Her coquetry, he said to himself, was preposterously pretty. They took -another of the wide solitary paths that led under showery bamboos and -quivering mahogany trees to where a stretch of water gave back the -silence of the palms against the evening sky, and he dropped -unconsciously into the stroll which is characterised everywhere as a -lover’s. She glanced at him once or twice corroboratively, and said to -herself that she had not been mistaken: he had real distinction—he was -not of the herd. Then she picked up broad, crisp leaves with the point -of her parasol and pondered while he talked of a possible walking tour -in the Tyrol. Presently she broke in irrelevantly, hurriedly. - -“I like to do a definite thing in a definite way: don’t you?” - -“Certainly; yes, of course.” - -“Well; and that is why I waited till this afternoon to tell you—to tell -you——” - -“To tell me——” - -“My dear Mr. Ancram, that I cannot possibly marry you.” - -She had intended to put it differently, more effectively—perhaps with a -turn that would punish him for his part in making the situation what it -was. But it seemed a more momentous thing than she thought, now that she -came to do it; she had a sense that destiny was too heavy a thing to -play with. - -He gave her an official look, the look which refuses to allow itself to -be surprised, and said “Really?” in a manner which expressed absolutely -nothing except that she had his attention. - -“I do not pretend,” she went on, impaling her vanity upon her candour, -“that this will give you the slightest pain. I have been quite conscious -of the relation between us” (here she blushed) “for a very long time; -and I am afraid you must understand that I have reached this decision -without any undue distress—_moi aussi_.” - -She had almost immediately regained her note; she was wholly mistress of -what she said. For an instant Ancram fancied that the bamboos and the -mahogany trees and the flaming hibiscus bushes were unreal, that he was -walking into a panorama, and it seemed to him that his steps were -uncertain. He was carrying his silk hat, and he set himself mechanically -to smooth it round and round with his right hand as he listened. - -When she paused he could find nothing better to say than “Really?” -again; and he added, “You can’t expect me to be pleased.” - -“Oh, but I do,” she returned promptly. “You are, aren’t you?” - -It seemed a friendly reminder of his best interests. It brought the -bamboos back to a vegetable growth, and steadied Ancram’s nerves. He -continued to smooth his hat; but he recovered himself sufficiently to -join her, at a bound, in the standpoint from which she seemed inclined -to discuss the matter without prejudice. - -“Since we are to be quite candid with each other,” he said, smiling, -“I’m not sure.” - -“Your candour has—artistic qualities—which make it different from other -people’s. At all events, you will be to-morrow: to-morrow you will thank -Heaven fasting.” - -He looked at her with some of the interest she used to inspire in him -before his chains began to gall him. - -“Prickly creature!” he said. “Are _you_ quite sure? Is your -determination unalterable?” - -“I acknowledge your politeness in asking me,” she returned. “It is.” - -“Then I suppose I must accept it.” He spoke slowly. “But for the -_soulagement_ you suggest I am afraid I must wait longer than -to-morrow.” - -They walked on in silence, reached the rank edge of the pond, and turned -to go back. The afternoon still hung mellow in mid air, and something of -its tranquillity seemed to have descended between them. In their joint -escape from their mutual burden they experienced a reciprocal good -feeling, something like comradeship, not untouched by sentiment. Once or -twice he referred to their broken bond, asking her, with the appetite of -his egotism, to give him the crystal truth of the reason she had -accepted him. - -“I accepted my idea of you,” she said simply, “which was not altogether -an accurate one. Besides, I think a good deal about—a lot of questions -of administration. I thought I would like to have a closer interest, -perhaps a hand in them. Such fools of women do.” - -After which they talked in a friendly way (it has been noted that Ancram -was tolerant) about how essential ambition was to the bearableness of -life in India. - -“I see that you will be a much more desirable acquaintance,” Rhoda said -once, brightly, “now that I am not going to marry you.” And he smiled in -somewhat unsatisfied acquiescence. - -Ancram grew silent as they drew near the main avenue and the real -parting. The dusk had fallen suddenly, and a little wind brought showers -of yellow leaves out of the shivering bamboos. They were quite alone, -and at a short distance almost indistinguishable from the ixora bushes -and the palmettos. - -“Rhoda,” he said, stopping short, “this is our last walk together—we who -were to have walked together always. May I kiss you?” - -The girl hesitated for an instant. “No,” she said, with a nervous laugh: -“not that. It would be like the resurrection of something that had never -lived and never died!” - -But she gave him her hand, and he kissed that, with some difficulty in -determining whether he was grateful or aggrieved. - -“It’s really very raw,” said Miss Daye, as they approached the others; -“don’t you think you had better put on your hat?” - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -“Rhoda,” said Mrs. Daye, as her daughter entered the drawing-room next -morning, “I have thought it all out, and have decided to ask them. Mrs. -St. George quite agrees with me. _She_ says, sound the Military -Secretary first, and of course I will; but she thinks they are certain -to accept. Afterward we’ll have the whole party photographed on the back -verandah—I don’t see how they could get out of it—and that will be a -souvenir for you, if you like.” - -The girl sank into a deep easy chair and crossed her knees with -deliberation. She was paler than usual; she could not deny a certain -lassitude. As her mother spoke she put up her hand to hide an incipient -yawn, and then turned her suffused eyes upon that lady, with the effect -of granting a weary but necessary attention. - -“You have decided to ask them?” she asked, with absent-minded -interrogation. “Whom?” - -“How ridiculous you are, Rhoda! The Viceroy and Lady Scansleigh, of -course! As if there could be the slightest doubt about anybody else! You -will want to know next what I intend to ask them to. I have never known -a girl take so little interest in her own wedding.” - -“That brings us to the point,” said Rhoda. - -An aroused suspicion shot into Mrs. Daye’s brown eyes. “What point, -pray? No nonsense, now, Rhoda!” - -“No nonsense this time, mummie; but no wedding either. I have -decided—finally—not to marry Mr. Ancram.” - -Mrs. Daye sat upright—pretty, plump, determined. She really looked at -the moment as if she could impose her ideas upon anybody. She had a -perception of the effect, to this end, of an impressive _tournure_. -Involuntarily she put a wispish curl in its place, and presented to her -daughter the outline of an unexceptionable shoulder and sleeve. - -“Your decision comes too late to be effectual, Rhoda. People do not -change their minds in such matters when the wedding invitations are -actually——” - -“Written out to be lithographed—but not ordered yet, mummie.” - -“In half an hour they will be.” - -“Would have been, mummie dear.” - -Mrs. Daye assumed the utmost severity possible to a countenance intended -to express only the amenities of life, and took her three steps toward -the door. “This is childish, Rhoda,” she said over her shoulder, “and I -will not remain to listen to it. Retraction on your part at this hour -would be nothing short of a crying scandal, and I assure you once for -all that neither your father nor I will hear of it.” - -Mrs. Daye reached the door very successfully. Rhoda turned her head on -its cushion, and looked after her mother in silence, with a -half-deprecating smile. Having achieved the effect of her retreat, that -lady turned irresolutely. - -“I cannot remain to listen to it,” she repeated, and stooped to pick up -a pin. - -“Oh, do remain, mummie! Don’t behave like the haughty and hard-hearted -mamma of primitive fiction; she is such an old-fashioned person. Do -remain and be a nice, reasonable, up-to-date mummie: it will save such a -lot of trouble.” - -“You don’t seem to realise what you are talking of throwing over!” - -Mrs. Daye, in an access of indignation, came as far back as the piano. - -“Going down to dinner before the wives of the Small Cause Court! What a -worldly lady it is!” - -“I wish,” Mrs. Daye ejaculated mentally, “that I had been brought up to -manage daughters.” What she said aloud, with the effect of being forced -to do so, was that Rhoda had also apparently forgotten that her sister -Lettice was to come out next year. Before the gravity of this -proposition Mrs. Daye sank into the nearest chair. And the expense, with -new frocks for Darjiling, would be really—— - -“All the arguments familiar to the pages of the _Family Herald_,” the -girl retorted, a dash of bitterness in her amusement, “‘with a little -store of maxims, preaching down a daughter’s heart!’ Aren’t you ashamed, -mummie! But you needn’t worry about that. I’ll go back to England and -live with Aunt Jane: she dotes on me. Or I’ll enter the Calcutta Medical -College and qualify as a lady-doctor. I shouldn’t like the cutting up, -though—I really shouldn’t.” - -“Rhoda, _tu me fais mal_! If you could only be serious for five minutes -together. I suppose you have some absurd idea that Mr. Ancram is not -sufficiently—demonstrative. But that will all come in due time, dear.” - -The girl laughed so uncontrollably that Mrs. Daye suspected herself of -an unconscious witticism, and reflected a compromising smile. - -“You think I could win his affections afterwards. Oh! I should despair -of it. You have no idea how coy he is, mummie!” - -Mrs. Daye made a little grimace of sympathy, and threw up her eyes and -her hands. They laughed together, and then the elder lady said with -severity that her daughter was positively indecorous. “Nothing could -have been more devoted than his conduct yesterday afternoon. ‘How -ridiculously happy,’ was what Mrs. St. George said—‘how ridiculously -happy those two are!’” - -Mrs. Daye had become argumentative and plaintive. She imparted the -impression that if there was another point of view—which she doubted—she -was willing to take it. - -“Oh! no doubt it was evident enough,” Rhoda said tranquilly: “we had -both been let off a bad bargain. An afternoon I shall always remember -with pleasure.” - -“Then you have actually done it—broken with him!” - -“Yes.” - -“Irrevocably?” - -“Very much so.” - -“_Do_ tell me how he took it!” - -“Calmly. With admirable fortitude. It occupied altogether about ten -minutes, with digressions. I’ve never kept any of his notes—he doesn’t -write clever notes—and you know I’ve always refused to wear a ring. So -there was nothing to return except Buzz, which wouldn’t have been fair -to Buzz. It won’t make a scandal, will it, my keeping Buzz? He’s quite a -changed dog since I’ve had him, and I love him for himself alone. He -doesn’t look in the least,” Rhoda added, thoughtfully regarding the -terrier curled up on the sofa, who turned his brown eyes on her and -wagged his tail without moving, “like a Secretariat puppy.” - -“And is that all?” - -“That’s all—practically.” - -“Well, Rhoda, of course I had to think of your interests first—_any_ -mother would; but if it’s really quite settled, I must confess that I -believe you are well out of it, and I’m rather relieved myself. When I -thought of being that man’s mother-in-law I used to be thankful -sometimes that your father would retire so soon—which was horrid, dear.” - -“I can understand your feelings, mummie.” - -“I’m sure you can, dear: you are always my sympathetic child. _I_ -wouldn’t have married him for worlds! I never could imagine how you made -up your mind to it in the first place. Now, I suppose that absurd Mrs. -St. George will go on with her theory that no daughter of mine will ever -marry in India, because the young men find poor old me so amusing!” - -“She’s a clever woman—Mrs. St. George,” Rhoda observed. - -“And now that we’ve had our little talk, dear, there’s one thing I -should like you to take back—that quotation from Longfellow, or was it -Mrs. Hemans?—about a daughter’s heart, you know.” Mrs. Daye inclined her -head coaxingly towards the side. “I _shouldn’t_ like to have that to -remember between us, dear,” she said, and blew her nose with as close an -approach to sentiment as could possibly be achieved in connection with -that organ. - -“You ridiculous old mummie! I assure you it hadn’t the slightest -application.” - -“Then _that’s_ all right,” Mrs. Daye returned, in quite her sprightly -manner. “I’ll refuse the St. Georges’ dinner on Friday night; it’s only -decent that we should keep rather quiet for a fortnight or so, till it -blows over a little. And we shall get rid of you, my dear child, I’m -perfectly certain, quite soon enough,” she added over her shoulder, as -she rustled out. “With your brains, you might even marry very well at -home. But your father is sure to be put out about this—awfully put out!” - -“Do you know, Buzz,” murmured Rhoda a moment later (the terrier had -jumped into her lap), “if I had been left an orphan in my early youth, I -fancy I would have borne it better than most people.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -The editor of the _Word of Truth_ sat in his office correcting a proof. -The proof looked insurmountably difficult of correction, because it was -printed in Bengali; but Tarachand Mookerjee’s eye ran over it nimbly, -and was accompanied by a smile, ever expanding and contracting, of -pleased, almost childish appreciation. The day was hot, unusually so for -February; and as the European editors up-town worked in their -shirt-sleeves, so Tarachand Mookerjee worked in his _dhoty_, which left -him bare from his waist up—bare and brown and polished, like a figure -carved in mahogany, for his ribs were very visible. He wore nothing -else, except patent leather shoes and a pair of white cotton stockings, -originally designed for a more muscular limb, if for a weaker sex. These -draperies were confined below the knee by pieces of the red tape with -which a considerate Government tied up the reports and resolutions it -sent the editor of the _Word of Truth_ for review. Above Tarachand’s -three-cornered face his crisp black hair stood in clumps of oily and -admired disorder; he had early acquired the literary habit of running -his fingers through it. He had gentle, velvety eyes, and delicate -features, and a straggling beard. He had lost two front teeth, and his -attenuated throat was well sunk between his narrow shoulders. This gave -him the look of a poor nervous creature; and, indeed, there was not a -black-and-white terrier in Calcutta that could not have frightened him -horribly. Yet he was not in the least afraid of a watch-dog belonging to -Government—an official translator who weekly rendered up a confidential -report of the emanations of the _Word of Truth_ in English—because he -knew that this animal’s teeth were drawn by the good friends of Indian -progress in the English Parliament. - -Tarachand did almost everything that had to be done for the _Word of -Truth_ except the actual printing; although he had a nephew at the -Scotch Mission College who occasionally wrote a theatrical notice for -him in consideration of a free ticket, and who never ceased to urge him -to print the paper in English, so that he, the nephew, might have an -opportunity of practising composition in that language. It was Tarachand -who translated the news out of the European papers into his own columns, -where it read backwards, who reviewed the Bengali school-books written -by the pundits of his acquaintance, who “fought” the case of the baboo -in the Public Works Department dismissed for the trivial offence of -stealing blotting-paper. It was, above all, Tarachand who wrote -editorials about the conduct of the Government of India: that was the -business of his life, his morning and his evening meditation. Tarachand -had a great pull over the English editors uptown here; had a great pull, -in fact, over any editors anywhere who felt compelled to base their -opinions upon facts, or to express them with an eye upon consequences. -Tarachand knew nothing about facts—it is doubtful whether he would -recognise one if he saw it—and consequences did not exist for him. In -place of these drawbacks he had the great advantages of imagination and -invective. He was therefore able to write the most graphic editorials. - -He believed them, too, with the open-minded, admiring simplicity that -made him wax and wane in smiles over this particular proof. I doubt -whether Tarachand could be brought to understand the first principles of -veracity as applied to public affairs, unless possibly through his -pocket. A definition to the Aryan mind is always best made in rupees, -and to be mulcted heavily by a court of law might give him a grieved and -surprised, but to some extent convincing education in political ethics. -It would necessarily interfere at the same time, however, with his -untrammelled and joyous talent for the creation and circulation of cheap -fiction; it would be a hard lesson, and in the course of it Tarachand -would petition with fervid loyalty and real tears. Perhaps it was on -some of these accounts that the Government of India had never run -Tarachand in. - -Even for an editor’s office it was a small room, and though it was on -the second floor, the walls looked as if fungi grew on them in the -rains. The floor was littered with publications; for the _Word of Truth_ -was taken seriously in Asia and in Oxford, and “exchanged” with a number -of periodicals devoted to theosophical research, or the destruction of -the opium revenue, or the protection of the sacred cow by combination -against the beef-eating Briton. In one corner lay a sprawling blue heap -of the reports and resolutions before mentioned, accumulating the dust -of the year, at the end of which Tarachand would sell them for waste -paper. For the rest, there was the editorial desk, with a chair on each -side of it, the editorial gum-pot and scissors and waste-paper basket; -and portraits, cut from the _Illustrated London News_, askew on the wall -and wrinkling in their frames, of Max Müller and Lord Ripon. The warm -air was heavy with the odour of fresh printed sheets, and sticky with -Tarachand’s personal anointing of cocoa-nut oil, and noisy with the -clamping of the press below, the scolding of the crows, the eternal -wrangle of the streets. Through the open window one saw the sunlight -lying blindly on the yellow-and-pink upper stories, with their winding -outer staircases and rickety balconies and narrow barred windows, of the -court below. - -Tarachand finished his proof and put it aside to cough. He was bent -almost double, and still coughing when Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty came -in; so that the profusion of smiles with which he welcomed his brother -journalist was not undimmed with tears. They embraced strenuously, -however, and Mohendra, with a corner of his nether drapery, tenderly -wiped the eyes of Tarachand. For the moment the atmosphere became doubly -charged with oil and sentiment, breaking into a little storm of phrases -of affection and gestures of respect. When it had been gone through -with, these gentlemen of Bengal sat opposite each other beaming, and -turned their conversation into English as became gentlemen of Bengal. - -“I deplore,” said Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty concernedly, with one fat -hand outspread on his knee, “to see that this iss still remaining with -you——” - -The other, with a gesture, brushed his ailment away. “Oh, it iss -nothing—nothing whatever! I have been since three days under -astronomical treatment of Dr. Chatterjee. ‘Sir,’ he remarked me -yesterday, as I was leaving his höwwse, ‘after _one_ month you will be -again salubrious. You will be on legs again—_take_ my word!’” - -Mohendra leaned back in his chair, put his head on one side, and -described a right angle with one leg and the knee of the other. “Smart -chap, Chatterjee!” he said, in perfect imitation of the casual sahib. He -did not even forget to smooth his chin judicially as he said it. The -editor of the _Word of Truth_, whose social opportunities had been -limited to his own caste, looked on with admiration. - -“And what news do you bring? But already I have perused the _Bengal Free -Press_ of to-day, so without doubt I know all the news!” Tarachand made -this professional compliment as coyly and insinuatingly as if he and -Mohendra had been sweethearts. “I can_not_ withhold my congratulations -on that leader of thiss morning,” he went on fervently. “Here it is to -my hand; diligently I have been studying it with awful admiration.” - -Mohendra’s chin sank into his neck in a series of deprecating nods and -inarticulate expressions of dissent, and his eyes glistened. Tarachand -took up the paper and read from it:— - - “‘THE SATRAP AND THE COLLEGES.’ - -“Ah, how will His Honour look when he sees that! - -“‘Is it possible, we ask all sane men with a heart in their bosom, that -Dame Rumour is right in her prognostications? Can it be true that the -tyrant of Belvedere will dare to lay his hand on the revenue sacredly -put aside to shower down upon our young hopefuls the mother’s milk of an -Alma Mater upon any pretext whatsoever? We fear the affirmative. Even as -we go to press the knell of higher education may be sounding, and any -day poor Bengal may learn from a rude Notification in the _Gazette_ that -her hope of progress has been shattered by the blasting pen of the -caitiff Church. We will not mince matters, nor hesitate to proclaim to -the housetops that the author of this dastardly action is but a poor -stick. Doubtless he will say that the College grants are wanted for this -or for that; but full well the people of this province know it is to -swell the fat pay of boot-licking English officials that they are -wanted. A wink is as good as a nod to a blind horse, and any excuse will -serve when an autocrat without fear of God or man sits upon the _gaddi_. -Many are the pitiable cases of hardship that will now come to view. One -amongst thousands will serve. Known to the writer is a family man, and a -large one. He has been blessed with seven sons, all below the age of -nine. Up to the present he has been joyous as a lark and playful as a -kitten, trusting in the goodness of Government to provide the nutrition -of their minds and livelihoods. Now he is beating his breast, for his -treasures will be worse than orphans. How true are the words of the -poet— - - “‘Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, - Tenets with books, and principles with times!’ - -Again and yet again have we exposed the hollow, heartless and vicious -policy of the acting Lieutenant-Governor, but, alas! without result. - - “‘Destroy his fib or sophistry—in vain; - The creature’s at his dirty work again!’ - -But will this province sit tamely down under its brow-beating? A -thousand times no! We will appeal to the justice, to the mercy of -England, through our noble friends in Parliament, and the lash will yet -fall like a scorpion upon the shrinking hide of the coward who would -filch the people from their rights.’” - -Tarachand stopped to cough, and his round liquid eyeballs, as he turned -them upon Mohendra, stood out of their creamy whites with enthusiasm. -“One word,” he cried, as soon as he had breath: “you are the Ma_cau_lay -of Bengal! No less. The Ma_cau_lay of Bengal!” - -(John Church, when he read Mohendra’s article next day, laughed, but -uneasily. He knew that in all Bengal there is no such thing as a sense -of humour.) - -“My own feeble pen,” Tarachand went on deprecatingly, “has been busy at -this thing for the to-morrow’s issue. I also have been saying some -worthless remark, perhaps not altogether beyond the point,” and the -corrected proof went across the table to Mohendra. While he glanced -through it Tarachand watched him eagerly, reflecting every shade of -expression that passed over the other man’s face. When Mohendra smiled -Tarachand laughed out with delight, when Mohendra looked grave -Tarachand’s countenance was sunk in melancholy. - -“‘Have the hearts of the people of India turned to water that any son of -English mud may ride over their prostrate forms?’” - -he read aloud in Bengali. “That is well said. - -“‘Too often the leaders of the people have waited on the -Lieutenant-Governor to explain desirable matters, but the counsel of -grey hairs has not been respected. Three Vedas, and the fourth a cudgel! -The descendants of monkeys have forgotten that once before they played -too many tricks. The white dogs want another lesson.’ - -“A-ha!” Mohendra paused to comment, smiling. “Very good talk. But it is -necessary also to be a little careful. After that—it is my advice—you -say how Bengalis are loyal before everything.” - -The editor of the _Word of Truth_ slowly shook his head, showing, in his -contemptuous amusement, a row of glittering teeth stained with the red -of the betel. “No harm can come,” he said. “They dare not muzzle thee -press.” The phrase was pat and familiar. “When the loin-cloth burns one -must speak out. I am a poor man, and I have sons. Where is their rice to -come from? Am I a man without shame, that I should let the Sirkar turn -them into carpenters?” In his excitement Tarachand had dropped into his -own tongue. - -“‘Education to Bengalis is as dear as religion. They have fought for -religion, they may well fight for education. Let the game go on; let -European officials grow fat on our taxes; let the wantons, their women, -dance in the arms of men, and look into their faces with impudence, at -the _tamashos_ of the Burra Lât as before. But if the Sirkar robs the -poor Bengali of his education let him beware. He will become without -wings or feathers, while Shiva will protect the helpless and those with -a just complaint.’ - -“Without doubt that will make a _sen_sation,” Mohendra said, handing -back the proof. “With_out_ doubt! You can have much more the courage of -your opinion in the vernacular. English—that iss a_noth_er thing. I -wrote myséêlf, last week, some issmall criticism on the Chairman of the -Municipality, maybe half a column—about that new drain in Colootollah -which we must put our hand in our pocket. Yesterda-ay I met the Chairman -on the Red Road, and he takes no notiss off my face! That was _not_ -pleasant. To-day I am writing on issecond thoughts we cannot live -without drainage, and I will send him marked copy. But in that way it -iss troublesome, the English.” - -“These Europeans they have no eye-shame. They are entirely made of wood. -But I think this Notification will be a nice kettle of fish! Has the -Committee got isspeakers for the mass meeting on the Maidan?” - -Mohendra nodded complacently. “Already it is being arranged. For a month -I have known every word spoken by His Honour on this thing. I have the -_best_ information. Every week I am watching the _Gazette_. The morning -of publication _ekdum_[B] goes telegram to our good friend in -Parliament. Agitation in England, agitation in India! Either will come -another Royal Commission to upset the thing, or the Lieutenant-Governor -is forced to _re_tire.” - ------ - -Footnote B: - - In one breath. - ------ - -Mohendra’s nods became oracular. Then his expression grew seriously -regretful. “Myséêlf I hope they will—what iss it in English?—_w’itewass_ -him with a commission. It goes against me to see disgrace on a high -official. It is _not_ pleasant. He means well—he _means_ well. And at -heart he is a very good fellow—personally I have had much agreeable -conversation with him. Always he has asked me to his garden-parties.” - -“He has set fire to his own beard, brother,” said the editor of the -_Word of Truth_ in the vernacular, spitting. - -“Very true—oh, very true! And all the more we must attack him because I -see the reptile English press, in Calcutta, in Bombay, in Allahabad, -they are upholding this dacoity. That iss the only word—dacoity.” -Mohendra rose. “And we two have both off us the best occasion to fight,” -he added beamingly, as he took his departure, “for did we not graduate -hand in hand that same year out off Calcutta University?” - - * * * * * - -“God knows, Ancram, I believe it is the right thing to do!” - -John Church had reached his difficult moment—the moment he had learned -to dread. It lay in wait for him always at the end of unbaffled -investigation, of hard-fast steering by principle, of determined -preliminary action of every kind—the actual executive moment. Neither -the impulse of his enthusiasm nor the force of his energy ever sufficed -to carry him over it comfortably; rather, at this point, they ebbed -back, leaving him stranded upon his responsibility, which invariably at -once assumed the character of a quicksand. He was never defeated by -himself at these junctures, but he hated them. He turned out from -himself then, consciously seeking support and reinforcement, to which at -other times he was indifferent; and it was in a crisis of desire for -encouragement that he permitted himself to say to Lewis Ancram that God -knew he believed the College Grants Notification was the right thing to -do. He had asked Ancram to wait after the Council meeting was over very -much for this purpose. - -“Yes, sir,” the Chief Secretary replied; “if I may be permitted to say -so, it is the most conscientious piece of legislation of recent years.” - -The Lieutenant-Governor looked anxiously at Ancram from under his bushy -eyebrows, and then back again at the Notification. It lay in broad -margined paragraphs of beautiful round baboo’s handwriting, covering a -dozen pages of foolscap, before him on the table. It waited only for his -ultimate decision to go to the Government Printing Office and appear in -the _Gazette_ and be law to Bengal. Already he had approved each -separate paragraph. His Chief Secretary had never turned out a better -piece of work. - -“To say precisely what is in my mind, Ancram,” Church returned, -beginning to pace the empty chamber, “I have sometimes thought that you -were not wholly with me in this matter.” - -“I will not disguise from you, sir”—Ancram spoke with candid -emphasis—“that I think it’s a risky thing to do, a—deuced risky thing.” -His Honour was known to dislike strong language. “But as to the -principle involved there can be no two opinions.” - -His Honour’s gaunt shadow passed and repassed against the oblong patch -of westering February sunlight that lightened the opposite wall before -he replied. - -“I am prepared for an outcry,” he said slowly at last. “I think I can -honestly say that I am concerned only with the principle—with the -possible harm, and the probable good.” - -Ancram felt a rising irritation. He reflected that if His Honour had -chosen to take him into confidence earlier, he—Mr. Ancram—might have -been saved a considerable amount of moral unpleasantness. By taking him -into confidence now the Lieutenant-Governor merely added to it -appreciably and, Ancram pointed out to himself, undeservedly. He played -with his watch-chain for distraction, and looked speculatively at the -Notification, and said that one thing was certain, they could depend -upon His Excellency if it came to any nonsense with the Secretary of -State. “Scansleigh is loyal to his very marrow. He’ll stand by us, -whatever happens.” No one admired the distinguishing characteristic of -the Viceroy of India more than the Chief Secretary of the Government of -Bengal. - -“Scansleigh sees it as I do,” Church returned; “and I see it plainly. At -least I have not spared myself—nor any one else,” he added, with a smile -of admission which was at the moment pathetic, “in working the thing up. -My action has no bearing that I have not carefully examined. Nothing can -result from it that I do not expect—at least approximately—to happen.” - -Ancram almost imperceptibly raised his eyebrows. The gesture, with its -suggestion of dramatic superiority, was irresistible to him; he would -have made it if Church had been looking at him; but the eyes of the -Lieutenant-Governor were fixed upon the sauntering multitude in the -street below. He turned from the window, and went on with a kind of -passion. - -“I tell you, Ancram, I feel my responsibility in this thing, and I will -not carry it any longer in the shape of a curse to my country. I don’t -speak of the irretrievable mischief that is being done by the wholesale -creation of a clerkly class for whom there is no work, or of the danger -of putting that sharpest tool of modern progress—higher education—into -hands that can only use it to destroy. When we have helped these people -to shatter all their old notions of reverence and submission and -self-abnegation and piety, and given them, for such ideals as their -fathers had, the scepticism and materialism of the West, I don’t know -that we shall have accomplished much to our credit. But let that pass. -The ultimate consideration is this: You know and I know where the money -comes from—the three lakhs and seventy-five thousand rupees—that goes -every year to make B.A.s of Calcutta University. It’s a commonplace to -say that it is sweated in annas and pice out of the cultivators of the -villages—poor devils who live and breed and rot in pest-stricken holes -we can’t afford to drain for them, who wear one rag the year through and -die of famine when the rice harvest fails! The ryot pays, that the -money-lender who screws him and the landowner who bullies him may give -their sons a cheap European education.” - -“The wonder is,” Ancram replied, “that it has not been acknowledged a -beastly shame long ago. The vested interest has never been very strong.” - -“Ah well,” Church said more cheerfully, “we have provided for the vested -interest; and my technical schools will, I hope, go some little way -toward providing for the cultivators. At all events they will teach him -to get more out of his fields. It’s a tremendous problem, that,” he -added, refolding the pages with a last glance, and slipping them into -their cover: “the ratio at which population is increasing out here and -the limited resources of the soil.” - -He had reassumed the slightly pedantic manner that was characteristic of -him; he was again dependent upon himself, and resolved. - -“Send it off at once, will you?” he said; and Ancram gave the packet to -a waiting messenger. “A weighty business off my mind,” he added, with a -sigh of relief. “Upon my word, Ancram, I am surprised to find you so -completely in accord with me. I fancied you would have objections to -make at the last moment, and that I should have to convince you. I -rather wanted to convince somebody. But I am very pleased indeed to be -disappointed!” - -“It is a piece of work which has my sincerest admiration, sir,” Ancram -answered; and as the two men descended the staircases from the Bengal -Council Chamber to the street, the Lieutenant-Governor’s hand rested -upon the arm of his Chief Secretary in a way that was almost -affectionate. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -Three days later the Notification appeared. John Church sat tensely -through the morning, unconsciously preparing himself for -emergencies—deputations, petitions, mobs. None of these occurred. The -day wore itself out in the usual routine, and in the evening His Honour -was somewhat surprised to meet at dinner a member of the Viceroy’s -Council who was not aware that anything had been done. He turned with -some eagerness next morning to the fourth page of his newspaper, and -found its leading article illuminating the subject of an archæological -discovery in Orissa, made some nine months previously. The -Lieutenant-Governor was an energetic person, and did not understand the -temper of Bengal. He had published a Notification subversive of the -educational policy of the Government for sixty years, and he expected -this proceeding to excite immediate attention. He gave it an importance -almost equal to that of the Derby Sweepstakes. This, however, was in -some degree excusable, considering the short time he had spent in -Calcutta and the persevering neglect he had shown in observing the tone -of society. - -Even the telegram to the sympathetic Member of Parliament failed of -immediate transmission. Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty wrote it out with -emotion; then he paused, remembering that the cost of telegrams paid for -by enthusiastic private persons was not easily recoverable from -committees. Mohendra was a solid man, but there were funds for this -purpose. He decided that he was not justified in speeding the nation’s -cry for succour at his own expense; so he submitted the telegram to the -committee, which met at the end of the week. The committee asked -Mohendra to cut it down and let them see it again. In the end it arrived -at Westminster almost as soon as the mail. Mohendra, besides, had his -hands and his paper full, at the moment, with an impassioned attack upon -an impulsive judge of the High Court who had shot a bullock with its -back broken. As to the _Word of Truth_, Tarachand Mookerjee was -celebrating his daughter’s wedding, at the time the Notification was -published, with tom-toms and sweetmeats and a very expensive nautch, and -for three days the paper did not appear at all. - -The week lengthened out, and the Lieutenant-Governor’s anxiety grew -palpably less. His confidence had returned to such a degree that when -the officers of the Education Department absented themselves in a body -from the first of his succeeding entertainments he was seriously -disturbed. “It’s childish,” he said to Judith. “By my arrangement not a -professor among them will lose a pice either in pay or pension. If the -people are anxious enough for higher education to pay twice as much for -it as they do now these fellows will go on with their lectures. If not, -we’ll turn them into inspectors, or superintendents of the technical -schools.” - -“I can understand a certain soreness on the subject of their dignity,” -his wife suggested. - -Church frowned impatiently. “People might think less of their dignity in -this country and more of their duty, with advantage,” he said, and she -understood that the discussion was closed. - -The delay irritated Ancram, who was a man of action. He told other -people that he feared it was only the ominous lull before the storm, and -assured himself that no man could hurry Bengal. Nevertheless, the terms -in which he advised Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty, who came to see him every -Sunday afternoon, were successful to the point of making that Aryan -drive rather faster on his way back to the _Bengal Free Press_ office. -At the end of a fortnight Mr. Ancram was able to point to the -verification of his prophecy; it had been the lull before the storm, -which developed, two days later, in the columns of the native press, -into a tornado. - -“I tell you,” said he, “you might as well petition Sri Krishna as the -Viceroy,” when Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty reverted to this method of -obtaining redress. Mohendra, who was a Hindoo of orthodoxy, may well -have found this flippant, but he only smiled, and assented, and went -away and signed the petition. He yielded to the natural necessity of the -pathetic temperament of his countrymen—even when they were university -graduates and political agitators—to implore before they did anything -else. An appeal was distilled and forwarded. The Viceroy promptly -indicated the nature of his opinions by refusing to receive this -document unless it reached him through the proper channel—which was the -Bengal Government. The prayer of humility then became a shriek of -defiance, a transition accomplished with remarkable rapidity in Bengal. -In one night Calcutta flowered mysteriously into coloured cartoons, -depicting the Lieutenant-Governor in the prisoner’s dock, charged by the -Secretary of State, on the bench, with the theft of bags of gold marked -“College Grants”; while the Director of Education, weeping bitterly, -gave evidence against him. The Lieutenant-Governor was represented in a -green frock-coat and the Secretary of State in a coronet, which made -society laugh, and started a wave of interest in the College Grants -Notification. John Church saw it in people’s faces at his garden -parties, and it added to the discomfort with which he read -advertisements of various mass meetings, in protest, to be held -throughout the province, and noticed among the speakers invariably the -unaccustomed names of the Rev. Professor Porter of the Exeter Hall -Institute, the Rev. Dr. MacInnes of the Caledonian Mission, and Father -Ambrose, who ruled St. Dominic’s College, and who certainly insisted, as -part of _his_ curriculum, upon the lives of the Saints. - -The afternoon of the first mass meeting in Calcutta closed into the -evening of the last ball of the season at Government House. A petty -royalty from Southern Europe, doing the grand tour, had trailed his -clouds of glory rather indolently late into Calcutta; and, as society -anxiously emphasized, there was practically only a single date available -before Lent for a dance in his honour. When it was understood that Their -Excellencies would avail themselves of this somewhat contracted -opportunity, society beamed upon itself, and said it knew they -would—they were the essence of hospitality. - -There are three square miles of the green Maidan, round which Calcutta -sits in a stucco semi-circle, and past which her brown river runs to the -sea. Fifteen thousand people, therefore, gathered in one corner of it, -made a somewhat unusually large patch of white upon the grass, but were -not otherwise impressive, and in no wise threatening. Society, which had -forgotten about the mass meeting, put up its eye-glass, driving on the -Red Road, and said that there was evidently something “going -on”—probably a football team of Tommies from the Fort playing the town. -Only two or three elderly officials, taking the evening freshness in -solitary walks, looked with anxious irritation at the densely-packed -mass; and Judith Church, driving home through the smoky yellow twilight, -understood the meaning of the cheers the south wind softened and -scattered abroad. They brought her a stricture of the heart with the -thought of John Church’s devotion to these people. Ingrates, she named -them to herself, with compressed lips—ingrates, traitors, hounds! Her -eyes filled with the impotent tears of a woman’s pitiful indignation; -her heart throbbed with a pang of new recognition of her husband’s -worth, and of tenderness for it, and of unrecognised pain beneath that -even this could not constitute him her hero and master. She asked -herself bitterly—I fear her politics were not progressive—what the -people in England meant by encouraging open and ignorant sedition in -India, and whole passages came eloquently into her mind of the speech -she would make in Parliament if she were but a man and a member. They -brought her some comfort, but she dismissed them presently to reflect -seriously whether something might not be done. She looked courageously -at the possibility of imprisoning Dr. MacInnes. Then she too thought of -the ball, and subsided upon the determination of consulting Lewis -Ancram, at the ball, upon this point. She drew a distinct ethical -satisfaction from her intention. It seemed in the nature of a -justification for the quickly pulsating pleasure with which she looked -forward to the evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -Gentlemen native to Bengal are not usually invited to balls at -Government House. It is unnecessary to speak of the ladies: they are -non-existent to the social eye, even if it belongs to a Viceroy. The -reason is popularly supposed to be the inability of gentlemen native to -Bengal to understand the waltz, except by Aryan analysis. It is thought -well to circumscribe their opportunities of explaining it thus, and they -are asked instead to evening parties which offer nothing more -stimulating to the imagination than conversation and champagne—of -neither of which they partake. On this occasion however, at the entreaty -of the visiting royalty, the rule was relaxed to admit perhaps fifty; -and when Lewis Ancram arrived—rather late—the first personality he -recognised as in any way significant was that of Mohendra Lal -Chuckerbutty, who leaned against a pillar, with his hands clasped behind -him, raptly contemplating a polka. Mohendra, too, had an appreciation of -personalities, and of his respectful duty to them. He bore down in -Ancram’s direction unswervingly through the throng, his eye humid with -happiness, his hand held out in an impulse of affection. When he thought -he had arrived at the Chief Secretary’s elbow he looked about him in -some astonishment. A couple of subalterns in red jackets disputed with -mock violence over the dance-card of a little girl in white, and a much -larger lady was waiting with imposing patience until he should be -pleased to get off her train. At the same moment an extremely correct -black back glanced through the palms into the verandah. - -The verandah was very broad and high, and softly lighted in a way that -made vague glooms visible and yet gave a gentle radiance to the sweep of -pale-tinted drapery that here and there suggested a lady sunk in the -depths of a roomy arm-chair, playing with her fan and talking in -undertones. It was a place of delicious mystery, in spite of the strains -of the orchestra that throbbed out from the ball-room, in spite of the -secluded fans opening and closing in some commonplace of Calcutta -flirtation. The mystery came in from without, where the stars crowded -down thick and luminous behind the palms, and a grey mist hung low in -the garden beneath, turning it into a fantasy of shadowed forms and -filmy backgrounds and new significances. Out there, in the wide spaces -beyond the tall verandah pillars, the spirit of the spring was -abroad—the troubled, throbbing, solicitous Indian spring, perfumed and -tender. The air was warm and sweet and clinging; it made life a -pathetic, enjoyable necessity, and love a luxury of much refinement. - -Ancram folded his arms and stood in the doorway and permitted himself to -feel these things. If he was not actually looking for Judith Church, it -was because he was always, so to speak, anticipating her; in a state of -readiness to receive the impression of her face, the music of her voice. -Mrs. Church was the reason of the occasion, the reason of every occasion -in so far as it concerned him. She seemed simply the corollary of his -perception of the exquisite night when he discovered her presently, on -one of the more conspicuous sofas, talking to Sir Peter Bloomsbury. She -was waiting for him to find her, with a little flickering smile that -came in the pauses between Sir Peter’s remarks; and when Ancram -approached he noticed, with as keen a pleasure as he was capable of -feeling, that her replies to this dignitary were made somewhat at -random. - -Their conversation changed when Sir Peter went away only to take its -note of intimacy and its privilege of pauses. They continued to speak of -trivial matters, and to talk in tones and in things they left unsaid. -His eyes lingered in the soft depths of hers to ascertain whether the -roses were doing well this year at Belvedere, and there was a conscious -happiness in the words with which she told him that they were quite -beyond her expectations not wholly explicable even by so idyllic a fact. -The content of their neigbourhood surrounded them like an atmosphere, -beyond which people moved about irrationally and a string band played -unmeaning selections much too loud. She was lovelier than he had ever -seen her, more his possession than he had ever felt her—the incarnation, -as she bent her graceful head towards him, of the eloquent tropical -night and the dreaming tropical spring. He told himself afterwards that -he felt at this moment an actual pang of longing, and rejoiced that he -could still experience an undergraduate’s sensation after so many years -of pleasures that were but aridly intellectual at their best. Certainly, -as he sat there in his irreproachable clothes and attitude, he knew that -his blood was beating warm to his finger-tips with a delicious impulse -to force the sweet secret of the situation between them. The south wind -suggested to him, through the scent of breaking buds, that prudence was -entirely a relative thing, and not even relative to a night like this -and a woman like that. As he looked at a tendril of her hair, blown -against the warm whiteness of her neck, it occurred to the Honourable -Mr. Ancram that he might go a little further. He felt divinely rash; but -his intention was to go only a little further. Hitherto he had gone no -distance at all. - -The south wind drove them along together. Judith felt it on her neck and -arms, and in little, cool, soft touches about her face. She did not -pause to question the happiness it brought her: there were other times -for pauses and questions; her eyes were ringed with them, under the -powder. She abandoned herself to her woman’s divine sense of ministry; -and the man she loved observed that she did it with a certain inimitable -poise, born of her confidence in him, which was as new as it was -entrancing. - -People began to flock downstairs to supper in the wake of the Viceroy -and the visiting royalty; the verandah emptied itself. Presently they -became aware that they were alone. - -“You have dropped your fan,” Ancram said, and picked it up. He looked at -its device for a moment, and then restored it. Judith’s hands were lying -in her lap, and he slipped the fan into one of them, letting his own -rest for a perceptible instant in the warm palm of the other. There -ensued a tumultuous silence. He had only underscored a glance of hers; -yet it seemed that he had created something—something as formidable as -lovely, as embarrassing as divine. As he gently withdrew his hand she -lifted her eyes to his with mute entreaty, and he saw that they were -full of tears. He told himself afterwards that he had been profoundly -moved; but this did not interfere with his realisation that it was an -exquisite moment. - -Ancram regarded her gravely, with a smile of much consideration. He gave -her a moment of time, and then, as she did not look up again, he leaned -forward, and said, quite naturally and evenly, as if the proposition -were entirely legitimate: “The relation between us is too tacit. Tell me -that you love me, dear.” - -For an instant he repented, since it seemed that she would be carried -along on the sweet tide of his words to the brink of an indiscretion. -Once more she looked up, softly seeking his eyes; and in hers he saw so -lovely a light of self-surrender that he involuntarily thanked Heaven -that there was no one else to recognise it. In her face was nothing but -the thought of him; and, seeing this, he had a swift desire to take her -in his arms and experience at its fullest and sweetest the sense that -she and her little empire were gladly lost there. In the pause of her -mute confession he felt the strongest exultation he had known. Her -glance reached him like a cry from an unexplored country; the revelation -of her love filled him with the knowledge that she was infinitely more -adorable and more desirable than he had thought her. From that moment -she realised to him a supreme good, and he never afterwards thought of -his other ambitions without a smile of contempt which was almost -genuine. But she said nothing: she seemed removed from any necessity of -speech, lifted up on a wave of absolute joy, and isolated from all that -lay either behind or before. He controlled his impatience for words from -her—for he was very sure of one thing; that when they came they would be -kind—and chose his own with taste. - -“Don’t you think that it would be better if we had the courage and the -candour to accept things as they are? Don’t you think we would be -stronger for all that we must face if we acknowledged—only to each -other—the pain and the sweetness of it?” - -“I have never been blind,” she said softly. - -“All I ask is that you will not even pretend to be. Is that too much?” - -“How can it be a question of that?” Her voice trembled a little. Then -she hurried illogically on: “But there can be no change—there must be no -change. These are things I hoped you would never say.” - -“The alternative is too wretched: to go on living a lie—and a stupid, -unnecessary lie. Why, in Heaven’s name, should there be the figment of -hypocrisy between us? I know that I must be content with very little, -but I am afraid there is no way of telling you how much I want that -little.” - -She had grown very pale, and she put up her hand and smoothed her hair -with a helpless, mechanical gesture. - -“No, no,” she said—“stop. Let us make an end of it quickly. I was very -well content to go on with the lie. I think I should always have been -content. But now there is no lie: there is nothing to stand upon any -longer. You must get leave, or something, and go away—or I will. I am -not—really—very well.” - -She looked at him miserably, with twitching lips, and he laid a soothing -hand—there was still no one to see—upon her arm. - -“Judith, don’t talk of impossibilities. How could we two live in one -world—and apart! Those are the heroics of a dear little schoolgirl. You -and I are older, and braver.” - -She put his hand away with a touch that was a caress, but only said -irrelevantly, “And Rhoda Daye might have loved you honestly!” - -“Ah, that threadbare old story!” He felt as if she had struck him, and -the feeling impelled him to ask her why she thought he deserved -punishment. “Not that it hurts,” Mr. Ancram added, almost resentfully. - -She gave him a look of vague surprise, and then lapsed, refusing to make -the effort to understand, into the troubled depths of her own thought. - -“Be a little kind, Judith. I only want a word.” - -The south wind brought them a sound out of the darkness—the high, faint, -long-drawn sound of a cheer from the Maidan. She lifted her head and -listened intently, with apprehensive eyes. Then she rose unsteadily from -her seat, and, as he gave her his arm in silence, she stood for a moment -gathering up her strength, and waiting, it seemed, for the sound to come -again. Nothing reached them but the wilder, nearer wail of the jackals -in the streets. - -“I must go home,” she said, in a voice that was quite steady; “I must -find my husband and go home.” - -He would have held her back, but she walked resolutely, if somewhat -purposelessly, round the long curve of the verandah, and stood still, -looking at the light that streamed out of the ballroom and glistened on -the leaves of a range of palms and crotons in pots that made a seclusion -there. - -“Then,” said Ancram, “I am to go on with the forlorn comfort of a guess. -I ought to be thankful, I suppose, that you can’t take that from me. -Perhaps you would,” he added bitterly, “if you could know how precious -it is.” - -His words seemed to fix her in a half-formed resolve. Her hand slipped -out of his arm, and she took a step away from him toward the crotons. -Against their dark green leaves he saw, with some alarm, how white her -face was. - -“Listen,” she said: “I think you do not realise it, but I know you are -hard and cruel. You ask me if I am not to you what I ought to be to my -husband, who is a good man, and who loves me, and trusts you. And, what -is worse, this has come up between us at a time when he is threatened -and troubled: on the very night when I meant—when I meant”—she stopped -to conquer the sob in her throat—“to have asked you to think of -something that might be done to help him. Well, but you ask me if I have -come to love you, and perhaps in a way you have a right to know; and the -truth is better, as you say. And I answer you that I have. I answer you -yes, it is true, and I know it will always be true. But from to-night -you will remember that every time I look into your face and touch your -hand I hurt my own honour and my husband’s, and—and you will not let me -see you often.” - -As Ancram opened his lips to speak, the cheer from the Maidan smote the -air again, and this time it seemed nearer. Judith took his arm -nervously. - -“What can they be doing out there?” she exclaimed. “Let us go—I must -find my husband—let us go!” - -They crossed the threshold into the ballroom, where John Church joined -them almost immediately, his black brows lightened by an unusually -cheerful expression. - -“I’ve been having a long talk with His Excellency,” he said to them -jointly. “An uncommonly capable fellow, Scansleigh. He tells me he has -written a strong private letter to the Secretary of State about this -Notification of mine. That’s bound to have weight, you know, in case -they make an attempt to get hold of Parliament at home.” - -As Mrs. Church and Mr. Lewis Ancram left the verandah a chair was -suddenly pushed back behind the crotons. Miss Rhoda Daye had been -sitting in the chair, alone too, with the south wind and the stars. She -had no warning of what she was about to overhear—no sound had reached -her, either of their talk or their approach—and in a somewhat agitated -colloquy with herself she decided that nothing could be so terrible as -her personal interruption of what Mrs. Church was saying. That lady’s -words, though low and rapid, were very distinct, and Rhoda heard them -out involuntarily, with a strong disposition to applaud her and to love -her. Then she turned a key upon her emotions and Judith Church’s secret, -and slipped quietly out to look for her mother, who asked her, between -her acceptance of an ice from the Home Secretary and a _petit four_ from -the General Commanding the Division, why on earth she looked so -depressed. - -[Illustration: “What do I know about the speech!”] - -Ancram, turning away from the Churches, almost ran into the arms of -Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty, with whom he shook hands. His manner -expressed, combined with all the good will in the world, a slight -embarrassment that he could not remember Mohendra’s name, which is so -often to be noticed when European officials have occasion to greet -natives of distinction—natives of distinction are so very numerous and -so very similar. - -“I hope you are well!” beamed the editor of the _Bengal Free Press_. “It -is a very select party.” Then Mohendra dropped his voice confidentially: -“We have sent to England, by to-day’s mail, every word of the isspeech -of Dr. MacInnes——” - -“Damn you!” Ancram said, with a respectful, considering air: “what do I -know about the speech of Dr. MacInnes! _Jehannum jao!_”[C] - ------ - -Footnote C: - - “Go to Hades!” - ------ - -Mohendra laughed in happy acquiescence as the Chief Secretary bowed and -left him. “Certainlie! certainlie!” he said; “it is a very select -party!” - -The evening had one more incident. Mr. and Mrs. Church made their -retreat early: Judith’s face offered an excuse of fatigue which was -better than her words. Their carriage turned out of Circular Road with a -thickening crowd of natives talking noisily and walking in the same -direction. They caught up with a glare and the smell and smoke of -burning pitch. Judith said uneasily that there seemed to be a bonfire in -the middle of the road. They drew a little nearer, and the crowd massed -around them before and behind, on the bridge leading to Belvedere out of -the city. Then John Church perceived that the light streamed from a -burning figure which flamed and danced grotesquely, wired to a pole -attached to a bullock cart and pulled along by coolies. The absorbed -crowd that walked behind, watching and enjoying like excited children at -a show, chattered defective English, and the light from the burning -thing on the pole streamed upon faces already to some extent illumined -by the higher culture of the University Colleges. But it was not until -they recognised his carriage and outriders, and tried to hurry and to -scatter on the narrow bridge, that the Acting Lieutenant-Governor of -Bengal fully realised that he had been for some distance swelling a -procession which was entertaining itself with much gusto at the expense -of his own effigy. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -When it became obvious that the College Grants Notification held fateful -possibilities for John Church personally, and for his wife incidentally, -it rapidly developed into a topic. Ladies, in the course of midday -visits in each other’s cool drawing-rooms, repeated things their -husbands had let fall at dinner the night before, and said they were -awfully sorry for Mrs. Church; it must be too trying for her, poor -thing. If it were only on _her_ account, some of them thought, the -Lieutenant-Governor—the “L.G.,” they called him—ought to let things go -on as they always had. What difference did it make anyway! At the clubs -the matter superseded, for the moment, the case of an army chaplain -accused of improper conduct at Singapore, and bets were freely laid on -the issue—three to one that Church would be “smashed.” If this attitude -seemed less sympathetic than that of the ladies, it betokened at least -no hostility. On the contrary, no small degree of appreciation was -current for His Honour. He would not have heard the matter discussed -often from his own point of view, but that was because his own point of -view was very much his own property. He might have heard himself -commended from a good many others, however, and especially on the ground -of his pluck. Men said between their cigars that very few fellows would -care to put their hands to such a piece of _zubberdusti_[D] at this end -of the century, however much it was wanted. Personally they hoped the -beggar would get it through, and with equal solicitude they proceeded to -bet that he wouldn’t. Among the sentiments the beggar evoked, perhaps -the liveliest was one of gratitude for so undeniable a sensation so near -the end of the cold weather, when sensations were apt to take flight, -with other agreeable things, to the hill stations. - ------ - -Footnote D: - - “High-handed proceeding.” - ------ - -The storm reached a point when the Bishop felt compelled to put forth an -allaying hand from the pulpit of the Cathedral. As the head of the -Indian Establishment the Bishop felt himself allied in no common way -with the governing power, and His Lordship was known to hold strong -views on the propriety with which lawn sleeves might wave above -questions of public importance. Besides, neither Dr. MacInnes nor -Professor Porter were lecturing on the binomial theorem under -Established guidance, while as to Father Ambrose, he positively invited -criticism, with his lives of the Saints. When, therefore, the Cathedral -congregation heard his Lordship begin his sermon with the sonorous -announcement from Ecclesiastes, - -“_For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge - increaseth sorrow. He—that increaseth—knowledge—increaseth—sorrow_,” - -it listened, with awakened interest, for a snub to Dr. MacInnes and -Professor Porter, and for a rebuke, full of dignity and austerity, to -Father Ambrose; both of which were duly administered. His Lordship’s -views, supported by the original Preacher, were doubtless more valuable -in his sermon than they would be here, but it is due to him to say that -they formed the happiest combination of fealty and doctrine. The -Honourable Mr. Ancram said to Sir William Scott on the Cathedral steps -after the service—it was like the exit of a London theatre, with people -waiting for their carriages—that while his Lordship’s reference was very -proper and could hardly fail to be of use, public matters looked serious -when they came to be discussed in the pulpit. To which Sir William gave -a deprecating agreement. - -Returning to his somewhat oppressively lonely quarters, Ancram felt the -need of further conversation. The Bishop had stirred him to vigorous -dissent, which his Lordship’s advantage of situation made peculiarly -irritating to so skilled an observer of weak points. He bethought -himself that he might write to Philip Doyle. He remembered that Doyle -had not answered the letter in which he had written of his changed -domestic future, frankly asking for congratulation rather than for -condolence; but without resentment, for why should a man trouble himself -under Florentine skies with unnecessary Calcutta correspondents? He -consulted only his own pleasure in writing again: Doyle was so readily -appreciative, he would see the humour in the development of affairs with -His Honour. It was almost a week since Mr. Ancram had observed at the -ball, with acute annoyance, what an unreasonable effect the matter was -having upon Judith Church, and he was again himself able to see the -humour of it. He finally wrote with much facility a graphically -descriptive letter, in which the Bishop came in as a mere picturesque -detail at the end. He seemed to pick his way, as he turned the pages, -out of an embarrassing moral quagmire; he was so obviously high and dry -when he could fix the whole thing in a caricature of effective -paragraphs. He wrote:— - -/# “I don’t mind telling you privately that I have no respect whatever -for the scheme, and very little for the author of it. He reminds one of -nothing so #/ /# much as an elderly hen sitting, with the obstinacy of -her kind, on eggs out of which it is easy to see no addled reform will -ever step to crow. He is as blind as a bat to his own deficiencies. I -doubt whether even his downfall will convince him that his proper sphere -of usefulness in life was that of a Radical cobbler. He has a noble -preference for the ideal of an impeccable Indian administrator, which he -goes about contemplating, while his beard grows with the tale of his -blunders. The end, however, cannot be far off. Bengal is howling for his -retirement; and, notwithstanding a fulsome habit he has recently -developed of hanging upon my neck for sympathy, I own to you that, if -circumstances permitted, I would howl too.” #/ - -Ancram’s first letter had miscarried, a peon in the service of the -Sirkar having abstracted the stamps; and Philip Doyle, when he received -the second, was for the moment overwhelmed with inferences from his -correspondent’s silence regarding the marriage, which should have been -imminent when he wrote. Doyle glanced rapidly through another Calcutta -letter that arrived with Ancram’s for possible news; but the brief -sensation of Miss Daye’s broken engagement had expired long before it -was written, and it contained no reference to the affair. The theory of -a postponement suggested itself irresistibly; and he spent an absorbed -and motionless twenty minutes, sitting on the edge of his bed, while his -pipe went out in his hand, looking fixedly at the floor of his room in -the hotel, and engaged in constructing the tissue of circumstances which -would make such a thing likely. If he did not grow consciously -lighter-hearted with this occupation, at least he turned, at the end of -it, to re-peruse his letters, as if they had brought him good news. He -read them both carefully again, and opened the newspaper that came with -the second. It was a copy of the _Bengal Free Press_, and his friend of -the High Court had called his special attention to its leading article, -as the most caustic and effective attack upon the College Grants -Notification which had yet appeared. Mr. Justice Shears wrote:— - -/# “As you will see, there is abundant intrinsic evidence that no native -wrote it. My own idea, which I share with a good many people, is that it -came from the pen of the Director of Education, which is as facile as it -would very naturally be hostile. Let me know #/ /# what you think. -Ancram is non-committal, but he talks of Government’s prosecuting the -paper, which looks as if the article had already done harm.” #/ - -Doyle went through the editorial with interest that increased as his eye -travelled down the column. He smiled as he read; it was certainly a -telling and a forcible presentation of the case against His Honour’s -policy, adorned with gibes that were more damaging than its argument. -Suddenly he stopped, with a puzzled look, and read the last part of a -sentence once again:— - -/# “But he has a noble preference for the ideal of an impeccable Indian -administrator, which he goes about contemplating, while his beard grows -with the tale of his blunders.” #/ - -The light of a sudden revelation twinkled in Doyle’s eyes—a revelation -which showed the Chief Secretary to the Bengal Government led on by -vanity to forgetfulness. He reopened Ancram’s letter, and convinced -himself that the words were precisely those he had read there. For -further assurance, he glanced at the dates of the letter and the -newspaper: the one had been written two days before the other had been -printed. Presently he put them down, and instinctively rubbed his thumb -and the ends of his fingers together with the light, rapid movement with -which people assure themselves that they have touched nothing soiling. -He permitted himself no characterisation of the incident—lofty -denunciation was not part of Doyle’s habit of mind—beyond what might -have been expressed in the somewhat disgusted smile with which he -re-lighted his pipe. It was like him that his principal reflection had a -personal tinge, and that it was forcible enough to find words. “And I,” -he said, with a twinkle at his own expense, “lived nine months in the -same house with that skunk!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -Every day at ten o’clock the south wind came hotter and stronger up from -the sea. The sissoo trees on the Maidan trembled into delicate flower, -and their faint, fresh fragrance stood like a spell about them. The teak -pushed out its awkward rags, tawdry and foolish, but divinely green; and -here and there a tamarind by the roadside lifted its gracious head, like -a dream-tree in a billow of misty leaf. The days grew long and lovely; -the coolies going home at sunset across the burnt grass of the Maidan -joined hands and sang, with marigolds round their necks. The white-faced -aliens of Calcutta walked there too, but silently, for “exercise.” The -crows grew noisier than ever, for it was young crow time; the fever-bird -came and told people to put up their punkahs. The Viceroy and all that -were officially his departed to Simla, and great houses in Chowringhee -were to let. It was announced rather earlier than usual that His Honour -the Lieutenant-Governor would go “on tour,” which had no reference to -Southern Europe, but meant inspection duty in remote parts of the -province. Mrs. Church would accompany the Lieutenant-Governor. The local -papers, in making this known, said it was hoped that the change of air -would completely restore “one of Calcutta’s most brilliant and popular -hostesses,” whose health for the past fortnight had been regrettably -unsatisfactory. - -The Dayes went to Darjiling, and Dr. MacInnes to England. Dr. MacInnes’ -expenses to England, and those of Shib Chunder Bhose, who accompanied -him, were met out of a fund which had swelled astonishingly considering -that it was fed by Bengali sentiment—the fund established to defeat the -College Grants Notification. Dr. MacInnes went home, as one of the noble -band of Indian missionaries, to speak to the people of England, and to -explain to them how curiously the administrative mind in India became -perverted in its conceptions of the mother country’s duty to the heathen -masses who look to her for light and guidance. Dr. MacInnes was prepared -to say that the cause of Christian missions in India had been put back -fifty years by the ill-judged act, so fearful in its ultimate -consequences, of the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. Since that high -official could not be brought to consider his responsibility to his -Maker, he should be brought to consider his responsibility to the people -of England. Dr. MacInnes doubtless did not intend to imply that the -latter tribunal was the higher of the two, but he certainly produced the -impression that it was the more effective. - -Shib Chunder Bhose, in fluent and deferential language, heightened this -impression, which did no harm to the cause. Shib Chunder Bhose had been -found willing, in consideration of a second-class passage, to accompany -Dr. MacInnes in the character of a University graduate who was also a -Christian convert. Shib Chunder’s father had married a Mohamedan woman, -and so lost his caste, whereafter he embraced Christianity because -Father Ambrose’s predecessor had given him four annas every time he came -to catechism. Shib Chunder inherited the paternal religion, with -contumely added on the score of his mother, and, since he could make no -other pretension, figured in the College register as Christian. A young -man anxious to keep pace with the times, he had been a Buddhist since, -and afterwards professed his faith in the tenets of Theosophy; but -whenever he fell ill or lost money he returned irresistibly to the -procedure of his youth, and offered rice and marigolds to the Virgin -Mary. Dr. MacInnes therefore certainly had the facts on his side when he -affectionately referred to his young friend as living testimony to the -work of educational missions in India, living proof of the falsity of -the charge that the majority of mission colleges were mere secular -institutions. As his young friend wore a frock-coat and a humble smile, -and was able on occasion to weep like anything, the effect in the -provinces was tremendous. - -Dr. MacInnes gave himself to the work with a zeal which entirely merited -the commendation he received from his conscience. Sometimes he lectured -twice a day. He was always freely accessible to interviewers from the -religious press. He refrained, in talking to these gentlemen, from all -personal malediction of the Lieutenant-Governor—it was the sin he had to -do with, not the distinguished sinner—and thereby gained a widespread -reputation for unprejudiced views. Portraits of the reverend crusader -and Shib Chunder Bhose appeared on the posters which announced Dr. -MacInnes’ subject in large letters—“MISSIONS AND MAMMON. SHALL A -LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR ROB GOD?”—and in all the illustrated papers. The -matter arrived regularly with the joint at Hammersmith Sunday -dinner-tables. Finally the _Times_ gave it almost a parochial -importance, and solemnly, in two columns, with due respect for -constituted authority, came to no conclusion at all from every point of -view. - -The inevitable question was early asked in Parliament, and the -Under-Secretary of State said he would “inquire.” Further questions were -asked on different and increasingly urgent grounds, with the object of -reminding and hastening the Secretary of State. A popular Nonconformist -preacher told two thousand people in Exeter Hall that they and he could -no longer conscientiously vote to keep a Government in office that would -hesitate to demand the instant resignation of an official who had -brought such shame upon the name of England. Shortly afterwards one hon. -member made a departure in his attack upon Mr. John Church, which -completely held the attention of the House while it lasted. The effect -was unusual, to be achieved by this particular hon. member, and he did -it by reading aloud the whole of an extremely graphic and able article -criticising His Honour’s policy from the _Bengal Free Press_. - -“I put it to hon. members,” said he, weightily, in conclusion, “whether -any one of us, in our boasted superiority of intellect, has the right to -say that people who can thus express themselves do not know what they -want!” - -That evening, before he went to bed, Lord Strathell, Secretary of State -for India, in Eaton Square, London, wrote a note to Lord Scansleigh, -Viceroy and Governor-General of India, in Viceregal Lodge, Simla. The -note was written on Lady Strathell’s letter-paper, which was delicately -scented and bore a monogram and coronet. It was a very private and -friendly note, and it ran:— - -“DEAR SCANSLEIGH: I needn’t tell you how much I regret the necessity of -my accompanying official letter asking you to arrange Church’s -retirement. I can quite understand that it will be most distasteful to -you, as I know you have a high opinion of him, both personally and as an -administrator. But the Missionary Societies, etc., have got us into the -tightest possible place over his educational policy. Already several -Nonconformist altars—if there are such things—are crying out for the -libation of our blood. Somebody must be offered up. I had a Commission -suggested, and it was received with rage and scorn. Nothing will do but -Church’s removal from his present office—and the sooner the better. I -suppose we must find something else for him. - -“Again assuring you of my personal regret, believe me, dear Scansleigh, -yours cordially, - - ”STRATHELL. - -“P.S.—Thus Party doth make Pilates of us all.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -It was the first time in history that the town of Bhugsi had been -visited by a Lieutenant-Governor. Bhugsi was small, but it had a -reputation for malodorousness not to be surpassed by any municipality of -Eastern Bengal. Though Bhugsi was small it was full—full of men and -children and crones and monkeys, and dwarfed, lean-ribbed cattle, and -vultures of the vilest appetite. The town squatted round a tank, very -old, very slimy, very sacred. Bhugsi bathed in the tank and so secured -eternal happiness, drank from the tank and so secured it quickly. All -such abominations as are unnameable Bhugsi also preferred to commit in -the vicinity of the tank, and it was possibly for this reason that the -highest death-rate of the last “year under report” had been humbly -submitted by Bhugsi. - -Noting this achievement, John Church added Bhugsi to his inspection -list. The inspection list was already sufficiently long for the time at -his disposal, but Church had a way of economising his time that -contributed much to the discipline of provincial Bengal. He accomplished -this by train and boat and saddle; and his staff, with deep inward -objurgations, did its best to keep up. He pressed upon Judith the -advisability of a more leisurely progress by easier routes, with -occasional meeting-places, but found her quietly obstinate in her -determination to come with him. She declared herself the better for the -constant change and the stimulus of quick moves; and this he could -believe, for whenever they made a stay of more than forty-eight hours -anywhere it was always she who was most feverishly anxious to depart. -She filled her waking moments and dulled her pain in the natural way, -with actual physical exertion. While the servants looked on in -consternation she toiled instinctively over packings and unpackings, and -was glad of the weariness they brought her. She invented little new -devotions to her husband—these also soothed her—and became freshly -solicitous about his health, freshly thoughtful about his comfort. -Observing which, Church reflected tenderly on the unselfishness of -women, and said to his wife that he could not have her throwing herself, -this way, before the Juggernaut of his official progress. - -There were no Europeans at all at Bhugsi, so the Lieutenant-Governor’s -party put up at the dâk-bungalow, three miles outside the town. Peter -Robertson, the Commissioner of the Division, and the district officer, -who were in attendance upon His Honour, were in camp near by, as their -custom is. The dâk-bungalow had only three rooms, and this made the fact -that two of His Honour’s suite had been left at the last station with -fever less of a misfortune. By this time, indeed, the suite consisted of -Judith and the private secretary and the servants; but as John Church -said, getting into his saddle at six o’clock in the morning, there were -quite enough of them to terrify Bhugsi into certain reforms. - -He spent three hours inspecting the work of the native magistrate, and -came back to breakfast with his brows well set together over that -official’s amiable tolerance of a popular way of procuring confessions -among the police, which was by means of needles and the supposed -criminal’s finger-nails. It had been practised in Bhugsi, as the native -magistrate represented, for thousands of years, but it made John Church -angry. He ate with stern eyes upon the table-cloth, and when the meal -was over rode back to Bhugsi. There was only that one day, and beside -the all-important matter of the sanitation he had to look at the -schools, to inspect the gaol, to receive an address and to make a -speech. He reflected on the terms of the speech as he rode, improving -upon their salutary effect. He said to his private secretary, cantering -alongside, that he had never known it so hot in April—the air was like a -whip. It was borne in upon him once that if he could put down the burden -of his work and of his dignity and stretch himself out to sleep beside -the naked coolies who lay on their faces in the shadow of the pipal -trees by the roadside, it would be a pleasant thing, but this he did not -say to his private secretary. - -It was half-past five, and the bamboos were all alive with the evening -twitter of hidden sparrows, before the Lieutenant-Governor returned. For -an instant Judith, coming out at the sound of hoofs, failed to recognise -her husband, he looked, with a thick white powder of dust over his beard -and eyebrows, so old a man. He stooped in his saddle, too, and all the -gauntness of his face and figure had a deeper accent. - -“Put His Honour to bed, Mrs. Church,” cried the Commissioner, lifting -his hat as he rode on to camp. “He has done the work of six men to-day.” - -“You will be glad of some tea,” she said. - -He tumbled clumsily out of his saddle and leaned for a moment against -his animal’s shoulder. The mare put her head round whinnying, but when -Church searched in his pocket for her piece of sugar-cane and offered it -to her, she snuffed it and refused it. He dropped the sugar-cane into -the dust at her feet and told the syce to take her away. - -“If she will not eat her gram give me word of it,” he said. But she ate -her gram. - -“Will you change first, John?” Judith asked with her hand on his -coat-sleeve. “I think you should—you are wet through and through.” - -“Yes, I will change,” he said; but he dropped into the first chair he -saw. The chair stood on the verandah, and the evening breeze had already -begun to come up. He threw back his head and unfastened his damp collar -and felt its gratefulness. In the intimate neighbourhood of the -dâk-bungalow the private secretary could be heard splashing in his tub. - -“Poor Sparks!” said His Honour. “I’m afraid he has had a hard day of it. -Good fellow, Sparks, thoroughly good fellow. I hope he’ll get on. It’s -very disheartening work, this of ours in India,” he went on absently; -“one feels the depression of it always, more or less, but to-night——” He -paused and closed his eyes as if he were too weary to finish the -sentence. A servant appeared with a wicker table and another with a -tray. - -“A cup of tea,” said Judith cheerfully, “will often redeem the face of -nature”; but he waved it back. - -“I am too hungry for tea. Tell them to bring me a solid meal: cold -beef—no, make it hot—that game pie we had at breakfast—anything there -is, but as soon as possible. How refreshing this wind is!” - -“Go and change, John,” his wife urged. - -“Yes, I must, immediately: I shall be taking a chill.” As he half rose -from his chair he saw the postman, turbaned, barefooted, crossing the -grass from the road, and dropped back again. - -“Here is the dâk,” he said; “I must just have a look first.” - -Mrs. Church took her letters, and went into the house to give orders to -the butler. Five minutes afterwards she came back, to find her husband -sitting where she had left him, but upright in his chair and -mechanically stroking his beard, with his face set. He had grown paler, -if that was possible, but had lost every trace of lassitude. He had the -look of being face to face with a realised contingency which his wife -knew well. - -“News, John?” she asked nervously; “anything important?” - -“The most important—and the worst,” he answered steadily, without -looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and on his course of -action. - -“What do you mean, dear? What has happened? May I see?” - -For answer he handed her his private letter from Lord Scansleigh. She -opened it with shaking fingers, and read the first sentence or two -aloud. Then instinctively her voice stopped, and she finished it in -silence. The Viceroy had written:— - -“MY DEAR CHURCH: The accompanying official correspondence will show you -our position, when the mail left England, with the Secretary of State. I -fear that nothing has occurred in the meantime to improve it—in fact, -one or two telegrams seem rather to point the other way. I will not -waste your time and mine in idle regrets, if indeed they would be -justifiable, but write only to assure you heartily in private, as I do -formally in my official letter, that if we go we go together. I have -already telegraphed this to Strathell, and will let you know the -substance of his reply as soon as I receive it. I wish I could think -that the prospect of my own resignation is likely to deter them from -demanding yours, but I own to you that I expect our joint immolation -will not be too impressive a sacrifice for the British Public in this -connection. - -“With kind regards to Mrs. Church, in which my wife joins, - - “Believe me, dear Church, yours sincerely, - - “SCANSLEIGH.” - -They spoke for a few minutes of the Viceroy’s loyalty and consideration -and appreciation. She dwelt upon that with instinctive tact, and then -Church got up quickly. - -“I must write to Scansleigh at once,” he said. “I am afraid he is -determined about this, but I must write. There is a great deal to do. -When Sparks comes out send him to me.” Then he went over to her and -awkwardly kissed her. “You have taken it very well, Judith,” he -said—“better than any woman I know would have done.” - -She put a quick detaining hand upon his arm. “Oh, John, it is only for -your sake that I care at all. I—I am so tired of it. I should be only -too glad to go home with you, dear, and find some little place in the -country where we could live quietly——” - -“Yes, yes,” he said, hurrying away. “We can discuss that afterwards. -Don’t keep Sparks talking.” - -Sparks appeared presently, swinging an embossed silver cylinder half a -yard long. New washed and freshly clad in garments of clean country -silk, with his damp hair brushed crisply off his forehead, there was a -pinkness and a healthiness about Sparks that would have been refreshing -at any other moment. “Have you seen this bauble, Mrs. Church?” he -inquired: “Bhugsi’s tribute, enshrining the address. It makes the -fifth.” - -Judith looked at it, and back at Captain Sparks, who saw, with a falling -countenance, that there were tears in her eyes. - -“It is the last he will ever receive,” she said, and one of the tears -found its way down her cheek. “They have asked him from England to -resign—they say he must.” - -Captain Sparks, private secretary, stood for a moment with his legs -apart in blank astonishment, while Mrs. Church sought among the folds of -her skirt for her pocket-handkerchief. - -“By the Lord—impossible!” he burst out; and then, as Judith pointed -mutely to her husband’s room, he turned and shot in that direction, -leaving her, as her sex is usually left, with the teacups and the -situation. - - * * * * * - -A few hours later Captain Sparks’ dreams of the changed condition of -things were interrupted by a knock. It was Mrs. Church, sleepy-eyed, in -her dressing-gown, with a candle; and she wanted the chlorodyne from the -little travelling medicine chest, which was among the private -secretary’s things. - -“My husband seems to have got a chill,” she said. “It must have been -while he sat in the verandah. I am afraid he is in for a wretched -night.” - -“Three fingers of brandy,” suggested Sparks concernedly, getting out the -bottle. “Nothing like brandy.” - -“He has tried brandy. About twenty drops of this, I suppose?” - -“I should think so. Can I be of any use?” - -Judith said No, thanks—she hoped her husband would get some sleep -presently. She went away, shielding her flickering candle, and darkness -and silence came again where she had been. - -A quarter of an hour later she came back, and it appeared that Captain -Sparks could be of use. The chill seemed obstinate; they must rouse the -servants and get fires made and water heated. Judith wanted to know how -soon one might repeat the dose of chlorodyne. She was very much awake, -and had that serious, pale decision with which women take action in -emergencies of sickness. - -Later still they stood outside the door of his room and looked at each -other. “There is a European doctor at Bhai Gunj,” said Captain Sparks. -“He may be here with luck by six o’clock to-morrow afternoon—_this_ -afternoon.” He looked at his watch and saw that it was past midnight. -“Bundal Singh has gone for him, and Juddoo for the native apothecary at -Bhugsi—but he will be useless. Robertson will be over immediately. He -has seen cases of it, I know.” - -A thick sound came from the room they had left, and they hurried back -into it. - - * * * * * - -“Water?” repeated the Commissioner; “yes, as much as he likes. I wish to -God we had some ice.” - -“Then, sir, I may take leave?” It was the unctuous voice of the native -apothecary. - -“No, you may not. Damn you, I suppose you can help to rub him? Quick, -Sparks; the turpentine!” - - * * * * * - -Next day at noon arrived Hari Lal, who had travelled many hours and many -miles with a petition to the Chota Lât Sahib, wherein he and his village -implored that the goats might eat the young shoots in the forest as -aforetime; for if not—they were all poor men—how should the goats eat at -all? Hari Lal arrived upon his beast, and saw from afar off that there -was a chuprassie in red and gold upon the verandah whose favour would -cost money. So he dismounted at a considerable and respectful distance, -and approached humbly, with salaams and words that were suitable to a -chuprassie in red and gold. The heat stood fiercely about the bungalow, -and it was so silent that a pair of sparrows scolding in the verandah -made the most unseemly wrangle. - -Bundal Singh had not the look of business. He sat immovable upon his -haunches, with his hands hanging between his knees. His head fell -forward heavily, his eyes were puffed, and he regarded Hari Lal with -indifference. - -“O most excellent, how can a poor man seeking justice speak with the Lât -Sahib? The matter is a matter of goats——” - -“_Bus!_ The Lât Sahib died in the little dawn. This place is empty but -for the widow. _Mutti dani wasti gia_—they have gone to give the earth. -It was the bad sickness, and the pain of it lasted only five hours. When -he was dead, worthy one, his face was like a blue puggri that has been -thrice washed, and his hand was no larger than the hand of my woman! -What talk is there of justice? _Bus!_” - -Hari Lal heard him through with a countenance that grew ever more -terrified. Then he spat vigorously, and got again upon his animal. “And -you, fool, why do you sit here?” he asked quaveringly, as he sawed at -the creature’s mouth. - -“Because the servant-folk of the Sirkar do not run away. Who then would -do justice and collect taxes, _budzat_? _Jao_, you Bengali rice-eater! I -am of a country where those who are not women are men!” - -The Bengali rice-eater went as he was bidden, and only a little curling -cloud of white dust, sinking back into the road under the sun, remained -to tell of him. Bundal Singh, hoarse with hours of howling, lifted up -his voice in the silence because of the grief within him, and howled -again. - -A little wind stole out from under a clump of mango trees and chased -some new-curled shavings about the verandah, and did its best to blow -them in at the closed shutters of a darkened room. The shavings were too -substantial, but the scent of the fresh-cut planks came through, and -brought the stunned woman on the bed a sickening realisation of one -unalterable fact in the horror of great darkness through which she -groped, babbling prayers. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -“It was all very well for _him_, poor man, to want to be buried in that -hole-and-corner kind of way—where he fell, I suppose, doing his duty: -very simple and proper, I’m sure; and I should have felt just the same -about it in his place—but on _her_ account he ought to have made it -possible for them to have taken him back to Calcutta and given him a -public funeral.” - -Mrs. Daye spoke feelingly, gently tapping her egg. Mrs. Daye never could -induce herself to cut off the top of an egg with one fell blow; she -always tapped it, tenderly, first. - -“It would have been something!” she continued. “Poor dear thing! I _was_ -so fond of Mrs. Church.” - -“I see they have started subscriptions to give him a memorial of sorts,” -remarked her husband from behind his newspaper. “But whether it’s to be -put in Bhugsi or in Calcutta doesn’t seem to be arranged.” - -“Oh, in Calcutta, of course! They won’t get fifty rupees if it’s to be -put up at Bhugsi. _Nobody_ would subscribe!” - -“Is there room?” asked Miss Daye meekly, from the other side of the -table. “The illustrious are already so numerous on the Maidan. Is there -no danger of overcrowding?” - -“How ridiculous you are, Rhoda! You’ll subscribe, Richard, of course? -Considering how _very_ kind they’ve been to us I should say—what do you -think?—a hundred rupees.” Mrs. Daye buttered her toast with knitted -brows. - -“We’ll see. Hello! Spence is coming out again. ‘By special arrangement -with the India Office.’ He’s fairly well now, it seems, and willing to -sacrifice the rest of his leave ‘rather than put Government to the -inconvenience of another possible change of policy in Bengal.’ _That_ -means,” Colonel Daye continued, putting down the Calcutta paper and -taking up his coffee-cup, “that Spence has got his orders from Downing -Street, and is being packed back to reverse this College Grants -business. But old Hawkins won’t have much of a show, will he? Spence -will be out in three weeks.” - -“I’m very pleased,” Mrs. Daye remarked vigorously. “Mrs. Hawkins was bad -enough in the Board of Revenue; she’d be un_bear_able at Belvedere. And -Mrs. Church was so _per_fectly unaffected. But I don’t think we would be -quite justified in giving a hundred, Richard—seventy-five would be -ample.” - -“One would think, mummie, that the hat was going round for Mrs. Church,” -said her daughter. - -“Hats have gone round for less deserving persons,” Colonel Daye -remarked, “and in cases where there was less need of them, too. St. -George writes me that there was no insurances, and not a penny saved. -Church has always been obliged to do so much for his people. The widow’s -income will be precisely her three hundred a year of pension, and no -more—bread and butter, but no jam.” - -“Talking of jam,” said Mrs. Daye, with an effect of pathos, “if you -haven’t eaten it all, Richard, I should like some. Poor dear thing! And -if she marries again, she loses even that, doesn’t she? Oh, no, she -doesn’t, either: there was that Madras woman that had three husbands and -three pensions; they came altogether to nine hundred a year in the end. -Of course, money is out of the question; but a little offering of -something useful—made in a friendly way—she might even be grateful for. -I am thinking of sending her a little something.” - -“What, mummie?” Rhoda demanded, with suspicion. - -“That long black cloak I got when we all had to go into mourning for -your poor dear grandmother, Rhoda. I’ve hardly worn it at all. Of -course, it would require a little alteration, but——” - -“_Mummie!_ How beastly of you! You must not _dream_ of doing it.” - -“It’s fur-lined,” said Mrs. Daye, with an injured inflection. “Besides, -she isn’t the wife of the L.G. _now_, you know.” - -“Papa——” - -“What? Oh, certainly not! Ridiculous! Besides, you’re too late with your -second-hand souvenir, my dear. St. George says that Mrs. Church sails -to-day from Calcutta. Awfully cut up, poor woman, he says. Wouldn’t go -back to Belvedere; wouldn’t see a soul: went to a boarding-house and -shut herself up in two rooms.” - -“How un_kind_ you are about news, Richard! Fancy your not telling us -that before! And I think you and Rhoda are _quite_ wrong about the -cloak. If _you_ had died suddenly of cholera in a a dâk-bungalow in the -wilds and _I_ was left with next to nothing, I would accept little -presents from friends in the spirit in which they were offered, no -matter _what_ my position had been!” - -“I daresay you would, my dear. But if I—hello! Exchange is going up -again—if I catch you wearing cast-off mourning for me, I’ll come and -hang around until you burn it. By the way, I saw Doyle last night at the -Club.” - -“The barrister? Did you speak to him?” asked Mrs. Daye. - -“Yes. ‘Hello!’ I said: ‘thought you were on leave. What in the world -brings you up here?’ Seems that Pattore telegraphed askin’ Doyle to -defend him in this big diamond case with Ezra, and he came out. ‘Well,’ -I said, ‘Pattore’s in Calcutta, Ezra’s in Calcutta, diamond’s in -Calcutta, an’ you’re in Darjiling. When I’m sued for two lakhs over a -stone to dangle on my tummy I won’t retain you!’” - -“And what did Mr. Doyle say to that, papa?” his daughter inquired. - -“Oh—I don’t remember. Something about never having seen the place before -or something. Here, khansamah—cheroot!” - -The man brought a box and lighted a match, which he presently applied to -one end of the cigar while his master pulled at the other. - -“Well,” said Mrs. Daye, thoughtfully dabbling in her finger-bowl, “about -this statue or whatever it is to Mr. Church—if it were a mere question -of inclination—but as things are, Richard, I really don’t think we can -afford more than fifty. It isn’t as if it could do the poor man any -good. Where are you going, Rhoda? Wait a minute.” - -Mrs. Daye followed her daughter out of the room, shutting the door -behind her, and put an impressive hand upon Rhoda’s arm at the foot of -the staircase. - -“My dear child,” she said, with a note of candid compassion, “what do -you think has happened? Your father and I were discussing it as you came -down, but I said ‘Not a word before Rhoda!’ They have made Lewis Ancram -Chief Commissioner of Assam!” - -The colour came back into the girl’s face with a rush, and the -excitement went out of her eyes. - -“Good heavens, mummie, how you—— Why shouldn’t they? Isn’t he a proper -person?” - -“Very much so. _That_ has nothing to do with it. Think of it, Rhoda—a -Chief Commissioner, at his age! And you _can’t_ say I didn’t prophesy -it. _The_ rising man in the Civil Service I always told you he was.” - -“And I never contradicted you, mummie dear! My own opinion is that when -Abdur Rahman dies they’ll make him Amir!” Rhoda laughed a gay, -irresponsible laugh, and tripped on upstairs with singular lightness of -step. Mrs. Daye, leaning upon the end of the banister, followed her with -reproachful eyes. - -“You seem to take it very lightly, Rhoda, but I must say it serves you -perfectly right for having thrown the poor man over in that disgraceful -way. Girls who behave like that are generally sorry for it later. I knew -of a chit here in Darjiling that jilted a man in the Staff Corps and ran -away with a tea-planter. The man will be the next Commander-in-Chief of -the Indian Army, everybody says, and I hope she likes her tea-planter.” - -“Mummie!” Rhoda called down confidentially from the landing. - -“Well?” - -“Put your head in a bag, mummie. I’m going out. Shall I bring you some -chocolates or some nougat or anything?” - -“I shall tell your father to whip you. Yes, chocolates if they’re -fresh—_insist_ upon that. Those crumbly Neapolitan ones, in -silver-and-gold paper.” - -“All right. And mummie!” - -“What?” - -“Write and congratulate Mr. Ancram. Then he’ll know there’s no -ill-feeling!” - -Which Mrs. Daye did. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - -Ten minutes later Rhoda stood fastening her glove at her father’s door -and looking out upon a world of suddenly novel charm. The door opened, -as it were, upon eternity, with a patch of garden between, but eternity -was blue and sun-filled and encouraging. The roses and sweet-williams -stood sheer against the sky, with fifty yellow butterflies dancing above -them. Over the verge of the garden—there was not more than ten feet of -it in any direction—she saw tree-tops and the big green shoulders of the -lower hills, and very far down a mat of fleecy clouds that hid the -flanks of some of these. The sunlight was tempting, enticing. It made -the rubble path warm beneath her feet and drew up the scent of the -garden until the still air palpitated with it. Rhoda took little -desultory steps to the edge of the ledge the house was built on, and -down the steep footway to the road. The white oaks met over her head, -and far up among the tree-ferns she heard a cuckoo. Its note softened -and accented her unreasoned gladness, seemed to give it a form and a -metre. She looked up into the fragrant leafy shadows and listened till -it came again, vaguely aware that it was enough to live for. If she had -another thought it was that Philip Doyle had come too late to see the -glory of the rhododendrons, there was only, here and there, a red rag of -them left. - -She stepped with a rattle of pebbles into the wide main road round the -mountain, and there stood for a moment undecided. It was the chief road, -the Mall; and if she turned to the right it would lead her past the -half-dozen tiny European shops that clung to the side of the hill, past -the hotels and the club, and through the expansion where the band played -in the afternoon, where there were benches and an admirable view, and -where new-comers to Darjiling invariably sat for two or three days and -contentedly occupied themselves with processes of oxygenation. This part -of the Mall was frequented and fashionable; even at that hour she would -meet her acquaintances on hill ponies and her mother’s friends in -dandies and her mother’s friends’ babies in perambulators, with a -plentiful background of slouching Bhutia coolies, their old felt hats -tied on with their queues, and red-coats from a recuperating regiment, -and small black-and-white terriers. It was not often that this prospect -attracted her; she had discovered a certain monotony in its cheerfulness -some time before; but to-day she had to remind herself of that discovery -before she finally decided to turn to the left instead. She had another -reason: if she went that way it might look to Philip Doyle as if she -wanted to meet him. Why this gentleman should have come to so -extraordinary a conclusion on the data at his disposal Miss Daye did not -pause to explain. She was quite certain that he would, so she turned to -the left. - -It suited her mood, when once she had taken that direction, to walk very -fast. She had an undefined sense of keeping pace with events; her -vigorous steps made a rhythm for her buoyant thought, and helped it out. -She was entirely occupied with the way in which she would explain to Mr. -Doyle how it was that she was not married to Lewis Ancram. She -anticipated a pleasure in this, and she thought it was because Doyle -would be gratified, on his friend’s account. He had never liked the -match—she clung to that impression in all humility—he would perhaps -approve of her breaking it off. Rhoda felt a little excited satisfaction -at the idea of being approved of by Philip Doyle. She put the words with -which she would tell him into careful phrases as she walked, -constructing and reconstructing them, while Buzz kept an erratic course -before her with inquisitive pauses by the wayside and vain chasing of -little striped squirrels that whisked about the boles of the trees. -Buzz, she thought, had never been more idiotically amusing. - -The road grew boskier and lonelier. Miss Daye met a missionary lady in a -jinricksha, and then a couple of schoolboys sprinting, and then for a -quarter of a mile nobody at all. The little white houses stopped -cropping out on ledges above her head, the wall of rock or of rubble -rose solidly up, wet and glistening, and tapestried thick with tiny -ferns and wild begonias. All at once, looking over the brink, she saw -that the tin roofs of the cottages down the khud-side no longer shone in -the sun; the clouds had rolled between it and them—very likely down -there it was raining. Presently the white mist smoked up level with the -road, and she and the trees and the upper mountain stood in dappled -sunlight for a moment alone above a phantasmally submerged world. Then -the crisp leaf-shadows on the road grew indistinct and faded, the -sunlight paled and went out, and in a moment there was nothing near or -far but a wandering greyness, and here and there perhaps the shadowed -hole of an oak-tree or the fantastic outline of a solitary nodding fern. - -“It’s going to rain, Buzz,” she said, as the little dog mutely inquired -for encouragement and direction, “and neither of us have got an -umbrella. So we’ll both get wet and take our death of cold. _Sumja_,[E] -Buzz?” - ------ - -Footnote E: - - “Do you understand?” - ------ - -As she spoke they passed the blurred figure of a man, walking rapidly in -the other direction. “Buzz!” Rhoda cried, as the dog turned and trotted -briskly after: “Come back, sir!” Buzz took no notice whatever, and -immediately she heard him addressed in a voice which made a sudden -requirement upon her self-control. She had a divided impulse—to betake -herself on as fast as she could into remote indistinguishability, and to -call the dog again. With a little effort of hardihood she turned and -called him, turned with a thumping heart, and waited for his restoration -and for anything else that might happen. The mist drifted up for a -moment as Philip Doyle heard her and came quickly back; and when they -shook hands they stood in a little white temple with uncertain walls and -a ceiling decoration of tree-ferns in high relief. - -She asked him when he had come, although she knew that already, and he -inquired for her mother, although he was quite informed as to Mrs. -Daye’s well-being. He explained Buzz’s remembering him, as if he had -taken an unfair advantage of it, and they announced simultaneously that -it was going to rain. Then conversation seemed to fail them wholly, and -Rhoda made a movement of departure. - -“I suppose you are going to some friend in the neighbourhood,” he said, -lifting his hat, “if there is any neighbourhood—which one is inclined to -doubt.” - -“Oh, no, I’m only walking.” - -“All alone?” - -“Buzz,” she said, with a downcast smile. - -“Buzz is such an effective protection that I’m inclined to ask you to -share him.” His voice was even more tentative than his words. He fancied -he would have made a tremendous advance if she allowed him to come with -her. - -“Oh, yes,” she said foolishly, “you may have half.” - -“Thank you. I am three miles from my club, twenty-four hours from my -office, and four thousand feet above sea-level—and I don’t mind -confessing that I’m very frightened indeed. How long, I wonder, does it -take to acquire the magnificent indifference to the elements which you -display? But the storm is indubitably coming: don’t you think we had -better turn back?” - -“Yes,” she said again, and they turned back; but they sauntered along -among the clouds at precisely the pace they might have taken in the -meadows of the world below. - -She asked him where he had spent his leave and how he had enjoyed it, -and she gathered from his replies that one might stay too long in India -to find even Italy wholly paradisaical, although Monte Carlo had always -its same old charm. “You should see Monte Carlo before some cataclysm -overtakes it,” he said. “You would find it amusing. I spent a month at -Homburg,” he went on humorously, “with what I consider the greatest -possible advantage to my figure. Though my native friends have been -openly condoling with me on my consequent loss of prestige, and I have -no doubt my sylph-like condition will undermine my respectability.” He -felt, as he spoke, deplorably middle-aged, and to mention these things -seemed to be a kind of apology for them. - -Rhoda looked at him with the conviction that he had left quite ten years -in Europe, but she found herself oddly reluctant to say so. “Mummie will -tell you,” she said. “Mummie always discovers the most wonderful changes -in people when they have been home. And why did you come back so soon?” - -“Why?” he repeated, half facing round, and then suddenly dropping back -again. “I came to see about something.” - -“Oh, yes, of course you did. I know about it. And do you think you will -win?” - -She looked at him with a smile of timid intelligence. Under it she was -thinking that she had never had such a stupid conversation with Mr. -Doyle before. He smiled back gravely, and considered for a moment. - -“I don’t in the least know,” he said with courageous directness; “but I -mean to try—very hard.” - -If he had thought, he might have kept the suggestion out of his voice—it -was certainly a little premature—but he did not think, and the -suggestion was there. Rhoda felt her soul leap up to catch its full -significance; then she grew very white, and shivered a little. The -shiver was natural enough: two or three big drops had struck her on the -shoulders, and others were driving down upon the road, with wide spaces -between them, but heavily determined, and making little splashes where -they struck. - -“It is going to pour,” she said; and, as they walked on with a futile -quickening of pace, she heard him talk of something else, and called -herself a fool for the tumult in her heart. The rain gathered itself -together and pelted them. She was glad of the excuse to break blindly -into a run, and Doyle needed all his newly acquired energy to keep up -with her. The storm was behind them, and as it darkened and thickened -and crashed and drove them on, Rhoda’s blood tingled with a wild sweet -knowledge that she fled before something stronger and stranger than the -storm, and that in the end she would be overtaken, in the end she would -cede. Her sense of this culminated when Philip Doyle put a staying hand -upon her arm—she could not have heard him speak—and she sped on faster, -with a little frightened cry. - -“Come back!” he shouted; and, without knowing why, she did as he bade -her, struggling at every step, it seemed, into a chaos out of which the -rain smote her on both cheeks, with only one clear sensation—that he had -her hand very closely pressed to his side, and that somewhere or other, -presently, there would be shelter. They found it not ten yards -behind—one of those shallow caves that Sri Krishna scooped out long ago -to lodge his beggar priests in. Some Bhutia coolies had been cooking a -meal there; a few embers still glowed on a heap of ashes in the middle -of the place. Doyle explained, as he thrust her gently in, that these -had caught his eye. - -“You won’t mind my leaving you here,” he said, “while I go on for a -dandy and wraps and things? I shall not be a moment longer than I can -help. You won’t be afraid?” - -“In this rain! It would be wicked. Yes, I shall—I shall be horribly -afraid! You must stay here too, until it is over. Please come inside _at -once_.” - -The little imperious note thrilled Doyle; but he stayed where he was. - -“My dear child,” he said, “this may last for hours, and, if you don’t -get home somehow, you are bound to get a chill. Besides, I must let your -mother know.” - -“It will probably be over by the time you reach the house. And my mother -is always quite willing to entrust me to Providence, Mr. Doyle. And if -you go I’ll come, too.” - -She looked so resolute that Doyle hesitated. “Won’t you be implored to -stay here?” he asked. - -She shook her head. “Not if you go,” she said. And, without further -parley, he stooped and came in. - -They could not stand upright against the shelving sides and roof of the -place, so perforce they sat upon the ground—she, with her feet tucked -under her, leaning upon one hand, in the way of her sex, he hugging his -knees. There might have been thirty cubic feet of space in the cave, but -it was not comfortably apportioned, and he had to crouch rather -awkwardly to keep himself at what he considered a proper distance. It -was warm and dry there, and the dull fire of the embers in the middle -gave a centre and a significance to the completeness of their shelter. -The clouds hung like a grey curtain before the entrance, bordered all -round with trailing vines and drooping ferns; the beat of the rain came -in to them in a heavy distant monotone, and even the thunder seemed to -be rolling in a muffled way among the valleys below. Doyle felt that -nothing could be more perfect than their solitude. He would not speak, -lest his words should people it with commonplaces; he almost feared to -move, lest he should destroy the accident that gave him the privilege of -such closeness to her. The little place was filled, it seemed to him, -with a certain divine exhalation of her personality, of her freshness -and preciousness; he breathed it, and grew young again, and bold. In the -moments of silence that fell their love arose before them like a -presence. The girl saw how beautiful it was without looking, the man -asked himself how long he could wait for its realisation. - -“Are you very wet?” he asked her at last. - -“No; only my jacket.” - -“Then you ought to take it off, oughtn’t you? Let me help you.” - -He had to lean closer to her for that. The wet little coat came off with -difficulty; and then he put an audacious hand upon the warm shoulder in -its cambric blouse underneath, with a suddenly taught confidence that it -would not shrink away. - -“Only a little damp,” he said. It was the most barefaced excuse for his -caressing fingers. “Tell me, darling, when a preposterously venerable -person like me wishes to make a proposal of marriage to somebody who is -altogether sweet and young and lovable like you, has he any business to -take advantage of a romantic situation to do it in?” - -She did not answer. The lightness of his words somewhat disturbed her -sense of their import. Then she looked into his face, and saw the -wonderful difference that the hope of her had written there, and, -without any more questioning, she permitted herself to understand. - -“Think about it for a little while,” he said, and came a good deal -nearer, and drew her head down upon his breast. He knew a lifetime of -sweet content in the space it rested there, while he laid his lips -softly upon her hair and made certain that no other woman’s was so -sweet-scented. - -“Well?” he said at last. - -“But——” - -“But?” - -“But you never did approve of me.” - -“Didn’t I? I don’t know. I have always loved you.” - -“I have never loved anybody—before.” - -That was as near as she managed to get, then or for long thereafter, to -the matter of her previous engagement. - -“No. Of course not. But for the future?” - -Without taking her head from his shoulder, she lifted her eyes to his; -and he found the pledge he sought in them. - -And that upturning of her face brought her lips, her newly grave, sweet, -submissive lips, very near, and the gladness within him was newborn and -strong. And so the storm swept itself away, and the purple-necked doves -cooed and called again where the sunlight glistened through the dripping -laurels, and these two were hardly aware. Then suddenly a Bhutia girl -with a rose behind her ear came and stood in the door of the cave and -regarded them. She was muscular and red-cheeked and stolid; she wore -many strings of beads as well as the rose behind her ear, and as she -looked she comprehended, with a slow and foolish smile. - -“It is her tryst!” Rhoda cried, jumping up. “Let us leave it to her.” - -Then they went home through a world of their own, which the piping birds -and the wild roses and the sun-decked mosses reflected fitly. The clouds -had gone to Thibet; all round about, in full sunlight, the great -encompassing, gleaming Snows rose up and spoke of eternity, and made a -horizon not too solemn and supreme for the vision of their happiness. - - * * * * * - -“My dearest child.” said Mrs. Daye that night—she had come late to her -daughter’s room with her hair down—“don’t think I’m not as pleased as -possible, because I _am_. I’ve always had the greatest admiration for -Mr. Doyle, and you couldn’t have a better—unofficial—position in -Calcutta. But I _must_ warn you, dear—I’ve seen such misfortune come of -it, and I knew I shouldn’t sleep if I didn’t—before this engagement is -announced——” - -“I’ll go to church in a cotton blouse and a serge skirt this time, if -that’s what you’re thinking of, mummie.” - -“There! I was sure of it! Do think seriously, Rhoda, of the injustice to -poor Mr. Doyle, if you’re merely marrying him for _pique_!” - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - -The Honourable Mr. Ancram found himself gratified by Mrs. Church’s -refusal to see him in Calcutta. It filled out his idea of her, which was -a delicate one, and it gave him a pleasurable suggestive of the stimulus -which he should always receive from her in future toward the alternative -which was most noble and most satisfying. Mr. Ancram had the clearest -perception of the value of such stimulus; but the probability that he -was likely to be able to put it permanently at his disposal could hardly -be counted chief among the reasons which made him, at this time, so -exceedingly happy. His promotion had even less to do with it. India is -known to be full of people who would rather be a Chief Commissioner than -Rudyard Kipling or Saint Michael, but this translation had been in the -straight line of Mr. Ancram’s intention for years; it offered him no -fortuitous joy, and if it made a basis for the more refined delight -which had entered his experience, that is as much as it can be credited -with. Life had hitherto offered him no satisfaction that did not pale -beside the prospect of possessing Judith Church. He gave dreamy -half-hours to the realisation of how the sordidness of existence would -vanish when he should regard it through her eyes, of how her goodness -would sweeten the world to him, and her gaiety brighten it, and her -beauty etherealise it. He tried to analyse the completeness of their -fitness for each other, and invariably gave it up to fall into a little -trance of longing and of anticipation. - -He could not be sufficiently grateful to John Church for dying—it was a -circumstance upon which he congratulated himself frankly, an accident by -which he was likely to benefit so vastly that he could indulge in no -pretence of regretting it on any altruistic ground. It was so decent of -Church to take himself out of the way that his former Chief Secretary -experienced a change of attitude toward him. Ancram still considered him -an ass, but hostility had faded out of the opinion, which, when he -mentioned it, dwelt rather upon that animal’s power of endurance and -other excellent qualities. Ancram felt himself distinctly on better -terms with the late Lieutenant-Governor, and his feeling was accented by -the fact that John Church died in time to avoid the necessity for a more -formal resignation. His Chief Secretary felt personally indebted to him -for that, on ethical grounds. - -In the long, suggestive, caressing letters which reached Judith by every -mail, he made an appearance of respecting her fresh widowhood that was -really clever, considering the fervency which he contrived to imply. As -the weeks went by, however, he began to consider this attitude of hers, -the note she had struck in going six thousand miles away without seeing -him, rather an extravagant gratification of conscience, and if she had -been nearer it may be doubted whether his tolerance would have lasted. -But she was in London and he was in Assam, which made restraint easier; -and he was able always to send her the assurance of his waiting passion -without hurting her with open talk of the day when he should come into -his own. Judith, seeing that his pen was in a leash, watered her love -anew with the thought of his innate nobility, and shortened the time -that lay between them. - -In spite of her conscience, which was a good one, there were times when -Mrs. Church was shocked by the realisation that she was only trying to -believe herself unhappy. In spite of other things, too, of a more -material sort. Misfortune had overtaken the family at Stoneborough: -ill-health had compelled her father to resign the pulpit of Beulah -Church, and to retire upon a microscopic stipend from the superannuation -fund. There was a boy of fourteen, much like his sister, who wanted to -be a soldier, and did not want to wear a dirty apron and sell the -currants of the leading member of his father’s congregation. For these -reasons Judith’s three hundred a year shrank to a scanty hundred and -fifty. The boy went to Clifton, and she to an attic in that south side -of Kensington where they are astonishingly cheap. Here she established -herself, and grew familiar with the devices of poverty. It was not -picturesque Bohemian poverty; she had little ladylike ideals in gloves -and shoes that she pinched herself otherwise to attain, and it is to be -feared that she preferred looking shabby-genteel with eternal -limitations to looking disreputable with spasmodic extravagances. But -neither the sordidness of her life nor the discomfort she tried to -conjure out of the past made her miserable. Rather she extracted a -solace from them—they gave her a vague feeling of expiation; she hugged -her little miseries for their purgatorial qualities, and felt, though -she never put it into a definite thought, that they made a sort of -justification for her hope of heaven. - -Besides, except once a week, on Indian mail day, her life was for the -time in abeyance. She had a curious sense occasionally, in some sordid -situation to which she was driven for the lack of five shillings, of how -little anything mattered during this little colourless period; and she -declined kindly invitations from old Anglo-Indian acquaintances in more -expensive parts of Kensington with almost an ironical appreciation of -their inconsequence. She accepted existence without movement or charm -for the time, since she could not dispense with it altogether. She -invented little monotonous duties and occupied herself with them, and -waited, always with the knowledge that just beyond her dingy horizon lay -a world, her old world, of full life and vivid colour and long dramatic -days, if she chose to look. - -On mail days she did look, over Ancram’s luxurious pages with soft eyes -and a little participating smile. They made magic carpets for her—they -had imaginative touches. They took her to the scent of the food-stuff in -the chaffering bazar; she saw the white hot sunlight sharp-shadowed by -dusty palms, and the people, with their gentle ways and their simplicity -of guile, the clanking silver anklets of the coolie women, the black -_kol_ smudges under the babies’ eye-lashes—the dear people! She -remembered how she had seen the oxen treading out the corn in the warm -leisure of that country, and the women grinding at the mill. She -remembered their simple talk; how the gardener had told her in his own -tongue that the flowers ate much earth; how a syce had once handed her a -beautiful bazar-written letter, in which he asked for more wages because -he could not afford himself. She remembered the jewelled Rajahs, and the -ragged magicians, and the coolies’ song in the evening, and the -home-trotting little oxen painted in pink spots in honour of a plaster -goddess, and realised how she loved India. She realised it even more -completely, perhaps, when November came and brought fogs which were -always dreary in that they interfered with nothing that she wanted to -do, and neuralgia that was especially hard to bear for being her only -occupation. The winter dragged itself away. Beside Ancram’s letters and -her joy in answering them, she had one experience of pleasure keen -enough to make it an episode. She found it in the _Athenian_, which she -picked up on a news-stall, where she had dropped into the class of -customers who glance over three or four weeklies and buy one or two. It -was a review, a review of length and breadth and weight and density, of -the second volume of the “Modern Influence of the Vedic Books,” by Lewis -Ancram, I.C.S. She bought the paper and took it home, and all that day -her heart beat higher with her woman’s ambition for the man she loved, -sweetened with the knowledge that his own had become as nothing to the -man who loved her. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - -It was a foregone conclusion in Calcutta that the name of the Chief -Commissioner of Assam should figure prominently in the Birthday Honours -of the season. On the 24th of that very hot May people sat in their -verandahs in early morning dishabille, and consumed tea and toast and -plantains, and read in the local extras that a Knight Commandership of -the Star of India had fluttered down upon the head of Mr. Lewis Ancram, -without surprise. Doubtless the “Modern Influence of the Vedic Books” -was to be reckoned with to some extent in the decorative result, but the -general public gave it less importance than Sir Walter Besant, for -example, would be disposed to do. The general public reflected rather -upon the Chief Commissioner’s conspicuous usefulness in Assam, -especially the dexterity with which he had trapped border raids upon -tea-plantations. The general public remembered how often it had seen Mr. -Lewis Ancram’s name in the newspapers, and in what invariably approved -connections. So the men in pyjamas on the verandahs languidly regarded -the wide flat spreading red-and-yellow bouquets of the gold mohur trees -where the crows were gasping and swearing on the Maidan, and declared, -with unanimous yawns, that Ancram was “just the fellow to get it.” - -The Supreme Government at Simla was even better acquainted with Lewis -Ancram’s achievements and potentialities than the general public, -however. There had been occasions, when Mr. Ancram was a modest Chief -Secretary only, upon which the Supreme Government had cause to -congratulate itself privately as to Mr. Ancram’s extraordinary -adroitness in political moves affecting the “advanced” Bengali. Since -his triumph over the College Grants Notification the advanced Bengali -had become increasingly outrageous. An idea in this connection so far -emerged from official representations at headquarters as to become -almost obvious, as to leave no alternative—which is a very remarkable -thing in the business of the Government of India. It was to the effect -that the capacity to outwit the Bengali should be the single -indispensable qualification of the next Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. - -“No merely straightforward chap will do,” said Lord Scansleigh, with a -sigh, “however able he may be. Of course,” he added, “I don’t mean to -say that we want a crooked fellow, but our man must understand -crookedness and be equal to it. That, poor Church never was.” - -The Viceroy delivered himself thus because Sir Griffiths Spence’s -retirement was imminent, and he had his choice for Bengal to make over -again. Simplicity and directness apparently disqualified a number of -gentleman of seniority and distinction, for ten days later it was -announced that the appointment had fallen to Sir Lewis Ancram, K.C.S.I. -Again the little world of Calcutta declined to be surprised: nothing, -apparently, exceeded the popular ambition for the Chief Commissioner of -Assam. Hawkins, of the Board of Revenue, was commiserated for a day or -two, but it was very generally admitted that men like Hawkins of the -Board of Revenue, solid, unpretentious fellows like that, were extremely -apt, somehow, to be overlooked. People said generally that Scansleigh -had done the right thing—that Ancram would know how to manage the -natives. It was perceived that the new King of Bengal would bring a -certain picturesqueness to the sceptre, he was so comparatively young -and so superlatively clever. In view of this the feelings of Hawkins of -the Board of Revenue were lost sight of. And nothing could have been -more signal than the approbation of the native newspapers. Mohendra Lal -Chuckerbutty, in the _Bengal Free Press_, wept tears of joy in leading -articles every day for a week. “Bengal,” said Mohendra, editorially, -“has been given a man after her own heart.” By which Sir Lewis Ancram -was ungrateful enough to be annoyed. - -Judith grew very white over the letter which brought her the news, -remembering many things. It was a careful letter, but there was a throb -of triumph in it—a suggestion, just perceptible, of the dramatic value -of the situation. She told herself that this was inevitable and natural, -just as inevitable and natural as all the rest; but at the same time she -felt that her philosophy was not quite equal to the remarkable -completeness of Ancram’s succession. With all her pride in him, in her -heart of hearts she would infinitely have preferred to share some -degradation with him rather than this; she would have liked the taste of -any bitterness of his misfortune better than this perpetual savour of -his usurpation. It was a mere phase of feeling, which presently she put -aside, but for the moment her mind dwelt with curious insistence upon -one or two little pictorial memories of the other master of Belvedere, -while tears stood in her eyes and a foolish resentment at this fortunate -turn of destiny tugged at her heart-strings. In a little while she found -herself able to rejoice for Ancram with sincerity, but all day she -involuntarily recurred, with deep, gentle irritation, to the association -of the living idea and the dead one. - -Perhaps the liveliest pang inflicted by Sir Lewis Ancram’s appointment -was experienced by Mrs. Daye. Mrs. Daye confided to her husband that she -never saw the Belvedere carriage, with its guard of Bengal cavalry -trotting behind, without thinking that if things had turned out -differently she might be sitting in it, with His Honour her son-in-law. -From which the constancy and keenness of Mrs. Daye’s regrets may be in a -measure inferred. She said to privileged intimate friends that she knew -she was a silly, worldly thing, but really it did bring out one’s -silliness and worldliness to have one’s daughter jilt a -Lieutenant-Governor, in a way that nobody could understand whose -daughter hadn’t done it. Mrs. Daye took what comfort she could out of -the fact that this limitation excluded every woman she knew. She would -add, with her brow raised in three little wrinkles of deprecation, that -of course they were immensely pleased with Rhoda’s ultimate choice: Mr. -Doyle was a dear, sweet man, but she, Mrs. Daye, could not help having a -sort of sisterly regard for him, which towards one’s son-in-law was -ridiculous. He certainly had charming manners—the very man to appreciate -a cup of tea and one’s poor little efforts at conversation—if he didn’t -happen to be married to one’s daughter. It was ludicrously impossible to -have a seriously enjoyable _tête-à-tête_ with a man who was married to -one’s daughter! - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - -Calcutta, when the Doyles came down from Darjiling, chased by the early -rains, was prepared to find the marriage ridiculous. Calcutta counted on -its fingers the years that lay between Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, and -mentioned, as a condoning fact, that Philip Doyle’s chances for the next -High Court Judgeship were very good indeed. Following up this line of -fancy, Calcutta pictured a matron growing younger and younger and a -dignitary of the Bench growing older and older, added the usual -accessories of jewels and balls and Hill captains and the private -_entrée_, and figured out the net result, which was regrettably vulgar -and even more regrettably common. It is perhaps due to Calcutta rather -than to the Doyles to say that six weeks after their arrival these -prophecies had been forgotten and people went about calling it an ideal -match. One or two ladies went so far as to declare that Rhoda Daye had -become a great deal more tolerable since her marriage; her husband was -so much cleverer than she was, and that was what she needed, you know. -In which statement might occasionally be discerned a gleam of -satisfaction. - -It shortly became an item of gossip that very few engagements were -permitted to interfere with Mrs. Philip Doyle’s habit of driving to her -husband’s office to pick him up at five o’clock in the afternoon, and -that very few clients were permitted to keep him there after she had -arrived. People smiled in indulgent comment on it, as the slender, -light, tasteful figure in the cabriolet drove among the thronging -carriages in the Red Road towards Old Post-Office Street, and looked -again, with that paramount interest in individuals which is almost the -only one where Britons congregate in exile. Mrs. Doyle, in the -picturesque exercise of the domestic virtues, was generally conceded to -be even more piquant than Miss Daye in the temporary possession of a -Chief Secretary. - -I have no doubt that on one special Wednesday afternoon she was noted to -look absent and a trifle grave, as the Waler made his own pace to bring -his master. There was no reason for this in particular, except that His -Honour the Lieutenant-Governor was leaving for England by the mail train -for Bombay that evening. Perhaps this in itself would hardly have -sufficed to make Mrs. Doyle meditative, but there had been a great -clamour of inquiry and suggestion as to why Sir Lewis Ancram was -straining a point to obtain three months’ leave under no apparent -emergency: people said he had never looked better—and Mrs. Doyle -believed she knew precisely why. The little cloud of her secret -knowledge was before her eyes as the crows pecked hoarsely at the street -offal under the Waler’s deliberate feet, and she was somewhat impatient -at being burdened with any acquaintance with Sir Lewis Ancram’s private -intentions. Also she remembered her liking for the woman he was going -home to marry; and, measuring in fancy Judith Church’s capacity for -happiness, she came to the belief that it was likely to be meagrely -filled. It was the overflowing measure of her own, perhaps, that gave -its liveliness to her very real pang of regret. She knew Lewis Ancram so -much better than Mrs. Church did, she assured herself; was it not proof -enough, that the other woman loved him while she (Rhoda) bowed to him? -As at that moment, when he passed her on horseback, looking young and -vigorous and elate. Rhoda fancied a certain significance in his smile; -it spoke of good-fellowship and the prospect of an equality of bliss and -the general expediency of things as they were rather than as they might -have been. She coloured hotly under it, and gathered up the reins and -astonished the Waler with the whip. - -As she turned into Old Post-Office Street, a flanking battalion of the -rains—riding up dark and thunderous behind the red-brick turrets of the -High Court—whipped down upon the Maidan, and drove her, glad of a -refuge, up the dingy stairs to her husband’s office. Her custom was to -sit in the cabriolet and despatch the syce with a message. The syce -would deliver it in his own tongue—“The memsahib sends a salutation”—and -Doyle would presently appear. But to-day it was raining and there was no -alternative. - -A little flutter of consideration greeted her entrance. Two or three -native clerks shuffled to their feet and salaamed, and one ran to open -the door into Doyle’s private room for her. Her husband sat writing -against time at a large desk littered thick with papers. At another -table a native youth in white cotton draperies sat making quill pens, -with absorbed precision. The punkah swung a slow discoloured petticoat -above them both. The tall wide windows were open. Through them little -damp gusts came in and lifted the papers about the room; and beyond them -the grey rain slanted down, and sobered the vivid green of everything, -and turned the tilted palms into the likeness of draggled plumes waving -against the sky. - -“You have just escaped the shower,” said Doyle, looking up with quick -pleasure at her step. “I’ll be another twenty minutes, I’m afraid. And I -have nothing for you to play with,” he added, glancing round the dusty -room—“not even a novel. You must just sit down and be good.” - -“Mail letters?” asked Rhoda, with her hand on his shoulder. - -The clerk was looking another way, and she dropped a foolish, quick -little kiss on the top of his head. - -“Yes. It’s this business of the memorial to Church. I’ve got the -newspaper reports of the unveiling together, and the Committee have -drafted a formal letter to Mrs. Church, and there’s a good deal of -private correspondence—letters from big natives sending subscriptions, -and all that—that I thought she would like to see. As Secretary to the -Committee, it of course devolves upon me to forward everything. And at -this moment,” Doyle went on, glancing ruefully at the page under his -hand, “I am trying to write to her privately, poor thing.” - -Rhoda glanced down at the letter. “I know you will be glad to have these -testimonials, which are as sincere as they are spontaneous, to the -unique position Church held in the regard of many distinguished people,” -she read deliberately, aloud. - -“Do you think that is the right kind of thing to say? It strikes me as -rather formal. But one is so terribly afraid of hurting her by some -stupidity.” - -“Oh, I don’t think so at all, Philip. I mean—it is quite the proper -thing, I think. After all, it’s—it’s more than a year ago, you know.” - -“The wives of men like Church remember them longer than that, I fancy. -But if you will be pleased to sit down, Mrs. Doyle, I’ll finish it in -some sort of decency and get it off.” - -Rhoda sat down and crossed her feet and looked into dusty vacancy. The -recollection of Ancram’s expression as he passed her in the road came -back to her, and as she reflected that the ship which carried him to -Judith Church would also take her the balm respectfully prepared by the -Committee, her sense of humour curved her lips in an ironical smile. The -grotesqueness of the thing made it seem less serious, and she found -quite five minutes’ interested occupation in considering it. Then she -regarded the baboo making pens, and picked up a “Digest” and put it down -again, and turned over the leaves of a tome on the “Hindu Law of -Inheritance,” and yawned, and looked out of the window, and observed -that it had stopped raining. - -“Philip, aren’t you nearly done? Remember me affectionately to Mrs. -Church—no, perhaps you’d better not, either.” - -Doyle was knitting his brows over a final sentiment, and did not reply. - -“Philip, is that one of your old coats hanging on the nail? Is it old -enough to give away? I want an old coat for the syce to sleep in: he had -fever yesterday.” - -Mrs. Doyle went over to the object of her inquiries, took it down, and -daintily shook it. - -“_Philip!_ Pay some attention to me. May I have this coat? There’s -nothing in the pockets—nothing but an old letter and a newspaper. Oh!” - -Her husband looked up at last, noting a change in the tone of her -exclamation. She stood looking in an embarrassed way at the address on -the envelope she held. It was in Ancram’s handwriting. - -“What letter?” he asked. - -She handed it to him, and at the sight of it he frowned a little. - -“Is the newspaper the _Bengal Free Press_?” - -“Yes,” she said, glancing at it. “And it’s marked in one or two places -with red pencil.” - -“Then read them both,” Doyle replied. “They don’t tell a very pretty -story, but it may amuse you. I thought I had destroyed them long ago. I -can’t have worn that coat since I left Florence.” - -Rhoda sat down, with a beating curiosity, and applied herself to -understand the story that was not very pretty. It sometimes annoyed her -that she could not resist her interest in things that concerned Ancram, -especially things that exemplified him. She brought her acutest -intelligence to bear upon the exposition of the letter and the -newspaper; but it was very plain and simple, especially where it was -underscored in red pencil, and she comprehended it at once. - -She sat thinking of it, with bright eyes, fitting it into relation with -what she had known and guessed before, perhaps unconsciously pluming -herself a little upon her penetration, and, it must be confessed, -feeling a keen thrill of unregretting amusement at Ancram’s conviction. -Then suddenly, with a kind of mental gasp, she remembered Judith Church. - -“Ah!” she said to herself, and her lips almost moved. “What a -complication!” And then darted up from some depth of her moral -consciousness the thought, “She ought to know, and I ought to tell her.” - -She tried to look calmly at the situation, and analyse the character of -her responsibility. She sought for its _pros_ and _cons_; she made an -effort to range them and to balance them. But, in spite of herself, her -mind rejected everything save the memory of the words she had overheard -one soft spring night on the verandah at Government House: - -“_You ask me if I am not to you what I ought to be to my husband, who is -a good man, and who loves me and trusts you._” - -“And trusts you! and trusts you!” Remembering the way her own blood -quickened when she heard Judith Church say that, Rhoda made a spiritual -bound towards the conviction that she could not shirk opening such -deplorably blind eyes and respect herself in future. Then her memory -insisted again, and she heard Judith say, with an inflection that -precluded all mistake, all self-delusion, all change: - -“_But you ask me if I have come to love you, and perhaps in a way you -have a right to know; and the truth is better, as you say. And I answer -you that I have. I answer you, Yes, it is true; and I know it will -always be true._” - -Did that make no difference? And was there not infinitely too much -involved for any such casual, rough-handed interference as hers would -be? - -At that moment she saw that her husband was putting on his hat. His -letter to Mrs. Church lay addressed upon the desk, the papers that were -to accompany scattered about it, and Doyle was directing the clerk with -regard to them. - -“You will put all these in a strong cover, Luteef,” said he, “and -address it as I have addressed that letter. I would like you to take -them to the General Post Office yourself, and see that they don’t go -under-stamped.” - -“Yessir. All thee papers, sir? And I am to send by letter-post, sir?” - -“Yes, certainly. Well, Rhoda? That was a clever bit of trickery, wasn’t -it? I heard afterwards that the article was quoted in the House, and did -Church a lot of damage.” - -Doyle spoke with the boldness of embarrassment. These two were not in -the habit of discussing Ancram; they tolerated him occasionally as an -object, but never as a subject. Already he regretted the impulse that -put her in possession of these facts. It seemed to his sensitiveness -like taking an unfair advantage of a man when he was down, which, -considering to what Lewis Ancram had risen, was a foolish and baseless -scruple. Rhoda looked at her husband, and hesitated. For an instant she -played with the temptation to tell him all she knew, deciding, at the -end of the instant, that it would entail too much. Even a reference to -that time had come to cost her a good deal. - -“I am somehow not surprised,” she said, looking down at the letter and -paper in her hand. “But—I think it’s a pity Mrs. Church doesn’t know.” - -“Poor dear lady! why should she? I am glad she is spared that -unnecessary pang. We should all be allowed to think as well of the world -as we can, my wife. Come; in twenty minutes it will be dark.” - -“Do you think so?” his wife asked doubtfully. But she threw the letter -and the newspaper upon the desk. She would shirk it; as a duty it was -not plain enough. - -“Then you ought to burn those, Philip,” she said, as they went -downstairs together. “They wouldn’t make creditable additions to the -records of the India Office.” - -“I will,” replied her husband. “I don’t know why I didn’t long ago. How -deliciously fresh it is after the rain!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - -There was a florist’s near by—in London there always is a florist’s near -by—and Judith stood in the little place, among the fanciful straw -baskets and the wire frames and the tin boxes of cut flowers and the -damp pots of blooming ones, and made her choice. In her slenderness and -her gladness she herself had somewhat the poise of a flower, and the -delicate flush of her face, with its new springing secret of life, did -more to suggest one—a flower just opened to the summer and the sun. - -She picked out some that were growing in country lanes then—it was the -middle of July—poppies and cornbottles and big brown-hearted daisies. -They seemed to her to speak in a simple way of joy. Then she added a pot -of ferns and some clustering growing azaleas, pink and white and very -lovely. She paid the florist’s wife ten shillings, and took them all -with her in a cab. This was not a day for economies. She drove back to -her rooms, the azaleas beside her on the seat making a picture of her -that people turned to look at. In her hand she carried a folded brown -envelope. On the form inside it was written, in the generically -inexpressive characters of the Telegraph Department, “_Arrive London -2.30. Will be with you at five. Ancram._” - -[Illustration: She drove back.] - -It was ten o’clock in the morning, but she felt that the day would be -too short for all there was to do. There should be nothing sordid in her -greeting, nothing to make him remember that she was poor. Her attic -should be swept and garnished: women think of these little things. She -had also with her in the cab a pair of dainty Liberty muslin curtains to -keep out the roof and the chimneys, and a Japanese tea-set, and tea of a -kind she was not in the habit of drinking. She had only stopped buying -pretty fresh decorative things when it occurred to her that she must -keep enough money to pay the cabman. As she hung the curtains, and put -the ferns on the window-seat and the azaleas in the corners, and the -plump, delicate-coloured silk cushions in the angles of her small hard -sofa, her old love of soft luxurious things stirred within her. -Instinctively she put her poverty away with impatience and contempt. -What in another woman might have been a calculating thought came to her -as a hardly acknowledged sense of relief and repose. There would be no -more of _that_! - -A knock at the door sent the blood to her heart, and her hand to her -dusty hair, before she remembered how impossible it was that this should -be any but an unimportant knock. Yet she opened the door with a -thrill—it seemed that such a day could have no trivial incidents. When -she saw that it was the housemaid with the mail, the Indian mail, she -took it with a little smile of indifference and satisfaction. It was no -longer the master of her delight. - -She put it all aside while she adjusted the folds of the curtains and -took the step-ladder out of the room. Then she read Philip Doyle’s -letter. She read it, and when she had finished she looked gravely, -coldly, at the packet that came with it, carefully addressed in the -round accurate hand of the clerk who made quill pens in Doyle’s office. -She was conscious of an unkindness in this chance; it might so well have -fallen last week or next. There was no ignoring it—it was there, it had -been delivered to her, it seemed almost as urgent a demand upon her time -and thought and interest as if John Church himself had put it into her -hand. With an involuntary movement she pushed the packet aside and -looked round the room. There were still several little things to do. She -got up to go about them; but she moved slowly, and the glow had gone out -of her face, leaving her eyes shadowed as they were on other days. She -made the cornbottles and the daisies up into little bouquets, but she -let her hands drop into her lap more than once, and thought about other -things. - -Suddenly, with a quick movement, she went over to where the packet lay -and took it up. It was as if she turned her back upon something; she had -a resolute look. As she broke the wax and cut the strings, any one might -have recognised that she confronted herself with a duty which she did -not mean to postpone. It would have been easy to guess her unworded -feeling—that, however differently her heart might insist, she could not -slight John Church. This was a sensitive and a just woman. - -She opened letter after letter, reading slowly and carefully. Every word -had its due, every sentence spoke to her. Gradually there came round her -lips the look they wore when she knelt upon her hassock in St. Luke’s -round the corner, and repeated, with bent head, - -/* “But Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders: Spare -Thou them, O Lord, which confess their faults.” */ - -It seemed to her that in not having loved John Church while he lived nor -mourned him in sackcloth when he was dead she had sinned indeed. She was -in the midst of preparations that were almost bridal, yet it is quite -true that for this man whose death had wrought her deliverance and her -joy, her eyes were full of a tender, reverent regret. Presently she came -upon a letter which she put aside, with a pang, to be read last of all. -It was like Ancram, she thought, to have borne witness to her husband’s -worth—he could never have guessed that his letter would hurt her a -little one day. She noticed that it was fastened together with a -newspaper, by a narrow rubber circlet, and that the newspaper was marked -in red pencil. She remembered Ancram’s turn for journalism—he had -acknowledged many a clever article to her—and divined that this was some -tribute from his pen. The idea gave her a realising sense that her lover -shared her penance and was vaguely comforting. - -She went through all the rest, as I have said, conscientiously, -seriously, and with a troubled heart. Philip Doyle had not been mistaken -in saying that they were sincere, and spontaneous. The tragedy of -Church’s death had brought out his motives in high relief; it was not -likely he could ever have lived to be so appreciated. These were -impressions of him struck off as it were in a white heat of feeling. His -widow sat for a moment silent before the revelation they made of him, -even to her. - -Then, to leave nothing undone, Judith opened Ancram’s letter. Her -startled eyes went through it once without comprehending a line of its -sequence, though here and there words struck her in the face and made it -burn. She put her hand to her head to steady herself; she felt giddy, -and sickeningly unable to comprehend. She fastened her gaze upon the -page, seeing nothing, while her brain worked automatically about the -fact that she was the victim of some terribly untoward circumstance—what -and why it refused to discover for her. Presently things grew simpler -and clearer; she realised the direction from which the blow had come. -Her power to reason, to consider, to compare, came back to her; and she -caught up her misfortune eagerly, to minimise it. The lines of Ancram’s -hostility and contempt traced themselves again upon her mind, and this -time it quivered under their full significance. “Happily for Bengal,” -she read, “a fool is invariably dealt with according to his folly.” Then -she knew that no mollifying process of reasoning could alter the fact -which she had to face. - -Her mind grew acute in its pain. She began to make deductions, she -looked at the date. The corroboration of the newspaper flashed upon her -instantly, and with it came a keen longing to tell her husband who had -written that article—he had wondered so often and so painfully. All at -once she found herself framing a charge. - -A clock struck somewhere, and as if the sound summoned her she got up -from her seat and opened a little lacquered box that stood upon the -mantel. It contained letters chiefly, but from among its few photographs -she drew one of her husband. With this in her hand she went into her -bedroom and shut the door and locked it. - -When the maid brought Sir Lewis Ancram’s card up at five o’clock she -found the door open. Mrs. Church was fitting a photograph into a little -frame. She looked thoughtful, but charming; and she said so -unhesitatingly, “Bring the gentleman up, Hetty,” that Hetty, noticing -the curtains and the cushions in Mrs. Church’s sitting-room, brought the -gentleman up with a smile. - -At his step upon the stair her eyes dilated, she took a long breath and -pulled herself together, her hand tightening on the corner of the table. -He came in quickly and stood before her silent; he seemed to insist upon -his presence and on his outstretched hands. His face was almost open and -expansive in its achieved happiness; one would have said he was a -fellow-being and not a Lieutenant-Governor. It looked as if to him the -moment were emotional, but Mrs. Church almost immediately deprived it of -that character. She gave him the right hand of ordinary intercourse and -an agreeable smile. - -“You are looking surprisingly well,” she said. - -If this struck Ancram as inadequate he hesitated about saying so. The -words upon his own lips were “My God! how glad I am to see you!” but he -did not permit these to escape him either. Her friendliness was too -cheerful to chill him, but he put his eyeglass into his eye, which he -generally did when he wanted to reflect, behind a pause. - -“And you are just the same,” he said. “A little more colour, perhaps.” - -“I am not really, you know,” she returned, slipping her hand quickly out -of his. “Since I saw you I am older—and wiser. Nearly two years older -and wiser.” - -The smile which he sent into her eyes was a visible effort to bring -himself nearer to her. - -“Where have you found so much instruction?” he asked, with tender -banter. - -Her laugh accepted the banter and ignored its quality. “In ‘The Modern -Influence of the Vedic Books,’ among other places,” she said, and rang -the bell. “Tea, Hetty.” - -“I must be allowed to congratulate you upon that,” she went on -pleasantly. “All the wise people are talking about it, aren’t they? And -upon the rest of your achievements. They have been very remarkable.” - -“They are very incomplete,” he hinted; “but I am glad you are disposed -to be kind about them.” - -They had dropped into chairs at the usual conversational distance, and -he sat regarding her with a look which almost confessed that he did not -understand. - -“I suppose you had an execrable passage,” Judith volunteered, with -sociable emphasis. “I can imagine what it must have been, as far as -Aden, with the monsoon well on.” - -“Execrable,” he repeated. He had come to a conclusion. It was part of -her moral conception of their situation that he should begin his -love-making over again. She would not tolerate their picking it up and -going on with it. At least that was her attitude. He wondered, -indulgently, how long she would be able to keep it. - -“And Calcutta? I suppose you left it steaming?” - -“I hardly know. I was there only a couple of days before the mail left. -Almost the whole of July I have been on tour.” - -“Oh—really?” said Mrs. Church. Her face assumed the slight sad -impenetrability with which we give people to understand that they are -trespassing upon ground hallowed by the association of grief. Ancram -observed, with irritation, that she almost imposed silence upon him for -a moment. Her look suggested to him that if he made any further careless -allusions she might break into tears. - -“Dear me!” Judith said softly at last, pouring out the tea, “how you -bring everything back to me!” - -He thought of saying boldly that he had come to bring her back to -everything, but for some reason he refrained. - -“Not unpleasantly, I hope?” He had an instant’s astonishment at finding -such a commonplace upon his lips. He had thought of this in poems for -months. - -She gave him his tea, and a pathetic smile. It was so pathetic that he -looked away from it, and his eye fell upon the portrait of John Church, -framed, near her on the table. - -“Do you think it is a good one?” she asked eagerly, following his -glance. “Do you think it does him justice? It was so difficult,” she -added softly, “to do him justice.” - -Sir Lewis Ancram stirred his tea vigorously. He never took sugar, but -the manipulation of his spoon enabled him to say, with candid emphasis, -“He never got justice.” - -For the moment he would abandon his personal interest, he would humour -her conscience; he would dwell upon the past, for the moment. - -“No,” she said, “I think he never did. Perhaps, now——” - -Ancram’s lip curled expressively. - -“Yes, now,” he said—“now that no appreciation can encourage him, no -applause stimulate him, now that he is for ever past it and them, they -can find nothing too good to say of him. What a set of curs they are!” - -“It is the old story,” she replied. Her eyes were full of sadness. - -“Forgive me!” Ancram said involuntarily. Then he wondered for what he -had asked to be forgiven. - -“He was a martyr,” Judith went on calmly—“‘John Church, martyr,’ is the -way they ought to write him down in the Service records. But there were -a few people who knew him great and worthy while he lived. I was one——” - -“And I was another. There were more than you think.” - -“He used to trust you. Especially in the matter that killed him—that -educational matter—he often said that without your sympathy and support -he would hardly know where to turn.” - -“His policy was right. Events are showing now how right it was. Every -day I find what excellent reason he had for all he did.” - -“Yes,” Judith said, regarding him with a kind of remote curiosity. “You -have succeeded to his difficulties. I wonder if you lie awake over them, -as he used to do! And to all the rest. You have taken his place, and his -hopes, and the honours that would have been his. How strange it seems!” - -“Why should it seem so strange, Judith?” - -She half turned and picked up a letter and a newspaper that lay on the -table behind her. - -“This is one reason,” she said, and handed them to him. “Those have -reached me to-day, by some mistake in Mr. Doyle’s office, I suppose. One -knows how these things happen in India. And I thought you might like to -have them again.” - -Ancram’s face fell suddenly into the lines of office. He took the papers -into his long nervous hands in an accustomed way, and opened the pages -of the letter with a stroke of his finger and thumb which told of a -multitude of correspondence and a somewhat disregarding way of dealing -with it. His eyes were riveted upon Doyle’s red pencil marks under “_his -beard grows with the tale of his blunders_” in the letter and the -newspaper, but his expression merely noted them for future reference. - -“Thanks,” he said presently, settling the papers together again. -“Perhaps it is as well that they should be in my possession. It was -thoughtful of you. In other hands they might be misunderstood.” - -She looked at him full and clearly, and something behind her eyes -laughed at him. - -“Oh, I think not!” she said. “Let me give you another cup of tea.” - -“No more, thank you.” He drew his feet together in a preliminary -movement of departure, and then thought better of it. - -“I hope you understand,” he said, “that in—in official life one may be -forced into hostile criticism occasionally, without the slightest -personal animus.” His voice was almost severe—it was as he were -compelled to reason with a subordinate in terms of reproof. - -Judith smiled acquiescently. - -“Oh, I am sure that must often be the case,” she said; and he knew that -she was beyond all argument of his. She had adopted the official -attitude; she was impersonal and complaisant and non-committal. Her -comment would reach him later, through the authorised channels of the -empty years. It would be silent and negative in its nature, the denial -of promotion, but he would understand. Even in a matter of sentiment the -official attitude had its decencies, its conveniences. He was vaguely -aware of them as he rose, with a little cough, and fell back into his -own. - -Nevertheless it was with something like an inward groan that he -abandoned it, and tried, for a few lingering minutes, to remind her of -the man she had known in Calcutta. - -“Judith,” he said desperately at the door, after she had bidden him a -cheerful farewell, “I once thought I had reason to believe that you -loved me.” - -She was leaning rather heavily on the back of a chair. He had made only -a short visit, but he had spent five years of this woman’s life since he -arrived. - -“Not you,” she said: “my idea of you. And that was a long time ago.” - -She kept her tone of polite commonplace; there was nothing for it but a -recognisant bow, which Ancram made in silence. As he took his way -downstairs and out into Kensington, a malignant recollection of having -heard something very like this before took possession of him and -interfered with the heroic quality of his grief. If he had a Nemesis, he -told himself, it was the feminine idea of him. But that was afterward. - - * * * * * - -One day, a year later, Sir Lewis Ancram paused in his successful conduct -of the affairs of Bengal long enough to state the case with ultimate -emphasis to a confidentially inquiring friend. - -“As the wife of my late honoured chief,” he said, “I have the highest -admiration and respect for Mrs. Church; but the world is wrong in -thinking that I have ever made her a proposal of marriage; nor have I -the slightest intention of doing so.” - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - D. 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In picturing -the experiences of his fearless, hard-fighting and hard-drinking hero, -the author of “The White Company” has given us a book which absorbs the -interest and quickens the pulse of every reader. - -_THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS._ Being a Series of Twelve Letters written by -STARK MUNRO, M. B., to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert -Swanborough, of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. -Illustrated. 12mo. Buckram, $1.50. - -“Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock -Holmes, and I pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him.”—_Richard le -Gallienne, in the London Star._ - -“Every one who wants a hearty laugh must make acquaintance with Dr. -James Cullingworth.”—_Westminster Gazette._ - -“Every one must read; for not to know Cullingworth should surely argue -one’s self to be unknown.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -“One of the freshest figures to be met with in any recent -fiction.”—_London Daily News_. - -“‘The Stark Munro Letters’ is a bit of real literature.... Its reading -will be an epoch-making event in many a life.”—_Philadelphia Evening -Telegraph._ - -“Positively magnetic, and written with that combined force and grace for -which the author’s style is known.”—_Boston Budget._ - - SEVENTH EDITION. - -_ROUND THE RED LAMP._ Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life. 12mo. -Cloth, $1.50. - -“Too much can not be said in praise of these strong productions, that, -to read, keep one’s heart leaping to the throat and the mind in a tumult -of anticipation to the end.... No series of short stories in modern -literature can approach them.”—_Hartford Times._ - -“If Mr. A. Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in the front rank -of living English writers by ‘The Refugees,’ and other of his larger -stories, he would surely do so by these fifteen short tales.”—_New York -Mail and Express._ - -“A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modern -literature.”—_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -_THE ONE WHO LOOKED ON._ By F. F. MONTRÉSOR, author of “Into the -Highways and Hedges.” 16mo. Cloth, special binding, $1.25. - -“The story runs on as smoothly as a brook through lowlands; it excites -your interest at the beginning and keeps it to the end.”—_New York -Herald._ - -“An exquisite story.... No person sensitive to the influence of what -makes for the true, the lovely, and the strong in human friendship and -the real in life’s work can read this book without being benefited by -it.”—_Buffalo Commercial._ - -“The book has universal interest and very unusual merit.... Aside from -its subtle poetic charm, the book is a noble example of the power of -keen observation.”—_Boston Herald._ - -_CORRUPTION._ By PERCY WHITE, author of “Mr. Bailey-Martin,” etc. 12mo. -Cloth, $1.25. - -“There is intrigue enough in it for those who love a story of the -ordinary kind, and the political part is perhaps more attractive in its -sparkle and variety of incident than the real thing itself.”—_London -Daily News._ - -“A drama of biting intensity, a tragedy of inflexible purpose and -relentless result.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -_A HARD WOMAN._ A Story in Scenes. By VIOLET HUNT. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -“An extremely clever work. Miss Hunt probably writes dialogue better -than any of our young novelists.... Not only are her conversations -wonderfully vivacious and sustained, but she contrives to assign to each -of her characters a distinct mode of speech, so that the reader easily -identifies them, and can follow the conversations without the slightest -difficulty.”—_London Athenæum._ - -“One of the best writers of dialogue of our immediate day. The -conversations in this book will enhance her already secure -reputation.”—_London Daily Chronicle._ - -“A creation that does Miss Hunt infinite credit, and places her in the -front rank of the younger novelists.... Brilliantly drawn, quivering -with life, adroit, quiet-witted, unfalteringly insolent, and withal -strangely magnetic.”—_London Standard._ - -_AN IMAGINATIVE MAN._ By ROBERT S. HICHENS, author of “The Green -Carnation.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -“One of the brightest books of the year.”—_Boston Budget._ - -“Altogether delightful, fascinating, unusual.”—_Cleveland Amusement -Gazette._ - -“A study in character.... Just as entertaining as though it were the -conventional story of love and marriage. The clever hand of the author -of ‘The Green Carnation’ is easily detected in the caustic wit and -pointed epigram.”—_Jeannette L. Gilder, in the New York World._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - =“A better book than ‘The Prisoner of Zenda.’”=—_London Queen._ - -_THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO._ By ANTHONY HOPE, author of “The God -in the Car,” “The Prisoner of Zenda,” etc. With photogravure -Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick. Third edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -“No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of -Antonio of Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws.... To all those -whose pulses still stir at the recital of deeds of high courage, we may -recommend this book.... The chronicle conveys the emotion of heroic -adventure, and is picturesquely written.”—_London Daily News._ - -“It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep -order.... In point of execution ‘The Chronicles of Count Antonio’ is the -best work that Mr. Hope has yet done. The design is clearer, the -workmanship more elaborate, the style more colored.... The incidents are -most ingenious, they are told quietly, but with great cunning, and the -Quixotic sentiment which pervades it all is exceedingly -pleasant.”—_Westminster Gazette._ - -“A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy of -his former books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment and a -healthy exaltation of the spirits by every one who takes it up.”—_The -Scotsman._ - -“A gallant tale, written with unfailing freshness and spirit.”—_London -Daily Telegraph._ - -“One of the most fascinating romances written in English within many -days. The quaint simplicity of its style is delightful, and the -adventures recorded in these ‘Chronicles of Count Antonio’ are as -stirring and ingenious as any conceived even by Weyman at his -best.”—_New York World._ - -“Romance of the real flavor, wholly and entirely romance, and narrated -in true romantic style. The characters, drawn with such masterly -handling, are not merely pictures and portraits, but statues that are -alive and step boldly forward from the canvas.”—_Boston Courier._ - -“Told in a wonderfully simple and direct style, and with the magic touch -of a man who has the genius of narrative, making the varied incidents -flow naturally and rapidly in a stream of sparkling discourse.”—_Detroit -Tribune._ - -“Easily ranks with, if not above, ‘A Prisoner of Zenda.’... Wonderfully -strong, graphic, and compels the interest of the most blasé novel -reader.”—_Boston Advertiser._ - -“No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count -Antonio.... The author knows full well how to make every pulse thrill, -and how to hold his readers under the spell of his magic.”—_Boston -Herald._ - -“A book to make women weep proud tears, and the blood of men to tingle -with knightly fervor.... In ‘Count Antonio’ we think Mr. Hope surpasses -himself, as he has already surpassed all the other story-tellers of the -period.”—_New York Spirit of the Times._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -_THE REDS OF THE MIDI._ An Episode of the French Revolution. By FÉLIX -GRAS. Translated from the Provençal by Mrs. CATHARINE A. JANVIER. With -an Introduction by THOMAS A. JANVIER. With Frontispiece. 12mo. Cloth, -$1.50. - -M. Félix Gras is the official head of the _Félibrige_, the society of -Provençal men of letters, the highest honor in their gift. It is -believed that the introduction of his rare talent to our readers will -meet with prompt appreciation. - -“In all French history there is no more inspiring episode than that with -which M. Gras deals in this story: the march to Paris and the doings in -Paris of that Marseilles Battalion made up of men who were sworn to cast -down ‘the tyrant,’ and who ‘knew how to die.’ His epitome of the motive -power of the Revolution in the feelings of one of its individual -pleasant parts is the very essence of simplicity and directness. His -method has the largeness and clearness of the Greek drama. The motives -are distinct. The action is free and bold. The climax is inevitable, and -the story has a place entirely apart from all the fiction of the French -Revolution with which I am acquainted.”—_From Mr. Janvier’s -Introduction._ - -_THE GODS, SOME MORTALS, AND LORD WICKENHAM._ By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. -With Portrait. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -“Mrs. Craigie has taken her place among the novelists of the day. It is -a high place and a place apart. Her method is her own, and she stands -not exactly on the threshold of a great career, but already within the -temple of fame.”—_G. W. Smalley, in the Tribune._ - -“Here is the sweetness of a live love story.... It is to be reckoned -among the brilliants as a novel.”—_Boston Courier._ - -“One of the most refreshing novels of the period, full of grace, spirit, -force, feeling, and literary charm.”—_Chicago Evening Post._ - -“Clever and cynical, full of epigrams and wit, bright with keen -delineations of character, and with a shrewd insight into life.”—_Newark -Advertiser._ - -“A novel of profound psychological knowledge and ethical import.... -Worthy of high rank in current fiction.”—_Boston Beacon._ - -_MAELCHO._ By the Hon. EMILY LAWLESS, author of “Grania,” “Hurrish,” -etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -“A paradox of literary genius. It is not a history, and yet has more of -the stuff of history in it, more of the true national character and -fate, than any historical monograph we know. It is not a novel, and yet -fascinates us more than any novel.”—_London Spectator._ - -“Abounds in thrilling incidents.... Above and beyond all, the book -charms by reason of the breadth of view, the magnanimity, and the -tenderness which animate the author.”—_London Athenæum._ - -“A piece of work of the first order, which we do not hesitate to -describe as one of the most remarkable literary achievements of this -generation.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -_SLEEPING FIRES._ By GEORGE GISSING, author of “In the Year of Jubilee,” -“Eve’s Ransom,” etc. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -In this striking story the author has treated an original motive with -rare self-command and skill. His book is most interesting as a story, -and remarkable as a literary performance. - -_STONEPASTURES._ By ELEANOR STUART. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -“This is a strong bit of good literary workmanship.... The book has the -value of being a real sketch of our own mining regions, and of showing -how, even in the apparently dull round of work, there is still material -for a good bit of literature.”—_Philadelphia Ledger._ - -_COURTSHIP BY COMMAND._ By M. M. BLAKE. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -“A bright, moving study of an unusually interesting period in the life -of Napoleon, ... deliciously told; the characters are clearly, strongly, -and very delicately modeled, and the touches of color most artistically -done. ‘Courtship by Command’ is the most satisfactory Napoleon -bonne-bouche we have had.”—_New York Commercial Advertiser._ - -_THE WATTER’S MOU’._ By BRAM STOKER. l6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -“Here is a tale to stir the most sluggish nature.... It is like standing -on the deck of a wave-tossed ship; you feel the soul of the storm go -into your blood.”—_N. Y. Home Journal._ - -“The characters are strongly drawn, the descriptions are intensely -dramatic, and the situations are portrayed with rare vividness of -language. It is a thrilling story, told with great power.”—_Boston -Advertiser._ - -_MASTER AND MAN._ By Count LEO TOLSTOY. With an Introduction by W. D. -HOWELLS. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -“Crowded with these characteristic touches which mark his literary -work.”—_Public Opinion._ - -“Reveals a wonderful knowledge of the workings of the human mind, and it -tells a tale that not only stirs the emotions, but gives us a better -insight into our own hearts.”—_San Francisco Argonaut._ - -_THE ZEIT-GEIST._ By L. DOUGALL, author of “The Mermaid,” “Beggars All,” -etc. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -“One of the best of the short stories of the day.”—_Boston Journal._ - -“One of the most remarkable novels of the year.”—_New York Commercial -Advertiser._ - -“Powerful in conception, treatment, and influence.”—_Boston Globe._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - TWO REMARKABLE AMERICAN NOVELS. - -_THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Episode of the American Civil War._ By -STEPHEN CRANE. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - -“Mr. Stephen Crane is a great artist, with something new to say, and -consequently with a new way of saying it.... In ‘The Red Badge of -Courage’ Mr. Crane has surely contrived a masterpiece.... He has painted -a picture that challenges comparisons with the most vivid scenes of -Tolstoy’s ‘La Guerre et la Paix’ or of Zola’s ‘La Débâcle.’”—_London New -Review._ - -“In its whole range of literature we can call to mind nothing so -searching in its analysis, so manifestly impressed with the stamp of -truth, as ‘The Red Badge of Courage.’... A remarkable study of the -average mind under stress of battle.... We repeat, a really fine -achievement.”—_London Daily Chronicle._ - -“Not merely a remarkable book; it is a revelation.... One feels that, -with perhaps one or two exceptions, all previous descriptions of modern -warfare have been the merest abstractions.”—_St. James Gazette._ - -“Holds one irrevocably. There is no possibility of resistance when once -you are in its grip, from the first of the march of the troops to the -closing scenes.... Mr. Crane, we repeat, has written a remarkable book. -His insight and his power of realization amount to genius.”—_Pall Mall -Gazette._ - -“There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it in the vivid, -uncompromising, almost aggressive vigor with which it depicts the -strangely mingled conditions that go to make up what men call war.... -Mr. Crane has added to American literature something that has never been -done before, and that is, in its own peculiar way, inimitable.”—_Boston -Beacon._ - -“Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well -depicted.... The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all -aglow with color, movement, and vim. The style is as keen and bright as -a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done nothing better in this -line.”—_Chicago Evening Post._ - -_IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING. A Romance of the American Revolution._ By -CHAUNCEY C. HOTCHKISS. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. - -“The whole story is so completely absorbing that you will sit far into -the night to finish it. You lay it aside with the feeling that you have -seen a gloriously true picture of the Revolution.”—_Boston Herald._ - -“The story is a strong one—a thrilling one. It causes the true American -to flush with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter until the eyes -smart; and it fairly smokes with patriotism.”—_New York Mail and -Express._ - -“The heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking part in the -scenes described.... Altogether the book is an addition to American -literature.”—_Chicago Evening Post._ - -“One of the most readable novels of the year.... As a love romance it is -charming, while it is filled with thrilling adventure and deeds of -patriotic daring.”—_Boston Advertiser._ - -“This romance seems to come the nearest to a satisfactory treatment in -fiction of the Revolutionary period that we have yet had.”—_Buffalo -Courier._ - -“A clean, wholesome story, full of romance and interesting -adventure.... Holds the interest alike by the thread of the story and -by the incidents.... A remarkably well-balanced and absorbing -novel.”—_Milwaukee Journal._ - - Transcriber’s Note - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. - - 76.21 she [give] that young lady _sic_ - - 116.1 the _Free Press_[,] the _Hindu Patriot_, the Added. - _Bengalee_ - - 160.20 afternoo[o]n still hung mellow in mid air Removed. - - 207.3 as lovely, a[s] embarrassing as divine. Added. - - 281.9 and occupied herself with the[n/m] Replaced. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's His Honour, and a Lady, by Mrs. Everard Cotes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY *** - -***** This file should be named 53036-0.txt or 53036-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/3/53036/ - -Produced by KD Weeks, Larry B. Harrison and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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} - div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA; - border:1px solid silver; margin:1em 5% 0 5%; text-align: justify; } - div.footnotes { background-color:#E3E4FA; border: dashed 1px; margin-bottom: 5em; - padding: 2em; } - .epubonly {visibility: hidden; display: none; } - @media handheld { .epubonly { visibility: visible; display: inline; } } - .htmlonly {visibility: visible; display: inline; } - @media handheld { .htmlonly { visibility: hidden; display: none; } } - div.letter { font-size:90%; margin-bottom:1em; } - div.box { border:1px solid black; padding: 2em; } - div.box70 { text-align:center; border:1px solid black; width:70%; padding:1em; - margin:auto; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of His Honour, and a Lady, by Mrs. Everard Cotes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: His Honour, and a Lady - -Author: Mrs. Everard Cotes - -Release Date: September 12, 2016 [EBook #53036] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Larry B. Harrison and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>Transcriber’s Note:</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>The few footnotes have been positioned directly following the -paragraph in which they are referenced.</p> - -<p class='c000'>Please consult the <a href='#endnote'>note</a> at the end of this text for -a discussion of any textual issues encountered in its preparation.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='xlarge'>HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='box'> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='large'>BOOKS BY MRS. EVERARD COTES</span></div> - <div class='c002'>(SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN).</div> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class='c003' /> - -<p class='c000'><b>His Honour, and a Lady.</b></p> -<p class='c004'>Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>The Story of Sonny Sahib.</b></p> -<p class='c004'>Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>Vernon’s Aunt.</b></p> -<p class='c004'>With many Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>A Daughter of To-Day.</b></p> -<p class='c004'>A Novel. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>A Social Departure.</b></p> -<p class='c006'><span class='sc'>How Orthodocia and I Went Round the -World by Ourselves.</span> With 111 Illustrations -by <span class='sc'>F. H. Townsend</span>. 12mo. Paper, 75 cents; -cloth, $1.75.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>An American Girl in London.</b></p> -<p class='c006'>With 80 Illustrations by <span class='sc'>F. H. Townsend</span>. 12mo. -Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c005'><b>The Simple Adventures of a Memsahib.</b></p> -<p class='c006'>With 37 Illustrations by <span class='sc'>F. H. Townsend</span>. 12mo. -Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<hr class='c007' /> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>The situation made its voiceless demand.<br />(See page <a href='#Page_33'>33</a>.)</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div> - <h1 class='c008'>HIS HONOUR, AND <br /> A LADY</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>BY</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='large'>MRS. EVERARD COTES</span></div> - <div class='c002'>(SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN)</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='small'>AUTHOR OF A SOCIAL DEPARTURE, AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON,</span></div> - <div><span class='small'>A DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY, VERNON’S AUNT,</span></div> - <div><span class='small'>THE STORY OF SONNY SAHIB, ETC.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i_title.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>NEW YORK</div> - <div>D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</div> - <div>1896</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div><span class='sc'>Copyright</span>, 1895, 1896,</div> - <div><span class='sc'>By</span> D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span> - <h2 class='c010'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> -</div> - -<hr class='c011' /> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='77%' /> -<col width='22%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c012'> </td> - <td class='c013'><span class='xsmall'>FACING<br />PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>The situation made its voiceless demand</td> - <td class='c013'><i>Frontispiece</i></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>“She seems to be sufficiently entertained”</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#i020a'>21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>There was a moment’s pause</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#i082a'>83</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>Notwithstanding, it was gay enough</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#i150a'>150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>“What do I know about the speech”!</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#i214a'>215</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'>She drove back</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#i304a'>305</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span><span class='xlarge'>HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER I.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“The Sahib <em>walks</em>!” said Ram Prasannad, -who dusted the office books and papers, to -Bundal Singh the messenger, who wore a long -red coat with a badge of office, and went about -the business of the Queen-Empress on his two -lean brown legs.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What talk is that?” Bundal Singh shifted -his betel quid to the other cheek and lunged -upon his feet. This in itself was something. -When one sits habitually upon one’s heels the -process of getting up is not undertaken lightly. -The men looked out together between the -whitewashed stucco pillars of the long verandah -that interposed between the Commissioner’s -clerks and the glare and publicity of the -outer world of Hassimabad. Overhead, in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>pipal tree that threw sharp-cut patterns of its -heart-shaped leaves about their feet, a crow -stretched its grey-black throat in strenuous -caws, since it was ten o’clock in the morning -and there was no reason to keep silence. -Farther away a chorus of other crows smote -the sunlight, and from the direction of the -bazar came a murmur of the life there, borne -higher now and then in the wailing voice of -some hawker of sweetmeats. Nevertheless there -was a boundless stillness, a stillness that might -have been commanded. The prodigal sun intensified -it, and the trees stood in it, a red and dusty -road wound through it, and the figure of a man, -walking quickly down the road, seemed to be a -concentration of it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That signifies,” continued Ram Prasannad, -without emotion, “news that is either very good -or very bad. The Government <em>lât</em> had but -arrived, the sahib opened one letter only—which -is now with him—and in a breath he was gone, -walking, though the horse was still fast between -the shafts. Myself, I think the news is good, for -my cousin—he is a writing baboo in the Home -<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>Office, dost thou understand, thou, runner of -errands!—has sent word to me that the sahib is -much in favour with the <em>Burra Lat</em>, and that it -would be well to be faithful to him.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I will go swiftly after with an umbrella, and -from his countenance it will appear,” remarked -Bundal Singh; “and look thou, worthy one, if -that son of mud, Lal Beg, the grain dealer, comes -again in my absence to try to make petition to -the sahib, and brings a pice less than one rupee -to me, do thou refuse him admission.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Bundal Singh ran after his master, as he said. -As John Church walked rapidly, and the habitual -pace of a Queen’s messenger in red and gold is -a dignified walk, the umbrella was tendered with -a devoted loss of wind.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It may be that your honour will take harm -from the sun,” Bundal Singh suggested, with -the privilege all the Commissioner’s people felt -permitted to use. The Commissioner liked it—could -be depended upon to appreciate any little -savour of personal devotion to him, even if it -took the form of a liberty. He had not a servant -who was unaware of this or failed to presume -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>upon it, in his place and degree. This one got a -nod of acknowledgment as his master took the -opened umbrella, and observed, as he fell behind, -that the sahib was too much preoccupied to -carry it straight. He went meditatively back -to Ram Prasannad in the verandah, who said, -“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Simply it does not appear. The sahib’s -forehead had twenty wrinkles, and his mind -was a thousand miles hence. Yet it was as -if he had lately smiled and would smile again. -What will be, will be. Lal Beg has not been -here?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>John Church walked steadily on, with his -near-sighted eyes fixed always upon the wide -space of sunlit road, its red dust thick-printed -with bare feet and hoofs, that lay in front of -him—seeing nothing, literally, but the way home. -He met no one who knew him except people -from the bazar, who regarded their vizier with -serious wonder as they salaamed, the men who -sat upon low bamboo carts and urged, hand upon -flank, the peaceful-eyed cattle yoked to them, -turning to stare as they jogged indolently past. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>A brown pariah, curled up in the middle of the -road, lifted his long snout in lazy apology as -Church stepped round him, trusting the sense -that told him it would not be necessary to get -out of the way. As he passed the last low wall, -mossy and discoloured, that divided its brilliantly -tangled garden from the highway, and turned in -at its own gate, he caught himself out of his -abstraction and threw up his head. He entered -his wife’s drawing-room considerately, and a ray -of light, slipping through the curtains and past -the azaleas and across the cool duskness of the -place, fell on his spectacles and exaggerated the -triumph in his face.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The lady, who sat at the other end of the -room writing, rose as her husband came into it, -and stepped forward softly to meet him. If you -had known her you would have noticed a slight -elation in her step that was not usual, and made -it more graceful, if anything, than it commonly -was.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think I know what you have come to tell -me,” she said. Her voice matched her personality -so perfectly that it might have suggested -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>her, to a few people, in her darkened drawing-room, -as its perfume would betray some sweet-smelling -thing in the evening. Not to John -Church. “I think I know,” she said, as he -hesitated for words that would not show extravagant -or undignified gratification. “But tell -me yourself. It will be a pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That Sir Griffiths Spence goes on eighteen -months’ sick leave, and——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And that you are appointed to officiate for -him. Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Somebody has written?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes—Mr. Ancram.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His wife had come close to him, and he -noticed that she was holding out her hands in -her impulse of congratulation. He took one of -them—it was all he felt the occasion required—and -shook it lamely. She dropped the other -with a little quick turn of her head and a dash -of amusement at her own expense in the gentle -gravity of her expression. “Do sit down,” she -said, almost as if he had been a visitor, “and -tell me all about it.” She dragged a comfortable -chair forward out of its relation with a Burmese -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>carved table, some pots of ferns and a screen, and -sat down herself opposite, leaning forward in a -little pose of expectancy. Church placed himself -on the edge of it, grasping his hat with -both hands between his knees.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I must apologise for my boots,” he said, -looking down: “I walked over. I am very -dusty.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What does it matter? You are King of -Bengal!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Acting King.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is the same thing—or it will be. Sir -Griffiths retires altogether in two years—Lord -Scansleigh evidently intends you to succeed -him.” The lady spoke with obvious repression, -but her gray eyes and the warm whiteness of -her oval face seemed to have caught into themselves -all the light and shadow of the room.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Perhaps—perhaps. You always invest in -the future at a premium, Judith. I don’t intend -to think about that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Such an anticipation, based on his own worth, -seemed to him unwarrantable, almost indecent.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I do,” she said, wilfully ignoring the clouding -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>of his face. “There is so much to think -about. First the pay—almost ten thousand -rupees a month—and we are poor. It may be -a material consideration, but I don’t mind confessing -that the prospect of never having to cut -the khansamah appeals to me. We shall have a -palace and a park to live in, with a guard at the -gates, and two outriders with swords to follow -our carriage. We shall live in Calcutta, where -there are trams and theatres and shops and -people. The place carries knighthood if you -are confirmed in it, and you will be Sir John -Church—that gratifies the snob that is latent in -me because I am a woman, John.” (She paused -and glanced at his face, which had grown almost -morose.) “Best of all,” she added lightly, -“as Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal you will be -practically sole ruler of eighty millions of people. -You will be free to carry out your own theories, -and to undertake reforms—any number of reforms! -Mr. Ancram says,” she went on, after a -moment’s hesitation, “that the man and the -opportunity have come together.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>John Church blushed, through his beard -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>which was gray, and over the top of his head -which was bald, but his look lightened.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ancram will be one of my secretaries,” he -said. “Does he speak at all—does he mention -the way it has been taken in Calcutta?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Church went to her writing-table and -came back with the letter. It was luxuriously -written, in a rapid hand as full of curves and -angles as a woman’s, and covered, from “Dear -Lady” to “Always yours sincerely,” several -broad-margined sheets.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think he does,” she said, deliberately -searching the pages. “Yes: ‘Church was not -thought precisely in the running—you are so -remote in Hassimabad, and his work has always -been so unostentatious—and there was some -surprise when the news came, but no cavil. It -is known that the Viceroy has been looking -almost with tears for a man who would be strong -enough to redeem a few of Sir Griffiths’ mistakes -if possible while he is away—he has been, -as you know, ludicrously weak with the natives—and -Church’s handling of that religious uproar -you had a year ago has not been forgotten. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>need not expatiate upon the pleasure your friends -feel, but it may gratify you to know that the -official mob is less ready with criticism of His -Excellency’s choice than usual.’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>John Church listened with the look of putting -his satisfaction under constraint. He listened in -the official manner, as one who has many things -to hear, with his head bent forward and toward -his wife, and his eyes consideringly upon the -floor.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am glad of that,” he said nervously when -she had finished—“I am glad of that. There is -a great deal to be done in Bengal, and matters -will be simplified if they recognise it.“</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think you would find a great deal to do -anywhere, John,” remarked Mrs. Church. It -could almost be said that she spoke kindly, and -a sensitive observer with a proper estimate of her -husband might have found this irritating. During -the little while that followed, however, as -they talked, in the warmth of this unexpected -gratification, of what his work had been as a -Commissioner, and what it might be as a Lieutenant-Governor, -it would have been evident -<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>even to an observer who was not sensitive, that -here they touched a high-water mark of their -intercourse, a climax in the cordiality of their -mutual understanding.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“By the way,” said John Church, getting -up to go, “when is Ancram to be married?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t know!” Mrs. Church threw some -interest into the words. Her inflection said -that she was surprised that she didn’t know. -“He only mentions Miss Daye to call her a -‘study in femininity,’ which looks as if he might -be submitting to a protracted process of education -at her hands. Certainly not soon, I should -think.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ancram must be close on forty, with good -pay, good position, good prospects. He -shouldn’t put it off any longer: a man has no -business to grow old alone in this country. -He deteriorates.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Church pulled himself together with a shake—he -was a loose-hung creature—and put a nervous -hand up to his necktie. Then he pulled -down his cuffs, considered his hat with the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>effect of making quite sure that there was nothing -more to say, and turned to go.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You might send me over something,” he -said, glancing at his watch. “I won’t be able -to come back to breakfast. Already I’ve lost -three-quarters of an hour from work. Government -doesn’t pay me for that. You are pleased, -then?” he added, looking round at her in a -half shamefaced way from the door.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Church had returned to the writing-table, -and had again taken up her pen. She -leaned back in her chair and lifted her delicate -chin with a smile that had custom and patience -in it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Very pleased indeed,” she said; and he -went away. The intelligent observer, again, -would have wondered how he refrained from -going back and kissing her. Perhaps the custom -and the patience in her smile would have -lent themselves to the explanation. At all -events, he went away.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He was forty-two, exactly double her age, -when he married Judith Strange, eight years -before, in Stoneborough, a small manufacturing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>town in the north of England, where her father -was a Nonconformist minister. He was her -opportunity, and she had taken him, with private -congratulation that she could respect him -and private qualms as to whether her respect -was her crucial test of him—considered in the -light of an opportunity. Not in any sordid -sense; she would be more inclined perhaps to -apologise for herself than I am to apologise for -her. But with an inordinately hungry capacity -for life she had the narrowest conditions to live -in. She knew by intuition that the world was -full of colour and passion, and when one is tormented -with this sort of knowledge it becomes -more than ever grievous to inhabit one of its -small, dull, grimy blind alleys, with the single -anticipation of enduring to a smoke-blackened -old age, like one of Stoneborough’s lesser chimneys. -There was nothing ideal about John -Church except his honesty,—already he stooped, -already he was grey, sallow and serious, with -the slenderest interest in questions that could -not express their utility in unquestionable facts,—but -when he asked her to marry him, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>wall at the end of the alley fell down, and a -breeze stole in from the far East, with a vision -of palms and pomegranates. She accepted him -for the sake of her imagination, wishing profoundly -that he was not so much like her father, -with what her mother thought almost improper -promptitude; and for a long time, although he -still stood outside it, her imagination loyally rewarded -her. She felt the East to her fingertips, -and her mere physical life there became -a thing of vivid experience, to be valued for -itself. If her husband confounded this joy in -her expansion with the orthodox happiness of a -devoted wife, it cannot be said that he was -particularly to blame for his mistake, for numbers -of other people made it also. And when, -after eight years of his companionship, and that -of the sunburned policeman, the anæmic magistrate, -the agreeable doctor, their wives, the odd -colonel, and the stray subalterns that constituted -society in the stations they lived in, she began -to show a little lassitude of spirit, he put it -down not unnaturally to the climate, and wished -he could conscientiously take a few months’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>leave, since nothing would induce her to go to -England without him. By this time India had -become a resource, India that lay all about her, -glowing, profuse, mysterious, fascinating, a place -in which she felt that she had no part, could -never have any part, but that of a spectator. -The gesture of a fakir, the red masses of the -gold-mohur trees against the blue intensity of -the sky, the heavy sweetness of the evening -wind, the soft colour and curves of the homeward -driven cattle, the little naked babies with -their jingling anklets in the bazar—she had begun -to turn to these things seeking their gift -of pleasure jealously, consciously thankful that, -in spite of the Amusement Club, she could -never be altogether bored.</p> - -<p class='c016'>John Church went back to work with his -satisfaction sweetened by the fact that his wife -had told him that she was very pleased indeed, -while Mrs. Church answered the Honourable -Mr. Lewis Ancram’s letter.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I have been making my own acquaintance -this morning,” she said among other things, -“as an ambitious woman. It is intoxicating, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>after this idle, sun-filled, wondering life, with the -single supreme care that John does not wear -ragged collars to church—as a Commissioner -he ought to be extravagant in collars—to be -confronted with something to assume and carry -out, a part to play, with all India looking on. -Don’t imagine a lofty intention on my part to -inspire my husband’s Resolutions. I assure you -I see myself differently. Perhaps, after all, it -is the foolish anticipation of my state and splendour -that has excited my vain imagination as -much as anything. Already, prospectively, I -murmur lame nothings into the ear of the -Viceroy as he takes me down to dinner! But -I am preposterously delighted. To-morrow is -Sunday—I have an irreverent desire for the -prayers of all the churches.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER II.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“Here you are at last!” remarked Mrs. -Daye with vivacity, taking the three long, pronounced -and rustling steps which she took so -very well, toward the last comer to her dinner -party, who made his leisurely entrance between -the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>portières</em></span>, pocketing his handkerchief. “Don’t -say you have been to church,” she went on, -holding out a condoning hand, “for none of us -will believe you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Although Mr. Ancram’s lips curved back -over his rather prominent teeth in a narrow -smile as he put up his eyeglass and looked -down at his hostess, Mrs. Daye felt the levity -fade out of her expression: she had to put compulsion -on herself to keep it in her face. It -was as if she, his prospective mother-in-law, had -taken the least of liberties with Mr. Ancram.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Does the only road to forgiveness lie -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>through the church gate?” he asked. His voice -was high and agreeable; it expressed discrimination; -his tone implied that, if the occasion had -required it, he could have said something much -cleverer easily—an implication no one who -knew him would have found unwarrantable.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The padres say it does, as a rule, Ancram,” -put in Colonel Daye. “In this case it lies -through the dining-room door. Will you take -my wife in?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>In a corner of the room, which she might -have chosen for its warm obscurity, Rhoda Daye -watched with curious scrutiny the lightest detail -of Mr. Lewis Ancram’s behaviour. An elderly -gentleman, with pulpy red cheeks and an amplitude -of white waistcoat, stood beside her chair, -swaying out of the perpendicular with well-bred -rigidity now and then, in tentative efforts at conversation; -to which she replied, “Really?” and -“Yes, I know,” while her eyes fixed themselves -upon Ancram’s face, and her little white features -gleamed immobile under the halo which the tall -lamp behind her made with her fuzz of light-brown -hair. “Mother’s respect for him is simply -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>outrageous,” she reflected, as she assured the -elderly gentleman that even for Calcutta the heat -was really extraordinary, considering that they -were in December. “I wonder—supposing he -had not made love to me—if I could have had -as much!” She did not answer herself definitely—not -from any lack of candour, but because -the question presented difficulties. She slipped -past him presently on the arm of the elderly -gentleman, as Ancram still stood with bent head -talking to her mother. His eyes sought hers -with a significance that flattered her—there was -no time for further greeting—and the bow with -which he returned her enigmatic little nod singled -her out for consideration. As she went in -to dinner the nape of Mr. Lewis Ancram’s neck -and the parting of his hair remained with her as -pictorial facts.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye always gave composite dinner-parties, -and this was one of them. “If you ask -nobody but military people to meet each other,” -she was in the habit of saying, “you hear nothing -but the price of chargers and the prospects -of the Staff Corps. If you make your list up of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>civilians, the conversation consists of abuse of -their official superiors and the infamous conduct -of the Secretary of State about the rupee.” On -this occasion Mrs. Daye had reason to anticipate -that the price of chargers would be varied by -the grievances of the Civil Service, and that a -touring Member of Parliament would participate -in the discussion who knew nothing about either; -and she felt that her blend would be successful. -She could give herself up to the somewhat fearful -enjoyment she experienced in Mr. Ancram’s -society. Mrs. Daye was convinced that nobody -appreciated Mr. Ancram more subtly than she -did. She saw a great deal of jealousy of him in -Calcutta society, whereas she was wont to declare -that, for her part, she found nothing extraordinary -in the way he had got in—a man of -his brains, you know! And if Calcutta resented -this imputation upon its own brains in ever so -slight a degree, Mrs. Daye saw therein more -jealousy of the fact that her family circle was -about to receive him. When it had once -opened for that purpose and closed again, Mrs. -Daye hoped vaguely that she would be sustained -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>for the new and exacting duty of living -up to Mr. Ancram.</p> - -<div id='i020a' class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_020a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>“She seems to be sufficiently entertained.”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>Please</em> look at Rhoda,” she begged, in a conversational -buzz that her blend had induced.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mr. Ancram looked, deliberately, but with -appreciation. “She seems to be sufficiently -entertained,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, she is! She’s got a globe-trotter. -Haven’t you found out that Rhoda simply loves -globe-trotters? She declares that she renews -her youth in them.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Her first impressions, I suppose she means?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, as to what she <em>means</em>——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye broke off irresolutely, and thoughtfully -conveyed a minute piece of roll to her lips. -The minute piece of roll was Mr. Ancram’s -opportunity to complete Mrs. Daye’s suggestion -of a certain interesting ambiguity in her -daughter; but he did not take it. He continued -to look attentively at Miss Daye, who appeared, -as he said, to be sufficiently entertained, under -circumstances which seemed to him inadequate. -Her traveller was talking emphatically, with -gestures of elderly dogmatism, and she was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>deferentially listening, an amusement behind her -eyes with which the Chief Secretary to the Government -at Bengal was not altogether unfamiliar. -He had seen it there before, on occasions when -there was apparently nothing to explain it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It would be satisfactory to see her eating -her dinner,” he remarked, with what Mrs. Daye -felt to be too slight a degree of solicitude. She -was obliged to remind herself that at thirty-seven -a man was apt to take these things more -as matters of fact, especially—and there was a -double comfort in this reflection—a man already -well up in the Secretariat and known to be -ambitious. “Is it possible,” Mr. Ancram went -on, somewhat absently, “that these are Calcutta -roses? You must have a very clever gardener.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No”—and Mrs. Daye pitched her voice -with a gentle definiteness that made what she -was saying interesting all round the table—“they -came from the Viceroy’s place at Barrackpore. -Lady Emily sent them to me: so sweet of -her, I thought! I always think it particularly -kind when people in that position trouble themselves -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>about one; they must have so <em>many</em> demands -upon their time.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The effect could not have been better. -Everybody looked at the roses with an interest -that might almost be described as respectful; -and Mrs. Delaine, whose husband was Captain -Delaine of the Durham Rifles, said that she -would have known them for Their Excellencies’ -roses anywhere—they always did the table with -that kind for the Thursday dinners at Government -House—she had never known them to -use any other.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. St. George, whose husband was the -Presidency Magistrate, found this interesting. -“Do they really?” she exclaimed. “I’ve often -wondered what those big Thursday affairs were -like. Fancy—we’ve been in Calcutta through -three cold weathers now, and have never been -asked to anything but little private dinners at -Government House—not more than eight or ten, -you know!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Don’t you prefer that?” asked Mrs. Delaine, -taking her quenching with noble equanimity.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>“Well, of course one sees more <em>of</em> them,” -Mrs. St. George admitted. “The last time we -were there, about a fortnight ago, I had a long -chat with Lady Emily. She is a sweet thing, -and perfectly wild at being out of the school-room!” -Mrs. St. George added that it was a -charming family, so well brought up; and this -seemed to be a matter of special congratulation -as affecting the domestic arrangements of a -Viceroy. There was a warmth and an emphasis -in the corroboration that arose which almost -established relations of intimacy between Their -Excellencies and Mrs. Daye’s dinner-party. Mrs. -Daye’s daughter listened in her absorbed, noting -manner; and when the elderly gentleman -remarked with a certain solemnity that they -were talking of the Scansleighs, he supposed, -the smile with which she said “Evidently” -was more pronounced than he could have had -any right to expect.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“They seem to be delightful people,” continued -the elderly gentleman, earnestly.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I daresay,” Miss Daye replied, with grave -deliberation. “They’re very decorative,” she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>added absently. “That’s a purely Indian vegetable, -Mr. Pond. Rather sticky, and without the -ghost of a flavour; but you ought to try it, as -an experience, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>It occurred to Mrs. Daye sometimes that Mr. -Ancram was unreasonably difficult to entertain, -even for a Chief Secretary. It occurred to her -more forcibly than usual on this particular evening, -and it was almost with trepidation that she -produced the trump card on which she had -been relying to provoke a lively suit of amiabilities. -She produced it awkwardly too; there -was always a slight awkwardness, irritating to so -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>habile</em></span> a lady, in her manner of addressing Mr. -Ancram, owing to her confessed and painful inability -to call him “Lewis”—yet. “Oh,” she -said finally, “I haven’t congratulated you on -your ‘Modern Influence of the Vedic Books.’ -I assure you, in spite of its being in blue paper -covers and printed by Government I went -through it with the greatest interest. And there -were no pictures either,” Mrs. Daye added, with -the ingenuousness which often clings to Anglo-Indian -ladies somewhat late in life.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>Mr. Ancram was occupied for the moment in -scrutinising the contents of a dish which a servant -patiently presented to his left elbow. It -was an ornate and mottled conception visible -through a mass of brown jelly, and the man -looked disappointed when so important a guest, -after perceptible deliberation, decisively removed -his eyeglass and shook his head. Mrs. Daye was -in the act of reminding herself of the probably -impaired digestion of a Chief Secretary, when -he seemed suddenly recalled to the fact that she -had spoken.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Really?” he said, looking fully at her, with -a smile that had many qualities of compensation. -“My dear Mrs. Daye, that was doing a good -deal for friendship, wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His eyes were certainly blue and expressive -when he allowed them to be, his hostess thought, -and he had the straight, thin, well-indicated nose -which she liked, and a sensitive mouth for a -man. His work as part of the great intelligent -managing machine of the Government of India -overimpressed itself upon the stamp of scholarship -Oxford had left on his face, which had the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>pallor of Bengal, with fatigued lines about the -eyes, lines that suggested to Mr. Ancram’s -friends the constant reproach of over-exertion. -A light moustache, sufficiently well-curled and -worldly, effectually prevented any tinge of asceticism -which might otherwise have been -characteristic, and placed Mr. Ancram among -those who discussed Meredith, had an expensive -taste in handicrafts, and subscribed to the <cite>Figaro -Salon</cite>. His secretary’s stoop was not a pronounced -and local curve, rather a general thrusting -forward of his personality which was fitting -enough in a scientific investigator; and his long, -nervous, white hands spoke of a multitude of -well-phrased Resolutions. It was ridiculous, -Mrs. Daye thought, that with so agreeable a -manner he should still convey the impression -that one’s interest in the Vedic Books was not -of the least importance. It must be that she -was over-sensitive. But she would be piqued -notwithstanding. Pique, when one is plump and -knows how to hold oneself, is more effective than -almost any other attitude.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You are exactly like all the rest! You -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>think that no woman can possibly care to read -anything but novels! Now, as a matter of fact -I am <em>devoted</em> to things like Vedic Books. If I -had nothing else to do I should dig and delve -in the archaic from morning till night.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The implication being,” returned Mr. Ancram -sweetly, “that I have nothing else to -do.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye compressed her lips in the manner -of one whose patience is at an end. “It -would serve you perfectly right,” she exclaimed, -“if I didn’t tell you what a long review of -it I saw the other day in one of the home -papers.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked up with an almost imperceptible -accession of interest.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How nice!” he said lightly. “A fellow out -here always feels himself in luck when his odds -and ends get taken up at home. You don’t happen -to remember the paper—or the date?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’m almost sure it was the <cite>Times</cite>,” Mrs. -Daye replied, with rather an accentuation of rejoiceful -zeal; “but Richard can tell you. It was -he who drew my attention to the notice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>Mr. Ancram’s eyebrows underwent a slight -contraction. “Notice” did not seem to be a -felicitous word.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, thanks,” he said. “Never mind; one -generally comes across those things sooner or -later.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I say, Ancram,” put in Mr. St. George, who -had been listening on Mrs. Daye’s left, “you -Asiatic Society fellows won’t get as much out -of Church for your investigations as you did out -of Spence.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked fixedly at a porcelain cherub -that moored a boatful of pink-and-white confectionery -to the nearest bank of the Viceregal -roses. “Sir Griffiths was certainly generous,” -he said. “He gave Pierson a quarter of a lakh, -for instance, to get his ethnological statistics -together. It was easy to persuade him to recognise -the value of these things.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It won’t be easy to get this man to recognise -it,” persisted St. George. “He’s the sort of -fellow who likes sanitation better than Sanscrit. -He’s got a great scheme on for improving the -village water-supply for Bengal, and I hear he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>wants to reorganise the vaccination business. -Great man for the people!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Wants to spend every blessed pice on the -bloomin’ ryot,” remarked Captain Delaine, with -humorous resentment.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Let us hope the people will be grateful,” said -Ancram vaguely.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“They won’t, you know,” remarked Rhoda -Daye to Mr. Pond. “They’ll never know. They -are like the cattle—they plough and eat and -sleep; and if a tenth of them die of cholera from -bad water, they say it was written upon their -foreheads; and if Government cleans the tanks -and the tenth are spared, they say it is a good -year and the gods are favourable.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Dear me!” said Mr. Pond: “that’s very -interesting.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Isn’t it? And there’s lots more of it—all in -the Calcutta newspapers, Mr. Pond: you should -read them if you wish to be informed.” And -Mr. Pond thought that an excellent idea.</p> - -<p class='c016'>When a Lieutenant-Governor drops into the -conversational vortex of a Calcutta dinner-party -he circles on indefinitely. The measure of his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>hospitality, the nature of his tastes, the direction -of his policy, his quality as a master, and the -measure of his popularity, are only a few of the -heads under which he is discussed; while his -wife is made the most of separately, with equal -thoroughness and precision. Just before Mrs. -Daye looked smilingly at Mrs. St. George, and -the ladies flocked away, some one asked who -Mrs. Church’s friends were in Calcutta, anyway: -she seemed to know hardly any one person more -than another—a delightful impartiality, the lady -added, of course, after Lady Spence’s favouritism. -The remark fell lightly enough upon the -air, but Lewis Ancram did not let it pass. He -looked at nobody in particular, but into space: -it was a way he had when he let fall anything -definite.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well,” he said, “I hope I may claim to be -one. My pretension dates back five years—I -used to know them in Kaligurh. I fancy Mrs. -Church will be appreciated in Calcutta. She is -that combination which is so much less rare than -it used to be—a woman who is as fine as she is -clever, and as clever as she is charming.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>“With all due deference to Mr. Ancram’s -opinion,” remarked Mrs. Daye publicly, with -one hand upon the banister, as the ladies went -up to the drawing-room, “I should <em>not</em> call Mrs. -Church a fine woman. She’s much too slender—really -almost thin!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear mummie,” exclaimed Rhoda, as -Mrs. St. George expressed her entire concurrence, -“don’t be stupid! He didn’t mean that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Later Ancram stepped out of one of the open -French windows and found her alone on the -broad verandah, where orchids hung from the -roof and big plants in pots made a spiky gloom -in the corners. A tank in the garden glistened -motionless below; the heavy fronds of a clump -of sago palms waved up and down uncertainly -in the moonlight. Now and then in the moist, -soft air the scent of some hidden temple tree -made itself felt. A cluster of huts to the right -in the street they looked down upon stood half-concealed -in a hanging blue cloud of smoke and -fog. Far away in the suburbs the wailing cry -of the jackals rose and fell and recommenced; -nearer the drub-drubbing of a tom-tom announced -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>that somewhere in the bazar they kept -a marriage festival. But for themselves and the -moonlight and the shadow of the creeper round -the pillars, the verandah was quite empty, and -through the windows came a song of Mrs. -Delaine’s about love’s little hour. The situation -made its voiceless demand, and neither of them -were unconscious of it. Nevertheless he, lighting -a cigarette, asked her if she would not come -in and hear the music; and she said no—she -liked it better there; whereat they both kept -the silence that was necessary for the appreciation -of Mrs. Delaine’s song. When it was over, -Rhoda’s terrier, Buzz, came out with inquiring -cordiality, and they talked of the growth of his -accomplishments since Ancram had given him -to her; and then, as if it were a development of -the subject, Rhoda said:</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Mrs. Church has a very interesting face, -don’t you think?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Very,” Ancram replied unhesitatingly.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“She looks as if she cared for beautiful things. -Not only pictures and things, but beautiful conceptions—ideas, -characteristics.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>“I understand,” Ancram returned: “she -does.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>There was a pause, while they listened to the -wail of the jackals, which had grown wild and -high and tumultuous. As it died away, Rhoda -looked up with a little smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I like that,” she said; “it is about the only -thing out here that is quite irrepressible. And—you -knew her well at Kaligurh?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think I may say I did,” Ancram replied, -tossing the end of his cigarette down among -the hibiscus bushes. “My dear girl, you must -come in. There is nothing like a seductive -moonlight night in India to give one fever.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I congratulate you,” said Miss Daye—and -her tone had a defiance which she did not intend, -though one could not say that she was unaware -of its cynicism—“I congratulate you upon knowing -her well. It is always an advantage to -know the wife of the Lieutenant-Governor well. -The most delightful things come of it—Commissionerships, -and all sorts of things. I hope -you will make her understand the importance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>of the Vedic Books in their bearing upon the -modern problems of government.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You are always asking me to make acknowledgments—you -want almost too many; but since -it amuses you, I don’t mind.” Rhoda noted the -little gleam in his eyes that contradicted this. -“Sanscrit is to me now exactly what Greek -was at Oxford—a stepping-stone, and nothing -more. One must do something to distinguish -oneself from the herd; and in India, thank -fortune, it’s easy enough. There’s an enormous -field, and next to nobody to beat. Bless you, -a Commissariat Colonel can give himself an -aureole of scientific discovery out here if he -cares to try! If I hadn’t taken up Sanscrit -and Hinduism, I should have gone in for palæontology, -or conchology, or folk-lore, or ferns. -Anything does: only the less other people know -about it the better; so I took Sanscrit.” A -combined suggestion of humour and candour -gradually accumulated in Mr. Ancram’s sentences, -which came to a climax when he added, -“You don’t think it very original to discover -that!”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>“And the result of being distinguished from -the herd?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, they -don’t send one to administer the Andamans or -Lower Burmah,” he said. “They conserve -one’s intellectual achievements to adorn social -centres of some importance, which is more -agreeable. And then, if a valuable post falls -vacant, one is not considered disqualified for -it by being a little wiser than other people. -Come now—there’s a very big confession for -you! But you mustn’t tell. We scientists -must take ourselves with awful seriousness if -we want to be impressive. That’s the part that -bores one.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mr. Ancram smiled down at his betrothed -with distinct good-humour. He was under the -impression that he had spontaneously given his -soul an airing—an impression he was fond of. -She listened, amused that she could evoke so -much, and returned to the thing he had -evaded.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Between the Vedic Books and Mrs. Church,” -she said, “our future seems assured.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>Ancram’s soul retired again, and shut the -door with a click.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That is quite a false note,” he said coolly: -“Mrs. Church will have nothing to do with -it.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER III.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>It became evident very soon after Miss -Rhoda Daye’s appearance in Calcutta that she -was not precisely like the other young ladies in -sailor hats and cambric blouses who arrived at -the same time. For one superficial thing, anybody -could see that she had less colour; and -this her mother mourned openly—a girl depended -so entirely for the first season on her -colour. As other differences became obvious -Mrs. Daye had other regrets, one of them being -that Rhoda had been permitted so absolutely to -fashion her own education. Mrs. Daye had not -foreseen one trivial result of this, which was -that her daughter, believing herself devoid of -any special talent, refused to ornament herself -with any special accomplishment. This, in Mrs. -Daye’s opinion, was carrying self-depreciation -and reverence for achievement and all that sort -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>of thing a great deal too far: a girl had no right -to expect her parents to present her to the -world in a state of artistic nudity. It was not -in the nature of compensation that she understood -the situation with the Amir and the ambitions -of the National Congress; such things -were almost unmentionable in Calcutta society. -And it was certainly in the nature of aggravation -that she showed, after the first month of it, an -inexplicable indifference to every social opportunity -but that of looking on. Miss Daye had an -undoubted talent for looking on; and she would -often exercise it—mutely, motionlessly, half hidden -behind a pillar at a ball, or abandoned in a -corner after dinner—until her mother was mortified -enough to take her home. Presently it -appeared that she had looked on sufficiently to -know her ground. She made her valuation of -society; she picked out the half-dozen Anglo-Indian -types; it may be presumed that she -classified her parents. She still looked on, but -with less concentration: she began to talk. She -developed a liking for the society of elderly -gentlemen of eminence, and an abhorrence for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>that of their wives, which was considered of -doubtful propriety, until the Head of the Foreign -Office once congratulated himself openly -upon sitting next her at dinner. After which -she was regarded with indulgence, it was said -in corners that she must be clever, subalterns -avoided her, and her mother, taking her cue -unerringly, figuratively threw up her hands and -asked Heaven why she of all people should be -given a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>fin-de-siècle</em></span> daughter.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Privately Mrs. Daye tried to make herself -believe, in the manner of the Parisian playwright, -that a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>succès d’estime</em></span> was infinitely to be preferred -to the plaudits of the mob. I need hardly -say that she was wholly successful in doing so, -when Mr. Lewis Ancram contributed to the -balance in favour of this opinion. Mr. Ancram -was observing too: he observed in this case -from shorter and shorter distances, and finally -allowed himself to be charmed by what he saw. -Perhaps that is not putting it quite strongly -enough. He really encouraged himself to be -thus charmed. He was of those who find in the -automatic monotony of the Indian social machine, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>with its unvarying individual—a machine, -he was fond of saying, the wheels of which are -kept oiled with the essence of British Philistinism—a -burden and a complaint. In London he -would have lived with one foot in Mayfair and -the other in the Strand; and there had been -times when he talked of the necessity of chaining -his ambition before his eyes to prevent his -making the choice of a career over again, -though it must be said that this violent proceeding -was carried out rather as a solace to -his defrauded capacity for culture than in view -of any real danger. He had been accustomed -to take the annually fresh young ladies in straw -hats and cambric blouses who appeared in the -cold weather much as he took the inevitable -functions at Government House—to be politely -avoided, if possible; if not, to be submitted to -with the grace which might be expected from -a person holding his office and drawing his -emoluments. When he found that Rhoda Daye -was likely to break up the surface of his blank -indifference to evening parties he fostered the -probability. Among all the young ladies in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>sailor hats and cambric blouses he saw his single -chance for experience, interest, sensation; -and he availed himself of it with an accumulated -energy which Miss Daye found stimulating -enough to induce her to exert herself, to a -certain extent, reciprocally. She was not interested -in the Hon. Mr. Lewis Ancram because of -his reputation: other men had reputations—reputations -almost as big as their paybills—who did -not excite her imagination in the smallest degree. -It would be easy to multiply accounts upon -which Mr. Ancram did not interest Miss Daye, -but it is not clear that any result would be arrived -at that way, and the fact remains that -she was interested. From this quiet point—she -was entirely aware of its advantage—she contemplated -Mr. Ancram’s gradual advance along -the lines of attraction with a feeling very like -satisfaction. She had only to contemplate it. -Ancram contributed his own impetus, and -reached the point where he believed his affections -involved with an artistic shock which he -had anticipated for weeks as quite divinely enjoyable. -She behaved amusingly when they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>were engaged: she made a little comedy of it, -would be coaxed to no confessions and only -one vow—that, as they were to go through life -together, she would try always to be agreeable. -If she had private questionings and secret alarms, -she hid them with intrepidity; and if it seemed -to her to be anything ridiculous that the wayward -god should present himself behind the -careful countenance and the well-starched shirt-front -of early middle-age, holding an eyeglass -in attenuated fingers, and mutely implying that -he had been bored for years, she did not betray -her impression. The thrall of their engagement -made no change in her; she continued to be -the same demure, slender creature, who said -unexpected things, that she had been before. -That he had covetable new privileges did not -seem to make much difference; her chief value -was still that of a clever acquaintance. She -would grow more expensive in time, he thought -vaguely; but several months had passed, as we -have seen, without this result. On the other -hand, there had been occasions when he fancied -that she deliberately disassociated herself -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>from him in that favourite pursuit of observation, -in order to obtain a point of view which -should command certain intellectual privacies -of his. He wondered whether she would take -this liberty with greater freedom when they were -one and indivisible; and, while he felt it absurd -to object, he wished she would be a little more -communicative about what she saw.</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were to be married in March, when -Ancram would take a year’s furlough, and she -would help him to lave his stiffened powers of -artistic enjoyment in the beauties of the Parthenon -and the inspirations of the Viennese -galleries and the charms of Como and Maggiore. -They talked a great deal of the satisfaction they -expected to realise in this way. They went over -it in detail, realising again and again that it -must represent to him compensation for years of -aridity and to her a store against the future -likely to be drawn upon largely. Besides, it -was a topic upon which they were quite sure of -finding mutual understanding, even mutual congratulation—an -excellent topic.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Meanwhile Ancram lived with Philip Doyle -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>in Hungerford Street under the ordinary circumstances -which govern Calcutta bachelors. -Doyle was a barrister. He stood, in Calcutta, -upon his ability and his individuality, and as -these had been observed to place him in familiar -relations with Heads of Departments, it may be -gathered that they gave him a sufficient elevation. -People called him a “strong” man because -he refused their invitations to dinner, but the -statement might have had a more intelligent -basis and been equally true. It would have -surprised him immensely if he could have -weighed the value of his own opinions, or observed -the trouble which men who appropriated -them took to give them a tinge of originality. -He was a survival of an older school, certainly—people -were right in saying that. He had -preserved a courtliness of manner and a sincerity -of behaviour which suggested an Anglo-India -that is mostly lying under pillars and pyramids -in rank Calcutta cemeteries now. He was hospitable -and select—so much of both that he -often experienced ridiculous annoyance at having -asked men to dinner who were essentially unpalatable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>to him. His sensitiveness to qualities -in personal contact was so great as to be a -conspicuous indication, to the discerning eye, of -Lewis Ancram’s unbounded tact.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Circumstances had thrown the men under one -roof, and even if the younger of them had not -made himself so thoroughly agreeable, it -would have been difficult to alter the arrangement.</p> - -<p class='c016'>It could never be said of Lewis Ancram that -he did not choose his friends with taste, and in -this case his discrimination had a foundation of -respect which he was in the habit of freely -mentioning. His admiration of Doyle was -generous and frank, so generous and frank that -one might have suspected a virtue in the expression -of it. Notwithstanding this implication, it -was entirely sincere, though he would occasionally -qualify it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I often tell Doyle,” he said once to Rhoda, -“that his independence is purely a matter of circumstance. -If he had the official yoke upon his -neck he would kow-tow like the rest of us.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t believe that,” she answered quickly.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>“Ah well, now that I think of it I don’t -particularly believe it myself. Doyle’s the salt -of the earth anyhow. He makes it just possible -for officials like myself to swallow officialdom.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Did it ever occur to you,” she asked -slowly, “to wonder what he thinks of -you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, I daresay he likes me well enough. -Irishmen never go in for analysing their friends. -At all events we live together, and there are -no rows.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were driving, and the dogcart flew past -the ships along the Strand—Ancram liked a fast -horse—for a few minutes in silence. Then she -had another question.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Have you succeeded in persuading Mr. -Doyle to—what do the newspapers say?—support -you at the altar, yet?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No, confound him. He says it would be -preposterous at his age—he’s not a year older -than I am! I wonder if he expects me to ask -Baby Bramble, or one of those little boys in the -Buffs! Anyway it won’t be Doyle, for he goes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>to England, end of February—to get out of it, I -believe.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’m not sorry,” Rhoda answered; but it -would have been difficult for her to explain, at -the moment, why she was not sorry.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER IV.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“I don’t mind telling you,” said Philip -Doyle, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, -“that, personally, His Acting Honour represents -to me a number of objectionable things. -He is a Radical, and a Low Churchman, and -a Particularist. He’s that objectionable ethical -mixture, a compound of petty virtues. He believes -this earth was created to give him an -atmosphere to do his duty in; and he does it -with the invincible courage of short-sightedness -combined with the notion that the ultimate -court of appeal for eighty million Bengalis -should be his precious Methodist conscience. -But the brute’s honest, and if he insists on -putting this University foolishness of his -through, I’m sorry for him. He’s a dead man, -politically, the day it is announced.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He is,” replied Ancram, concentrating his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>attention on a match and the end of his cigar. -“There’s—no doubt—about that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The two men were smoking after dinner, -with the table and a couple of decanters between -them. Roses drooped over the bowl -of Cutch silver that gleamed in the middle -of the empty cloth, and a lemon leaf or two -floated in the finger-glass at Ancram’s elbow. -He threw the match into it, and looked -across at Doyle with his cigar between his -teeth in the manner which invites further discussion.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“In point of political morality I suppose he’s -right enough——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He generally is,” Ancram interrupted. -“He’s got a scent for political morality keen -enough to upset every form of Government -known to the nineteenth century.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“But they see political morality through another -pair of spectacles in England. To withdraw -State aid from education anywhere at this -end of the century is as impracticable as it -would be to deprive the British workman of -his vote. It’s retrogressive, and this is an age -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>which will admit anything except a mistake of -its own.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He doesn’t intend to withdraw State aid -from education. He means to spend the money -on technical schools.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“A benevolent intention. But it won’t make -the case any better with the Secretary of State. -He will say that it ought to be done without -damaging the sacred cause of higher culture.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Damn the sacred cause of higher culture!” -replied Ancram, with an unruffled countenance. -“What has it done out here? Filled every -sweeper’s son of them with an ambition to sit -on an office stool and be a gentleman!—created -by thousands a starveling class that find nothing -to do but swell mass-meetings on the Maidan -and talk sedition that gets telegraphed from -Peshawur to Cape Comorin. I advertised for -a baboo the other day, and had four hundred -applications—fifteen rupees a month, poor -devils! But the Dayes were a fortnight in -getting a decent cook on twenty.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Bentinck should have thought of that; it’s -too late now. You can’t bestow a boon on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>masses in a spirit of progressiveness and take it -away sixty years later in a spirit of prudence. -It’s decent enough of Church to be willing to -bear the consequences of somebody else’s blunder; -but blunders of that kind have got to take -their place in the world’s formation and let the -ages retrieve them. It’s the only way.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, I agree with you. Church is an ass: -he ought not to attempt it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Why do you fellows let him?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked in Doyle’s direction as he -answered—looked near him, fixed his eyes, with -an effect of taking a view at the subject round a -corner, upon the other man’s tobacco-jar. The -trick annoyed Doyle; he often wished it were -the sort of thing one could speak about.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Nobody is less amenable to reason,” he said, -“than the man who wants to hit his head -against a stone wall, especially if he thinks the -world will benefit by his inconvenience. And, -to make matters worse, Church has complicated -the thing with an idea of his duty toward the -people at home who send out the missionaries. -He doesn’t think it exactly according to modern -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>ethics that they should take up collections in -village churches to provide the salvation of the -higher mathematics for the sons of fat <em>bunnias</em> -in the bazar—who could very well afford to pay -for it themselves.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He can’t help that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram finished his claret. “I believe he -has some notion of advertising it. And after -he has eliminated the missionary who teaches -the Georgics instead of the Gospels, and devoted -the educational grants to turning the -gentle Hindoo into a skilled artisan, he thinks -the cause of higher culture may be pretty much -left to take care of itself. He believes we -could bleed Linsettiah and Pattore and some -of those chaps for endowments, I fancy, though -he doesn’t say so.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Better try some of the smaller natives. A -maharajah won’t do much for a C. I. E. or an -extra gun nowadays: it isn’t good enough. He -knows that all Europe is ready to pay him the -honours of royalty whenever he chooses to tie -up his cooking-pots and go there. He’ll save -his money and buy hand-organs with it, or panoramas, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>or sewing-machines. Presently, if this -adoration of the Eastern potentate goes on at -home, we shall have the maharajah whom we -propose to honour receiving our proposition -with his thumb applied to his nose and all his -fingers out!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram yawned. “Well, it won’t be a question -of negotiating for endowments: it will never -come off. Church will only smash himself over -the thing if he insists; and,” he added, as one -who makes an unprejudiced, impartial statement -on fatalistic grounds, “he will insist. I should -find the whole business rather amusing if, as -Secretary, I hadn’t to be the mouthpiece for it.” -He looked at his watch. “Half-past nine. I -suppose I ought to be off. You’re not coming?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Where?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“To Belvedere. A ‘walk-round,’ I believe.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Thanks: I think not. It would be too much -bliss for a corpulent gentleman of my years. I -remember—the card came last week, and I gave -it to Mohammed to take care of. I believe -Mohammed keeps a special <em>almirah</em> for the purpose; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>and in it,” Mr. Doyle continued gravely, -“are the accumulations of several seasons. He -regards them as a trust only second to that of -the Director of Records, and last year he made -them the basis of an application for more pay.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Which you gave him,” laughed Ancram, -getting into his light overcoat as the brougham -rolled up to the door. “I loathe going; but for -me there’s no alternative. There seems to be an -Act somewhere providing that a man in my -peculiar position must show himself in society.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“So long as you hover on the brink of matrimony,” -said the other, “you must be a butterfly. -Console yourself: after you take the plunge you -can turn ascidian if you like.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The twinkle went out of Philip Doyle’s eyes -as he heard the carriage door shut and the -wheels roll crunching toward the gate. He -filled his pipe again and took up the <cite>Saturday -Review</cite>. Half an hour later he was looking -steadily at the wall over the top of that journal, -considering neither its leading articles nor its -reviews nor its advertisements, but Mr. Lewis -Ancram’s peculiar position.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>At that moment Ancram leaned against the -wall in a doorway of the drawing-room at Belvedere, -one leg lightly crossed over the other, his -right hand in his pocket, dangling his eyeglass -with his left. It was one of the many casual -attitudes in which the world was informed that -a Chief Secretary, in Mr. Ancram’s opinion, had -no prescriptive right to give himself airs. He -had a considering look: one might have said that -his mind was far from the occasion—perhaps -upon the advisability of a tobacco tax; but this -would not have been correct. He was really -thinking of the quantity and the quality of the -people who passed him, and whether as a function -the thing could be considered a success. -With the white gleam on the pillars, and the -palms everywhere, and the moving vista of well-dressed -women through long, richly-furnished -rooms arranged for a large reception, it was -certainly pretty enough; but there was still the -question of individuals, which had to be determined -by such inspection as he was bestowing -upon them. It would have been evident to anybody -that more people recognised Ancram than -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>Ancram recognised; he had by no means the air -of being on the look-out for acquaintances. But -occasionally some such person as the Head of -the Telegraph Department looked well at him -and said, “How do, Ancram?” with the effect of -adding “I defy you to forget who I am!” or a -lady of manner gave him a gracious and pronounced -inclination, which also said, “You are -the clever, the rising Mr. Ancram. You haven’t -called; but you are known to despise society. I -forgive you, and I bow.” One or two Members -of Council merely vouchsafed him a nod as -they passed; but it was noticeably only Members -of Council who nodded to Mr. Ancram. -An aide-de-camp to the Viceroy, however—a -blue-eyed younger son with his mind seriously -upon his duty—saw Ancram in his path, and -hesitated. He had never quite decided to what -extent these fellows in the Bengal Secretariat, -and this one in particular, should be recognised -by an aide-de-camp; and he went round the -other way. Presently there was a little silken -stir and rustle, a parting of the ladies’ trains, and -a lull of observation along both sides of the lane -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>which suddenly formed itself among the people. -His Excellency the Viceroy had taken his early -leave and was making his departure. Lord -Scansleigh had an undisguised appreciation of -an able man, and there was some definiteness in -the way he stopped, though it was but for a -moment, and shook hands with Ancram, who -swung the eyeglass afterwards more casually -than he had done before. The aide-de-camp, -following after, was in no wise rebuked. What -the Viceroy chose to do threw no light on his -difficulty. He merely cast his eyes upon the -floor, and his fresh coloured countenance expressed -a respectfully sad admiration for the -noble manner in which his lord discharged every -obligation pertaining to the Viceregal office.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The most privileged hardly cares to make -demands upon his hostess as long as she has a -Viceroy to entertain, and Ancram waited until -their Excellencies were well on their way home, -their four turbaned Sikhs trotting after them, -before he made any serious attempt to find Mrs. -Church. A sudden and general easefulness was -observable at the same time. People began to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>look about them and walk and talk with the consciousness -that it was no longer possible that -they should be suspected of arranging themselves -so that Lord Scansleigh <em>must</em> bow. The -Viceroy having departed, they thought about -other things. She was standing, when presently -he made his way to her, talking to Sir William -Scott of the Foreign Department, and at the -moment, to the Maharajah of Pattore. Ancram -paused and watched her unperceived. It was -like the pleasure of looking at a picture one -technically understands. He noted with satisfaction -the subtle difference in her manner toward -the two men, and how, in her confidence with -the one and her condescending recognition of the -other’s dignity, both were consciously receiving -their due. He noticed the colour of her heliotrope -velvet gown, and asked himself whether -any other woman in the room could possibly -wear that shade. Mentally he dared the other -women to say that its simplicity was over-dramatic, -or that by the charming arrangement of -her hair and her pearls and the yellowed lace, -that fell over her shoulders Judith Church had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>made herself too literal a representation of a -great-grandmother who certainly wore none of -these things. He paused another second to catch -the curve of her white throat as she turned her -head with a little characteristic lifting of her -chin; and then he went up to her. The definite -purpose that appeared in his face was enough of -itself to assert their intimacy—to this end it was -not necessary that he should drop his eyeglass.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh,” she said, with a step forward, “how -do you do! I began to think——Maharajah, -when you are invited to parties you always -come, don’t you? Well, this gentleman does not -always come, I understand. I beg you will ask -a question about it at the next meeting of the -Legislative Council. The Honourable the Chief -Secretary is requested to furnish an explanation -of his lamentable failure to perform his duties -toward society.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The native smiled uncomfortably, puzzled at -her audacity. His membership of the Bengal -Legislative Council was a new toy, and he was -not sure that he liked any one else to play -with it.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>“His Highness of Pattore,” said Ancram, -slipping a hand under the fat elbow in its pink-and-gold -brocade, “would be the very last fellow -to get me into a scrape. Wouldn’t you, -Maharaj!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His Highness beamed affectionately upon -Ancram. There was, at all events, nothing but -flattery in being taken by the elbow by a Chief -Secretary. “Certainlie,” he replied—“the verrie -last”; and he laughed the unctuous, irresponsible -laugh of a maharajah, which is accompanied -by the twinkling of pendant emeralds and -the shaking of personal rotundities which cannot -be indicated.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Sir William Scott folded his arms and refolded -them, balanced himself once or twice on -the soles of his shoes, pushed out his under-lip, -and retreated in the gradual and surprised way -which would naturally be adopted by the -Foreign Department when it felt itself left out of -the conversation. The Maharajah stood about -uneasily on one leg for a moment, and then with -a hasty double salaam he too waddled away. -Mrs. Church glanced after his retreating figure—it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>was almost a perfect oval—with lips prettily composed -to seemly gravity. Then, as her eyes -met Ancram’s, she laughed like a schoolgirl.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh,” she said, “go away! I mustn’t talk to -you. I shall be forgetting my part.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You are doing it well. Lady Spence, at -this stage of the proceedings, was always surrounded -by bank-clerks and policemen. I do not -observe a member of either of those interesting -species,” he said, glancing round through his -eyeglass, “within twenty yards. On the contrary, -an expectant Member of Council on the -nearest sofa, the Commander-in-Chief hovering in -the middle distance, and a fringe of Departmental -Heads on the horizon.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I do not see any of them,” she laughed, -looking directly at Ancram. “We are going to -sit down, you and I, and talk for four or six -minutes, as the last baboo said who implored an -interview with my husband”; and Mrs. Church -sank, with just a perceptible turning of her -shoulder upon the world, into the nearest armchair. -It was a wide gilded arm-chair, cushioned -in deep yellow silk. Ancram thought, as she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>crossed her feet and leaned her head against the -back of it, that the effect was delicious.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And you really think I am doing it well!” -she said. “I have been dying to know. I really -dallied for a time with the idea of asking one of -the aides-de-camp. But as a matter of fact,” she -said confidentially, “though I order them about -most callously, I am still horribly afraid of the -aides-de-camp—in uniform, on duty.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And in flannels, off duty?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“In flannels, off duty, I make them almond -toffee and they tell me their love affairs. I am -their sisterly mother and their cousinly aunt. -We even have games of ball.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“They are nice boys,” he said, with a sigh -of resignation: “I daresay they deserve it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>There was an instant’s silence of good fellowship, -and then she moved her foot a little, so -that a breadth of the heliotrope velvet took on -a paler light.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” he nodded, “it is quite—regal.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She laughed, flushing a little. “Really! -That’s not altogether correct. It ought to be -only officiating. But I can’t tell you how delicious -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>it is to be <em>obliged</em> to wear pretty -gowns.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>At that moment an Additional Member of -Council passed them so threateningly that Mrs. -Church was compelled to put out a staying -hand and inquire for Lady Bloomsbury, who -was in England, and satisfy herself that Sir -Peter had quite recovered from his bronchitis, -and warn Sir Peter against Calcutta’s cold-weather -fogs. Ancram kept his seat, but Sir -Peter stood with stout persistence, rooted in his -rights. It was only when Mrs. Church asked him -whether he had seen the new portrait, and told -him where it was, that he moved on, and then -he believed that he went of his own accord. -By the time an Indian official arrives at an Additional -Membership he is usually incapable of -perceiving anything which does not tend to -enhance that dignity.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You have given two of my six minutes -to somebody else, remember,” Ancram said. -For an instant she did not answer him. She -was looking about her with a perceptible air -of having, for the moment, been oblivious of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>something it was her business to remember. -Almost immediately her eye discovered John -Church. He was in conversation with the -Bishop, and apparently they were listening to -each other with deference, but sometimes -Church’s gaze wandered vaguely over the heads -of the people and sometimes he looked at the -floor. His hands were clasped in front of him, -his chin was so sunk in his chest that the most -conspicuous part of him seemed his polished -forehead and his heavy black eyebrows, his expression -was that of a man who submits to the -inevitable. Ancram saw him at the same moment, -and in the silence that asserted itself -between them there was a touch of embarrassment -which the man found sweet. He felt a -foolish impulse to devote himself to turning -John Church into an ornament to society.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“This sort of thing——” he suggested condoningly.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Bores him. Intolerably. He grudges the -time and the energy. He says there is so much -to do.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He is quite right.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>“Oh, don’t encourage him! On the contrary—promise -me something.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Anything.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“When you see him standing about alone—he -is really very absent-minded—go up and -make him talk to you. He will get your ideas—the -time, you see, will not be wasted. And -neither will the general public,” she added, “be -confronted with the spectacle of a Lieutenant-Governor -who looks as if he had a contempt -for his own hospitality.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’ll try. But I hardly think my ideas upon -points of administration are calculated to enliven -a social evening. And don’t send me now. -The Bishop is doing very well.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The Bishop?” She turned to him again, -with laughter in the dark depths of her eyes. -“I realised the other day what one may attain -to in Calcutta. His Lordship asked me, with -some timidity, what I thought of the length of -his sermons! Tell me, please, who is this -madam bearing down upon me in pink and -grey?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram was on his feet. “It is Mrs. Daye,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>he said. “People who come so late ought not -to insist upon seeing you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Mrs. Daye! Oh, of course; your——” But -Mrs. Daye was clasping her hostess’s hand. -“And Miss Daye, I think,” said Mrs. Church, -looking frankly into the face of the girl behind, -“whom I have somehow been defrauded of -meeting before. I have a great many congratulations -to—divide,” she went on prettily, glancing -at Ancram. “Mr. Ancram is an old friend -of ours.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Thank you,” replied Miss Daye. Her manner -suggested that at school such acknowledgments -had been very carefully taught her.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear, you should make a pretty curtsey,” -her mother said jocularly, and then looked at -Rhoda with astonishment as the girl, with an -unmoved countenance, made it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked uncomfortable, but Mrs. -Church cried out with vivacity that it was -charming—she was so glad to find that Miss -Daye could unbend to a stranger; and Mrs. -Daye immediately stated that she <em>must</em> hear -whether the good news was true that Mrs. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>Church had accepted the presidency—presidentship -(what should one say?)—of the Lady Dufferin -Society. Ah! that was delightful—now -<em>everything</em> would go smoothly. Poor dear Lady -Spence found it <em>far</em> too much for her! Mrs. -Daye touched upon a variety of other matters -as the four stood together, and the gaslights -shone down upon the diamond stars in the -women’s hair, and the band played on the verandah -behind the palms. Among them was the -difficulty of getting seats in the Cathedral in -the cold weather, and the fascinating prospect -of having a German man-of-war in port for the -season, and that dreadful frontier expedition -against the Nagapis; and they ran, in the end, -into an allusion to Mrs. Church’s delightful -Thursday tennises.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Church replied, as the lady -gave utterance to this, with her dimpled chin -thrust over her shoulder, in the act of departure: -“you must not forget my Thursdays. -And you,” she said to Rhoda, with a directness -which she often made very engaging—“you -will come too, I hope?”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>“Oh, yes, thank you,” the girl answered, -with her neat smile: “I will come too—with -pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Why didn’t you go with them?” Mrs. -Church exclaimed a moment later.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked meditatively at the chandelier. -“We are not exactly a demonstrative -couple,” he said. “She likes a decent reticence, -I believe—in public. I’ll find them presently.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were half a mile on their way home -when he began to look for them; and Mrs. -Daye had so far forgotten herself as to comment -unfavourably upon his behaviour.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear mummie,” her daughter responded, -“you don’t suppose I want to interfere with his -amusements!”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER V.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>A bazar had been opened in aid of a Cause. -The philanthropic heart of Calcutta, laid bare, -discloses many Causes, and during the cold -weather their commercial hold upon the community -is as briskly maintained as it may be -consistently with the modern doctrine of the -liberty of the subject. The purpose of this -bazar was to bring the advantages of the -piano and feather-stitch and Marie Bashkirtseff -to young native ladies of rank. It had been for -some time obvious that young native ladies of -rank were painfully behind the van of modern -progress. It was known that they were not in -the habit of spending the golden Oriental hours -in the search for wisdom as the bee obtains -honey from the flowers: they much preferred -sucking their own fingers, cloyed with sweetmeats -from the bazar. Yet a few of them had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>tasted emancipation. Their husbands allowed -them to show their faces to the world. Of -one, who had been educated in London, it was -whispered that she wore stays, and read books -in three languages besides Sanscrit, and ate of -the pig! These the memsahibs fastened upon -and infected with the idea of elevating their -sisters by annual appeals to the public based -on fancy articles. Future generations of Aryan -lady-voters, hardly as yet visible in the effulgence -of all that is to come, will probably fail to -understand that their privileges were founded, -towards the end of the nineteenth century, on -an antimacassar; but thus it will have been.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The wife of the Lieutenant-Governor had -opened the bazar. She had done it in black -lace and jet, which became her exceedingly, -with a pretty little speech, which took due account -of the piano and feather-stitch and Marie -Bashkirtseff under more impressive names. She -had driven there with Lady Scott. The way -was very long and very dusty and very native, -which includes several other undesirable characteristics; -and Lady Scott had beguiled it with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>details of an operation she had insisted on witnessing -at the Dufferin Hospital for Women. -Lady Scott declared that, holding the position -she did on the Board, she really felt the responsibility -of seeing that things were properly -done, but that henceforth the lady-doctor in -charge should have her entire confidence. “I -only wonder,” said Mrs. Church, “that, holding -the position you do on the Board, you didn’t -insist on performing the operation yourself”; -and her face was so grave that Lady Scott felt -flattered and deprecated the idea.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Then they had arrived and walked with circumstance -through the little desultory crowd of -street natives up the strip of red cloth to the -door, and there been welcomed by three or -four of the very most emancipated, with two -beautiful, flat, perfumed bouquets of pink-and-white -roses and many suffused smiles. And -then the little speech, which gave Mrs. Gasper -of the High Court the most poignant grief, in -that men, on account of the unemancipated, -were excluded from the occasion; she would -simply have given anything to have had her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>husband hear it. After which Mrs. Church had -gone from counter to counter, with her duty -before her eyes. She bought daintily, choosing -Dacca muslins and false gods, brass plaques from -Persia and embroidered cloths from Kashmir. -A dozen or two of the unemancipated pressed -softly upon her, chewing betel, and appraising -the value of her investments, and little Mrs. -Gasper noted them too from the other side of -the room. Lady Scott was most kind in showing -dear Mrs. Church desirable purchases, and -made, herself, conspicuously more than the wife -of the Lieutenant-Governor. On every hand a -native lady said, “Buy something!” with an -accent less expressive of entreaty than of resentful -expectation. One of the emancipated -went behind a door and made up the total of -Mrs. Church’s expenditure. She came out again -looking discontented: Lady Spence the year before -had spent half as much again.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Church felt as she drove away that she -had left behind her an injury which might -properly find redress under a Regulation.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She was alone, Lady Scott having to go on to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>a meeting of the “Board” with Mrs. Gasper. -The disc of pink-and-white roses rolled about -with the easy motion of the barouche, on the -opposite seat. It was only half-past four, and the -sun was still making strong lines with the tawdry -flat-roofed yellow shops that huddled along the -crowded interminable streets. She looked out -and saw a hundred gold-bellied wasps hovering -over a tray of glistening sweetmeats. Next door -a woman with her red cloth pulled over her -head, and her naked brown baby on her hip, -paused and bought a measure of parched corn -from a bunnia, who lolled among his grain heaps -a fat invitation to hunger. Then came the -square dark hole of Abdul Rahman, where he sat -in his spectacles and sewed, with his long lean -legs crossed in front of him, and half a dozen red-beaked -love-birds in a wicker cage to keep him -company. And then the establishment of Saddanath -Mookerjee, announcing in a dazzling -fringe of black letters:</p> - -<div class='box70'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>―――――――――――――――</div> - <div>PAINS FEVERANDISEASES CURED</div> - <div>――――――――</div> - <div>WHILE YOU WAIT</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> -<p class='c017'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>She looked at it all as she rolled by with a little -tender smile of reconnaissance. The old fascination -never failed her; the people and their -doings never became common facts. Nevertheless -she was very tired. The crowd seethed -along in the full glare of the afternoon, hawking, -disputing, gesticulating. The burden of their -talk—the naked coolies, the shrill-jabbering -women with loads of bricks upon their heads, the -sleek baboos in those European shirts the nether -hem of which no canon of propriety has ever -taught them to confine—the burden of their talk -reached her where she sat, and it was all of -<em>paisa</em><a id='rA' /><a href='#fA' class='c018'><sup>[A]</sup></a> and <em>rupia</em>, the eternal dominant note of -the bazar. She closed her eyes and tried to put -herself into relation with a life bounded by the -rim of a copper coin. She was certainly very -tired. When she looked again a woman stooped -over one of the city standpipes and made a cup -with her hand and gave her little son to drink. -He was a very beautiful little son, with a string -of blue beads round his neck and a silver anklet -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>on each of his fat brown legs, and as he caught -her hand with his baby fingers the mother smiled -over him in her pride.</p> - -<hr class='c019' /> -<div class='footnote' id='fA'> -<p class='c016'><a href='#rA'>A</a>. Halfpence.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c019' /> - -<p class='c016'>Judith Church suddenly leaned back among -her cushions very close to tears. “It would -have been better,” she said to herself—“so much -better,” as she opened her eyes widely and tried -to think about something else. There was her -weekly dinner-party of forty that night, and she -was to go down with the Bishop. Oh, well! -that was better than Sir Peter Bloomsbury. She -hoped Captain Thrush had not forgotten to ask -some people who could sing—and <em>not</em> Miss -Nellie Vansittart. She smiled a little as she -thought how Captain Thrush had made Nellie -Vansittart’s pretty voice an excuse for asking her -and her people twice already this month. She -must see that Captain Thrush was not on duty -the afternoon of Mrs. Vansittart’s <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>musicale</em></span>. She -felt indulgent towards Captain Thrush and -Nellie Vansittart; she <a id='corr76.21'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>give</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_76.21'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>give</ins></a></span> that young lady -plenary absolution for the monopoly of her -lieutenant on the Belvedere Thursdays; she -thought of them by their Christian names. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>Then to-morrow—to-morrow she opened the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>café -chantant</em></span> for the Sailors’ Home, and they dined at -the Fort with the General. On Wednesday -there was the Eurasian Female Orphans’ prize-giving, -and the dance on board the <em>Boetia</em>. On -Friday a “Lady Dufferin” meeting—or was it -the Dhurrumtollah Self-Help Society, or the -Sisters’ Mission?—she must look it up in her -book. And, sandwiched in somewhere, she -knew there was a German bacteriologist and a -lecture on astronomy. She put up both her -slender hands in her black gloves and yawned; -remembering at the same time that it was ten -days since she had seen Lewis Ancram. Her -responsibilities, when he mocked at them with -her, seemed light and amusing. He gave her -strength and stimulus: she was very frank with -herself in confessing how much she depended -upon him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The carriage drew up on one side of the -stately width of Chowringhee. That is putting -it foolishly; for Chowringhee has only one side -to draw up at—the other is a footpath bordering -the great green Maidan, which stretches on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>across to the river’s edge, and is fringed with -masts from Portsmouth and Halifax and Ispahan. -When the sun goes down behind them——But -the sun had not gone down when Mrs. Church -got out of her carriage and went up the steps of -the School of Art: it was still burnishing the -red bricks of that somewhat insignificant building, -and lying in yellow sheets over the vast -stucco bulk of the Indian Museum on one side, -and playing among the tree-tops in the garden -of the Commissioner of Police on the other. -Anglo-Indian aspirations, in their wholly subordinate, -artistic form, were gathered together in -an exhibition here, and here John Church, who -was inspecting a gaol at the other end of Calcutta, -had promised to meet his wife at five -o’clock.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Lieutenant-Governor had been looking -forward to this: it was so seldom, he said, that -he found an opportunity of combining a duty -and a pleasure. Judith Church remembered -other Art Exhibitions she had seen in India, and -thought that one category was enough.</p> - -<p class='c016'>At the farther end of the room a native gentleman -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>stood transfixed with admiration before a -portrait of himself by his own son. Two or -three ladies with catalogues darted hurriedly, -like humming-birds, from water-colour to water-colour. -A cadaverous planter from the Terai, -who turned out sixty thousand pounds of good -tea and six yards of bad pictures annually, talked -with conviction to an assenting broker with his -thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, about -the points of his “Sunset View of Kinchinjunga,” -that hung among the oils on the other wall. -There was no one else in the room but Mr. -Lewis Ancram, who wore a straw hat and an air -of non-expectancy, and looked a sophisticated -twenty-five.</p> - -<p class='c016'>For a moment, although John Church was -the soul of punctuality, it did not seem remarkable -to Mrs. Church that her husband had failed -to turn up. Ancram had begun to explain, -indeed, before it occurred to her to ask; and -this, when she remembered it, brought a delicate -flush to her cheeks which stayed there, and -suggested to the Chief Secretary the pleasant -recollection of a certain dewy little translucent -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>flower that grew among the Himalayan mosses -very high up.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It was a matter His Honour thought really -required looking into—clear evidence, you know, -that the cholera was actually being communicated -inside the gaol—and when I offered to -bring his apologies on to you I honestly believe -he was delighted to secure another hour -of investigation.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“John works atrociously hard,” she replied; -and when he weighed this afterward, as he had -begun to weigh the things she said, he found in it -appreciably more concern for John’s regrettable -habit of working atrociously hard than vexation -at his failure to keep their engagement.</p> - -<p class='c016'>They walked about for five minutes and -looked at the aspirations. Ancram remembered -Rhoda Daye’s hard little sayings on the opening -day, and reflected that some women could laugh -with a difference. Mrs. Church did it with -greatest freedom, he noticed, at the prize pictures. -For the others she had compunction, -and she regarded the “Sunset View of Kinchinjunga” -with a smile that she plainly atoned for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>by an inward tear. “Don’t!” she said, looking -round the walls, as he invested that peak with -the character of a strawberry ice. “It means -all the bloom of their lives, poor things. At all -events it’s ideality, it isn’t——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Pig-sticking!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” she said softly. “If I knew what in -the world to do with it, I would buy that ‘Kinchin.’ -But its ultimate disposal does present -difficulties.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t think you would have any right to -do that, you know. You couldn’t be so dishonest -with the artist. Who would sell the -work of his hand to be burned!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He was successful in provoking her appreciation. -“You are quite right,” she said. “The -patronage of my pity! You always see!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I <em>have</em> bought a picture,” Ancram went on, -“by a fellow named Martin, who seems to have -sent it out from England. It’s nothing great, -but I thought it was a pity to let it go back. -That narrow one, nearest to the corner.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is good enough to escape getting a prize,” -she laughed. “Yes, I like it rather—a good deal—very -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>much indeed. I wish I were a critic and -could tell you why. It will be a pleasure to -you; it is so green and cool and still.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mr. Ancram’s purchase was of the type that -is growing common enough at the May exhibitions—a -bit of English landscape on a dull day -towards evening, fields and a bank with trees on -it, a pool with water-weeds in it, the sky crowding -down behind and standing out in front in -the quiet water. Perhaps it lacked imagination—there -was no young woman leaning out -of the canoe to gather water-lilies—but it had -been painted with a good deal of knowledge.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mr. James Springgrove at the moment was -talking about it to another gentleman. Mr. -Springgrove was one of Calcutta’s humourists. -He was also a member of the Board of Revenue; -and for these reasons, combined with his subscription, -it was originally presumed that Mr. -Springgrove understood Art. People generally -thought he did, because he was a Director and -a member of the Hanging Committee, but this -was a mistake. Mr. Springgrove brought his -head as nearly as possible into a line with the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>other gentleman’s head, from which had issued, -in weak commendation, the statement that No. -223 reminded it of home.</p> - -<div id='i082a' class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_082a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>There was a moment’s pause.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>“If you asked what it reminded <em>me</em> of,” said -Mr. Springgrove, clapping the other on the -back, “I should say verdigris, sir—verdigris.” -Mrs. Church and the Honourable Mr. Lewis -Ancram looked into each other’s eyes and smiled -as long as there was any excuse for smiling.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am glad you are not a critic,” he said. -She was verging toward the door. “What are -you going to do now?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Afterward—we meant to drive to Hastings -House. John thought there would be time. It -is quite near Belvedere, you know. But——And -I shall not have another free afternoon for -a fortnight.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They went out in silence, past the baboo who -sat behind a table at the receipt of entrance -money, and down the steps. The syce opened -the carriage door, and Mrs. Church got in. -There was a moment’s pause, while the man -looked questioningly at Ancram, still holding -open the door.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>“If he invites himself,” said Judith inwardly, -with the intention of self-discipline; and the rest -was hope.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Is there any reason——?” he asked, with -his foot on the step; and it was quite unnecessary -that he should add “against my coming?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No—there is no reason.” Then she added, -with a visible effort to make it the commonplace -thing it was not, “Then you will drive out with -me, and I shall see the place after all? How -nice!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They rolled out into the gold-and-green afternoon -life of the Maidan, along wide pipal-shadowed -roads, across a bridge, through a lane -or two where the pariahs barked after the carriage -and the people about the huts stared, -shading their eyes. There seemed very little -to say. They thought themselves under the -spell of the pleasantness of it—the lifting of -the burden and the heat of the day, the little -wind that shook the fronds of the date palms -and stole about bringing odours from where -the people were cooking, the unyoked oxen, -the hoarse home-going talk of the crows that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>flew city-ward against the yellow sky with a -purple light on their wings.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Let the carriage stay here,” Judith said, as -they stopped beside a dilapidated barred gate. -“I want to walk to the house.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>A salaaming creature in a <em>dhoty</em> hurried out of -a clump of bamboos in the corner and flung -open the gate. It seemed to close again upon -the world. They were in an undulating waste -that had once been a stately pleasure-ground, -and it had a visible soul that lived upon its -memories and was content in its abandonment. -It was so still that the great teak leaves, twisted -and discoloured and full of holes like battered -bronze, dropping singly and slowly through the -mellow air, fell at their feet with little rustling -cracks.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What a perfection of silence!” Judith exclaimed -softly; and then some vague perception -impelled her to talk of other things—of her -dinner-party and Nellie Vansittart.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked on, as it were, at her conversation -for a moment or two with his charming -smile. Then, “Oh, dear lady,” he broke in, “let -<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>them go—those people. They are the vulgar -considerations of the time which has been—which -will be again. But this is a pause—made -for <em>us</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked down at the rusty teak-leaves, and -he almost told her, as he knocked them aside, -how poetic a shadow clung round her eyelids. -The curve of the drive brought them to the -old stucco mansion, dreaming quietly and open-eyed -over its great square porch of the Calcutta -of Nuncomar and Philip Francis.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It broods, doesn’t it?” said Judith Church, -standing under the yellow honeysuckle of the -porch. “Don’t you wish you could see the -ghost!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The gatekeeper reappeared, and stood offering -them each a rose.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“This gentleman,” replied Ancram, “will -know all about the ghost. He probably makes -his living out of Warren Hastings, in the -tourist season. Without doubt, he says, there -is a <em>bhut</em>, a very terrible <em>bhut</em>, which lives in the -room directly over our heads and wears iron -boots. Shall we go and look for it?”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>Half way up the stairs Ancram turned and -saw the gatekeeper following them. “You have -leave to go,” he said in Hindustani.</p> - -<p class='c016'>At the top he turned again, and found the -man still salaaming at their heels. “<em>Jao!</em>” he -shouted, with a threatening movement, and the -native fled.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is preposterous,” he said apologetically to -Mrs. Church, “that one should be dogged everywhere -by these people.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They explored the echoing rooms, and looked -down the well of the ruined staircase, and decided -that no ghost with the shadow of a title -to the property could let such desirable premises -go unhaunted. They were in absurdly good -spirits. They had not been alone together -for a fortnight. The sky was all red in the -west as they stepped out upon the wide -flat roof, and the warm light that was left -seemed to hang in mid-air. The spires and -domes of Calcutta lay under a sulphur-coloured -haze, and the palms on the horizon stood in -filmy clouds. The beautiful tropical day was -going out.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“We must go in ten minutes,” said Judith, -sitting down on the low mossy parapet.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Back into the world.” He reflected hastily -and decided. Up to this time Rhoda Daye had -been a conventionality between them. He had -a sudden desire to make her the subject of a -confidence—to explain, perhaps to discuss, anyhow -to explain.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Tell me, my friend,” he said, making a pattern -on the lichen of the roof with his stick, -“what do you think of my engagement?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked up startled. It was as if the question -had sprung at her. She too felt the need -of a temporary occupation, and fell upon her rose.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You had my congratulations a long time -ago,” she said, carefully shredding each petal -into three.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Don’t!” he exclaimed impatiently: “I’m -serious!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well, then—it is not a fair thing that you -are asking me. I don’t know Miss Daye. I -never shall know her. To me she is a little -marble image with a very pretty polish.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And to me also,” he repeated, seizing her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>words: “she is a little marble image with a very -pretty polish.” He put an unconscious demand -for commiseration into his tone. Doubtless he -did not mean to go so far, but his inflection -added, “And I’ve got to marry her!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“To you—to you!” She plucked aimlessly -at her rose, and searched vainly for something -which would improve the look of his situation. -But the rush of this confidence had torn up -commonplaces by the roots. She felt it beating -somewhere about her heart; and her concern, -for the moment, in hearing of his misfortune, -was for herself.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The ironical part of it is,” he went on, very -pale with the effort of his candour, “that I was -blindly certain of finding her sympathetic. You -know what one means by that in a woman. I -wanted it, just then. I seemed to have arrived -at a crisis of wanting it. I made ludicrously -sure of it. If you had been here,” he added -with conviction, “it would never have happened.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She opened her lips to say “Then I wish I -had been here,” but the words he heard were, -“People tell me she is very clever.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>“Oh,” he said bitterly, “she has the qualities -of her defects, no doubt. But she isn’t a woman—she’s -an intelligence. Conceive, I beg of you, -the prospect of passing one’s life in conjugal -relations with an intelligence!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith assured herself vaguely that this brutality -of language had its excuse. She could -have told him very fluently that he ought not -to marry Rhoda Daye under any circumstances, -but something made it impossible that she should -say anything of the sort. She strove with the -instinct for a moment, and then, as it overthrew -her, she looked about her shivering. The evening -chill of December had crept in and up from -the marshes; one or two street lamps twinkled -out in the direction of the city; light white -levels of mist had begun to spread themselves -among the trees in the garden below them.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We must go,” she said, rising hurriedly: -“how suddenly it has grown cold!” And as -she passed before him into the empty house he -saw that her face was so drawn that even he -could scarcely find it beautiful.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER VI.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“Mummie,” remarked Miss Daye, as she -pushed on the fingers of a new pair of gloves -in the drawing-room, “the conviction grows -upon me that I shall never become Mrs. -Ancram.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Rhoda, if you talk like that you will certainly -bring on one of my headaches, and it will -be the third in a fortnight that I’ll have to -thank you for. Did I or did I not send home -the order for your wedding dress by last mail?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You did, mummie. But you could always -advertise it in the local papers, you know. -Could you fasten this? ‘<em>By Private Sale—A -Wedding Dress originally intended for the Secretariat. -Ivory Satin and Lace. Skirt thirty-nine -inches, waist twenty-one. Warranted never been -worn.</em>’ Thanks so much!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Rhoda! you are capable of anything——”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>“Of most things, mummie, I admit. But I -begin to fear, not of that!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Are you going to break it off? There he -is this minute! Don’t let him come in here, -dear—he would know instantly that we had been -discussing him. You <em>have</em> upset me so!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He shan’t.” Miss Daye walked to the door. -“You are not to come any farther, my dear sir,” -said she to the Honourable Mr. Ancram among -the Japanese pots on the landing: “mummie’s -going to have a headache, and doesn’t want you. -I’m quite ready!” She stood for a moment in -the doorway, her pretty shoulders making admirably -correct lines, in a clinging grey skirt -and silver braided zouave, that showed a charming -glimpse of blue silk blouse underneath, buttoning -her second glove. Ancram groaned -within himself that he must have proposed to -her because she was <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>chic</em></span>. Then she looked -back. “Don’t worry, mummie. I’ll let you -know within a fortnight. You won’t have to -advertise it after all—you can countermand the -order by telegraph!” Mrs. Daye, on the sofa, -threw up her hands speechlessly, and her eyes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>when her daughter finally left the room were -round with apprehension.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram had come to take his betrothed for -a drive in his dog-cart. It is a privilege Calcutta -offers to people who are engaged: they are permitted -to drive about together in dog-carts. -The act has the binding force of a public confession. -Mr. Ancram and Miss Daye had taken -advantage of it in the beginning. By this time -it would be more proper to say that they were -taking refuge in it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He had seen Mrs. Church several times since -the evening on which he had put her into her -carriage at the gates of Hastings House, and got -into his own trap and driven home with a feeling -which he analysed as purified but not resigned. -She had been very quiet, very self-contained, -apparently content to be gracious and -effective in the gown of the occasion; but once -or twice he fancied he saw a look of waiting, a -gleam of expectancy, behind her eyes. It was -this that encouraged him to ask her, at the first -opportunity, whether she did not think he would -be perfectly justified in bringing the thing to an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>end. She answered him, with an unalterable -look, that she could not help him in that decision; -and he brought away a sense that he -had not obtained the support on which he had -depended. This did not prevent him from -arriving very definitely at the decision in question -unaided. Nothing could be more obvious -than that the girl did not care for him; and, -granting this, was he morally at liberty, from the -girl’s own point of view, to degrade her by a -marriage which was, on her side, one of pure -ambition? If her affections had been involved in -the remotest degree——but he shrugged his -shoulders at the idea of Rhoda Daye’s affections. -He wished to Heaven, like any schoolboy, that -she would fall in love with somebody else, but -she was too damned clever to fall in love with -anybody. The thing would require a little -finessing; of course the rupture must come -from her. There were things a man in his -position had to be careful about. But with a -direct suggestion——Nothing was more obvious -than that she did not care for him. He -would make her say so. After that, a direct -<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>suggestion would be simple—and wholly justifiable. -These were Mr. Lewis Ancram’s reflections -as he stood, hat in hand, on Mrs. Daye’s -landing. They were less involved than usual, -but in equations of personal responsibility Mr. -Ancram liked a formula. By the intelligent -manipulation of a formula one could so often -eliminate the personal element and transfer the -responsibility to the other side.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The beginning was not auspicious.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Is that <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>le dernier cri</em></span>?” he asked, looking at -her hat as she came lightly down the steps.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Papa’s? Poor dear! yes. It was forty -rupees, at Phelps’s. You’ll find me extravagant—but -horribly!—especially in hats. I adore -hats; they’re such conceptions, such ideas! I -mean to insist upon a settlement in hats—three -every season, in perpetuity.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were well into the street and half-way -to Chowringhee before he found the remark, at -which he forced himself to smile, that he supposed -a time would arrive when her affections in -millinery would transfer themselves to bonnets. -The occasion was not propitious for suggestions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>based on emotional confessions. The broad -roads that wind over the Maidan were full of -gaiety and the definite facts of smart carriages -and pretty bowing women. The sun caught the -tops of the masts in the river, and twinkled -there; it mellowed the pillars of the bathing-ghats, -and was also reflected magnificently from -the plate-glass mirrors with which Ram Das -Mookerjee had adorned the sides of his barouche. -A white patch a mile away resolved -itself into a mass of black heads and draped -bodies watching a cricket match. Mynas chattered -by the wayside, stray notes of bugle practice -came crisply over the walls of the Fort; -there was an effect of cheerfulness even in the -tinkle of the tram bells. If the scene had required -any further touch of high spirits, it was -supplied in the turn-out of the Maharajah of -Thuginugger, who drove abroad in a purple velvet -dressing gown, with pink outriders. Ancram -had a fine susceptibility to atmospheric effect, -and it bade him talk about the Maharajah of -Thuginugger.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That chap Ezra, the Simla diamond merchant, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>told me that he went with the Maharajah -through his go-downs once. His Highness -likes pearls. Ezra saw them standing about in -bucketsful.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Common wooden buckets?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I believe so.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How satisfying! Tell me some more.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“There isn’t any more. The rest was between -Ezra and the Maharajah. I dare say there -was a margin of profit somewhere. What queer -weather they seem to be having at home!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It’s delicious to live in a place that hasn’t -any weather—only a permanent fervency. I like -this old Calcutta. It’s so wicked and so rich -and so cheerful. People are born and burned -and born and burned, and nothing in the world -matters. Their nice little stone gods are so easy -to please, too. A handful of rice, a few marigold -chains, a goat or two: hardly any of them ask -more than that. And the sun shines every day—on -the just man who has offered up his goat, -and on the unjust man who has eaten it instead.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She sat up beside him, her slender figure -swaying a little with the motion of the cart, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>looked about her with a light in her grey eyes -that seemed the reflection of her mood. He -thought her chatter artificial; but it was genuine -enough. She always felt more than her usual -sense of irresponsibility with him in their afternoon -drives. The world lay all about them and -lightened their relation; he became, as a rule, -the person who was driving, and she felt at -liberty to become the person who was talking.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“There!” she exclaimed, as three or four -coolie women filed, laughing, up to a couple of -round stones under a pipal tree by the roadside, -and took their brass lotas from their heads and -carefully poured water over the stones. “Fancy -one’s religious obligations summed up in a cooking-potful -of Hughli water! Are those stones -sacred?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The author of ‘The Modern Influence of -the Vedic Books,’” she suggested demurely, -“should be quite sure. He should have left no -stone unturned.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She regarded him for a moment, and, observing -his preoccupation, just perceptibly lifted her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>eyebrows. Then she went on: “But perhaps -big round stones under pipal trees that like -libations come in the second volume. When -does the second volume appear?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Not until Sir Griffiths Spence comes out -again and this lunatic goes back to Hassimabad, -I fancy. I want an appropriation for some -further researches first.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The most enthusiastic of Mr. Ancram’s admirers -acknowledged that he was not always -discreet.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And he won’t give it to you—this lunatic?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Not a pice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then,” she said, with a ripple of laughter, -“he <em>must</em> be a fool!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She was certainly irritating this afternoon. -Ancram gave his Waler as smart a cut as he -dared, and they dashed past Lord Napier, sitting -on his intelligent charger in serious bronze to -all eternity, and rounded the bend into the -Strand. The brown river tore at its heaving -buoys; the tide was racing out. The sun had -dipped, and the tall ships lay in the after-glow -in twos and threes and congeries along the bank, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>along the edge of Calcutta, until in the curving -distance they became mere suggestions of one -another and a twilight of tilted masts. Under -their keels slipped great breadths of shining -water. Against the glow on it a country-boat, -with its unwieldy load of hay, looked like a floating -barn. On the indistinct other side the only -thing that asserted itself was a factory chimney. -They talked of the eternal novelty of the river, -and the eternal sameness of the people they met; -and then he lapsed again.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda looked down at the bow of her slipper. -“Have you got a headache?” she asked. The -interrogation was one of cheerful docility.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Thanks, no. I beg your pardon: I’m afraid -I was inexcusably preoccupied.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Would it be indiscreet to ask what about? -Don’t you want my opinion? I am longing to -give you my opinion.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Your opinion would be valuable.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Miss Daye again glanced down at her slipper. -This time her pretty eyelashes shaded a ray of -amused perception. “He thinks he can do it -himself,” she remarked privately. “He is quite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>ready to give himself all the credit of getting -out of it gracefully. The amount of flattery -they demand for themselves, these Secretaries!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“A premium on my opinion!” she said. -“How delightful!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram turned the Waler sharply into the -first road that led to the Casuerina Avenue. -The Casuerina Avenue is almost always poetic, -and might be imagined to lend itself very effectively, -after sunset, to the funeral of a sentiment -which Mr. Ancram was fond of describing to -himself as still-born. The girl beside him noted -the slenderness of his foot and the excellent cut -of his grey tweed trousers. Her eyes dwelt -upon the nervously vigorous way he handled -the reins, and her glance of light bright inquiry -ascertained a vertical line between his eyebrows. -It was the line that accompanied the Honourable -Mr. Ancram’s Bills in Council, and it indicated -a disinclination to compromise. Miss -Daye, fully apprehending its significance, regarded -him with an interest that might almost -be described as affectionate. She said to herself -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>that he would bungle. She was rather sorry for -him. And he did.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I should be glad of your opinion of our -relation,” he said—which was very crude.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think it is charming. I was never more -interested in my life!” she declared frankly, -bringing her lips together in the pretty composure -with which she usually told the vague little -lie of her satisfaction with life.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Does that sum up your idea of—of the possibilities -of our situation?” He felt that he was -doing better.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh no! There are endless possibilities in -our situation—mostly stupid ones. But it is a -most agreeable actuality.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I wish,” he said desperately, “that you -would tell me just what the actuality means to -you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were in the Avenue row, and the Waler -had been allowed to drop into a walk. The -after-glow still lingered in the soft green duskiness -over their heads; there was light enough -for an old woman to see to pick up the fallen -spines in the grass; the nearest tank, darkling -<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>in the gathering gloom of the Maidan, had not -yet given up his splash of red from over the -river. He looked at her intently, and her eyes -dropped to the thoughtful consideration of the -crone who picked up spines. It might have -been that she blushed, or it might have been -some effect of the after-glow. Ancram inclined -to the latter view, but his judgment could not -be said to be impartial.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Dear Lewis!” she answered softly, “how -very difficult that would be!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>In the sudden silence that followed, the new -creaking of the Waler’s harness was perceptible. -Ancram assured himself hotly that this was simple -indecency, but it was a difficult thing to say. -He was still guarding against the fatality of -irritation when Rhoda added daintily:</p> - -<p class='c016'>“But I don’t see why you should have a -monopoly of catechising. Tell me, sir—I’ve -wanted to know for ever so long—what was the -first, the very first thing you saw in me to fall -in love with?”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER VII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>The Honourable Mr. Ancram’s ideal policy -toward the few score million subjects of the -Queen-Empress for whose benefit he helped to -legislate, was a paternalism somewhat highly -tempered with the exercise of discipline. He -had already accomplished appreciable things for -their advantage, and he intended to accomplish -more. It would be difficult to describe intelligibly -all that he had done; besides, his tasks -live in history. The publications of the Government -of India hold them all, and something -very similar may be found in the record which -every retired civilian of distinction cherishes in -leather, behind the glass of his bookcases in -Brighton or Bournemouth. It would therefore -be unnecessary as well.</p> - -<p class='c016'>It was Mr. Ancram’s desire to be a conspicuous -benefactor—this among Indian administrators -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>is a matter of business, and must not be smiled -at as a weakness—and in very great part he had -succeeded. The fact should be remembered in -connection with his expressed opinion—it has -been said that he was not always discreet—that -the relatives in the subordinate services of troublesome -natives should be sent, on provocation, -to the most remote and unpleasant posts in the -province. To those who understand the ramifications -of cousinly connection in the humbler -service of the <em>sircar</em>, the detestation of exile and -the claims of family affection in Bengal, the -efficacy of this idea for promoting loyalty will -appear. It was Mr. Ancram’s idea, but he despaired -of getting it adopted. Therefore he -talked about it. Perhaps upon this charge he -was not so very indiscreet after all.</p> - -<p class='c016'>It will be observed that Mr. Ancram’s policy -was one of exalted expediency. This will be -even more evident when it is understood that, -in default of the opportunity of coercing the -subject Aryan for his highest welfare, Mr. Ancram -conciliated him. The Chief Secretary -had many distinguished native friends. They -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>were always trying to make him valuable -presents. When he returned the presents he -did it in such a way that the bond of their -mutual regard was cemented rather than otherwise—cemented -by the tears of impulsive Bengali -affection. He had other native friends who -were more influential than distinguished. They -spoke English and wrote it, most of them. They -created the thing which is quoted in Westminster -as “Indian Public Opinion.” They were -in the van of progress, and understood all the -tricks for moving the wheels. The Government -of India in its acknowledged capacity as -brake found these gentlemen annoying; but -Mr. Ancram, since he could not imprison -them, offered them a measure of his sympathy. -They quite understood that it was a small -measure, but there is a fascination about the -friendship of a Chief Secretary, and they often -came to see him. They did not bring him -presents, however; they knew very much better -than that.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty was one of -these inconspicuously influential friends. Mohendra -<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>was not a maharajah: he was only a -baboo, which stands, like “Mr.” for hardly anything -at all. To say that he was a graduate -of the Calcutta University is to acknowledge -very little; he was as clever before he matriculated -as he was after he took his degree. -But it should not be forgotten that he was -the editor and proprietor of the <cite>Bengal Free -Press</cite>; that was the distinction upon which, -for the moment, he was insisting himself. -The <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite> was a voice of the people—a -particularly aggressive and pertinacious -voice. It sold for two pice in the bazar, and -was read by University students at the rate -of twenty-five to each copy. It was regularly -translated for the benefit of the Amir of Afghanistan, -the Khan of Kelat, and such other -people as were interested in knowing how insolent -sedition could be in Bengal with safety; -and it lay on the desk of every high official -in the Province. Its advertisements were very -funny, and its editorial English was more -fluent than veracious: but when it threw mud -at the Viceroy, and called the Lieutenant-Governor -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>a contemptible tyrant, and reminded -the people that their galls were of the yoke -of the stranger, there was no mistaking the -direction of its sentiment.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty sat in the room -the Chief Secretary called his workshop, looking, -in a pause of their conversation, at the -Chief Secretary. No one familiar with that -journal would have discovered in his amiable -individuality the incarnation of the <cite>Bengal Free -Press</cite>. On his head he wore a white turban, and -on his countenance an expression of benign intelligence -just tinged with uncertainty as to -what to say next. His person was buttoned -up to his perspiring neck in a tight black surtout, -which represented his compromise with -European fashions, and across its most pronounced -rotundity hung a substantial gold -watch-chain. From the coat downwards he -fell away, so to speak, into Aryanism: the -indefinite white draperies of his race were -visible, and his brown hairy legs emerged -from them bare. He had made progress, however, -with his feet, on which he wore patent -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>leather shoes, almost American in their neatness, -with three buttons at the sides. He sat -leaning forward a little, with his elbows on his -knees, and his plump hands, their dimpled fingers -spread apart, hanging down between them. -Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty’s attitude expressed -his very genuine anxiety to make the -most of his visit.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram leaned back in his tilted chair, with -his feet on his desk, sharpening a lead pencil. -“And that’s my advice to you,” he said, with -his eyes on the knife.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well, I am grateful foritt! I am very much -ob<em>liged</em> foritt!” Mohendra paused to relieve -his nerves by an amiable, somewhat inconsequent -laugh. “It iss my wish offcourse to be -guided as far as possible by your opinion.” -Mohendra glanced deprecatingly at the matting. -“But this is a <em>sir</em>rious grievance. And there are -others who are always spikking with me and -pushing me——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No grievance was ever mended in a day or -a night, or a session, Baboo. Government moves -slowly. Ref—changes are made by inches, not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>by ells. If you are wise, you’ll be content with -one inch this year and another next. It’s the -only way.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra smiled in sad agreement, and -nodded two or three times, with his head -rather on one side. It was an attitude so expressive -of submission that the Chief Secretary’s -tone seemed unnecessarily decisive.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The article on that admirable Waterways -Bill off yours I hope you recivved. I sent -isspecial marked copy.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” replied Ancram, in cordial admission: -“I noticed it. Very much to the point. The -writer thoroughly grasped my idea. Very -grammatical too—and all that.” Mr. Ancram -yawned a little. “But you’d better keep my -name out of your paper, Baboo—unless you -want to abuse me. I’m a modest man, you -know. That leader you speak of made me -blush, I assure you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>It required all Mohendra’s agility to arrive at -the conclusion that if the Honourable Mr. Ancram -really considered the influence of the <cite>Bengal -Free Press</cite> of no importance, he would not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>take the trouble to say so. He arrived at it -safely, though, while apparently he was only -shaking his head and respectfully enjoying Mr. -Ancram’s humour, and saying, “Oh, no, no! -If sometimes we blame, we must also often -praise. Oh yess, certainlie. And <em>efery</em> one -says it iss a good piece off work.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram looked at his watch. The afternoon -was mellowing. If Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty -had come for the purpose of discussing His -Honour the Lieutenant-Governor’s intentions -towards the University Colleges, he had better -begin. Mr. Ancram was aware that in so far as -so joyous and auspicious an event as a visit to a -Chief Secretary could be dominated by a purpose, -Mohendra’s was dominated by this one; -and he had been for some time reflecting upon -the extent to which he would allow himself to be -drawn. He was at variance with John Church’s -administration—now that three months had made -its direction manifest—at almost every point. -He was at variance with John Church himself—that -he admitted to be a matter of temperament. -But Church had involved the Government of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>Bengal in blunders from which the advice of his -Chief Secretary, if he had taken it, would have -saved him. He had not merely ignored the -advice: he had rejected it somewhat pointedly, -being a candid man and no diplomat. If he -had acknowledged his mistakes ever so privately, -his Chief Secretary would have taken a fine -ethical pleasure in forgiving them; but the -Lieutenant-Governor appeared to think that -where principle was concerned the consideration -of expediency was wholly superfluous, and continued -to defend them instead, even after he -could plainly see, in the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite> and -elsewhere, that they had begun to make him -unpopular. Ancram’s vanity had never troubled -him till now. It had grown with his growth, -and strengthened with his strength, under the -happiest circumstances, and he had been as -little aware of it as of his arterial system. John -Church had made him unpleasantly conscious of -it, and he was as deeply resentful as if John -Church had invested him with it. The Honourable -Mr. Ancram had never been discounted -before, and that this experience should come -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>to him through an official superior whom he -did not consider his equal in many points of -administrative sagacity, was a circumstance that -had its peculiar irritation. Mohendra Lall -Chuckerbutty was very well aware of this; -and yet he did not feel confident in approaching -the matter of His Honour and the higher -culture. It was a magnificent grievance. Mohendra -had it very much at heart, the <cite>Free Press</cite> -would have it very much at heart, and nothing -was more important than the private probing -of the Chief Secretary’s sentiment regarding it; -yet Mohendra hesitated. He wished very much -that there were some tangible reason why -Ancram should take sides against the Lieutenant-Governor, -some reason that could be expressed -in rupees: then he would have had -more confidence in hoping for an adverse -criticism. But for a mere dislike, a mere personal -antagonism, it would be so foolish. Thus -Mohendra vacillated, stroking his fat cheek -with his fingers, and looking at the matting. -Ancram saw that his visitor would end by -abandoning his intention, and became aware -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>that he would prefer that this should not -happen.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And what do you think,” he said casually, -“of our proposal to make you all pay for your -Greek?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra beamed. “I think, sir, that it -cannot be <em>your</em> proposal.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It isn’t,” said Ancram sententiously.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“If it becomes law, it will be the signal for -a great disturbance. I mean, off course,” the -Baboo hastened to add, “of a pa<em>cific</em> kind. No -violence, of course! Morally speaking the community -is already up in arms—<em>morally</em> speaking! -It is destructive legislation, sir; we <em>must</em> -protest.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t blame you for that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then you do not yourself approve off it?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think it’s a mistake. Well-intentioned, but -a mistake.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, the <em>intention</em>, that iss good! But impracticable,” -Mohendra ventured vaguely: “a -bubble in the air—that is all; but the question -i—iz,” he went on, “will it become law? Yesterday -only I first heard offitt. Mentally I said, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>‘I will go to my noble friend and find out for -myself the rights offitt!’ <em>Then</em> I will act.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, His Honour intends to put it through. -If you mean to do anything there’s no time to -lose.” Ancram assured himself afterwards that -between his duty as an administrator and his -private sentiment toward his chief there could be -no choice.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We will petition the Viceroy.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram shook his head. “Time wasted. -The Viceroy will stick to Church.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then we can petition the Secretary-off-State.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That might be useful, if you get the right -names.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We will have it fought out in Parliament. -Mr. Dadabhai——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” Ancram responded with a smile, “Mr. -Dadabhai——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“There will be mass meetings on the -Maidan.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Get them photographed and send them to -the <cite>Illustrated London News</cite>.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And every paper will be agitating it. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span><a id='corr116.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Free Press'><cite>Free Press</cite>,</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_116.1'><ins class='correction' title='Free Press'><cite>Free Press</cite>,</ins></a></span> the <cite>Hindu Patriot</cite>, the <cite>Bengalee</cite>—all -offthem will be writing about it——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“There is one thing you must remember if -the business goes to England—the converts of -these colleges from which State aid is to be withdrawn.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Christians?” Mohendra shook his head -with a smile of contempt. “There are none. -It iss not to change their religion that the -Hindus go to college.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah!” returned Ancram. “There are none? -That is a pity. Otherwise you might have got -them photographed too, for the illustrated -papers.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes. It iss a pity.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra reflected profoundly for a moment. -“But I will remember what you say about the -fottograff—if any can be found.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well, let me know how you get on. In my -private capacity—in my <em>private</em> capacity, remember—as -the friend and well-wisher of the -people, I shall be interested in what you do. Of -course I talk rather freely to you, Baboo, because -we know each other well. I have not concealed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>my opinion in this matter at any time, but -for all that it mustn’t be known that I have -active sympathies. You understand. This is -entirely confidential.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, offcourse! my gracious goodness, yes!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra’s eyes were moist—with gratification. -He was still trying to express it when he -withdrew, ten minutes later, backing toward the -door. Ancram shut it upon him somewhat -brusquely, and sent a servant for a whisky-and-soda. -It could not be said that he was in the -least nervous, but he was depressed. It always -depressed him to be compelled to take up an -attitude which did not invite criticism from -every point of view. His present attitude had -one aspect in which he was compelled to see -himself driving a nail into the acting Lieutenant-Governor’s -political coffin. Ancram would have -much preferred to see all the nails driven in -without the necessity for his personal assistance. -His reflections excluded Judith Church as completely -as if the matter were no concern of hers. -He considered her separately. The strengthening -of the bond between them was a pleasure -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>which had detached itself from all the other -interests of his life; he thought of it tenderly, -but the tenderness was rather for his sentimental -property in her than for her in any material -sense. She stood, with the dear treasure of her -sympathy, apart from the Calcutta world, and as -far apart from John Church as from the rest.</p> - -<p class='c016'>That evening, at dinner, Ancram told Philip -Doyle and another man that he had been drawing -Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty on the University -College question, and he was convinced that -feeling was running very high.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The fellow had the cheek to boast about -the row they were going to make,” said Mr. -Ancram.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Philip Doyle did not know at all how it -was that he found himself at the Maharajah of -Pattore’s garden-party. He had not the honour -of knowing the Maharajah of Pattore—his invitation -was one of the many amiabilities which he -declared he owed to his distinguished connection -with the Bengal Secretariat in the person of -Lewis Ancram. Certainly Ancram had asked -him to accept, and take his, Ancram’s, apologies -to the Maharajah; but that seemed no -particular reason why he should be there. The -fact was, Doyle assured himself, as he bowled -along through the rice-fields of the suburbs -to His Highness’s garden-house—the fact was, -he was restless, he needed change supremely, -and anything out of the common round had -its value. Things in Calcutta had begun to wear -an unusually hard and irritating look; he felt -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>his eye for the delinquencies of human nature -growing keener and more critical. This state -of things, taken in connection with the possession -of an undoubted sense of humour, Doyle -recognised to be grave. He told himself that, -although he was unaware of anything actually -physically wrong, the effects of the climate -were most insidious, and he made it a subject -of congratulation that his passage was taken in -the <em>Oriental</em>.</p> - -<p class='c016'>There was a festival arch over the gate when -he reached it, and a multitude of little flags, -and “<span class='sc'>Wellcome</span>” pendent in yellow marigolds. -Doyle was pleased that he had come. It was a -long time since he had attended a Maharajah’s -garden party; its features would be fresh and in -some ways soothing. He shook hands gravely -with the Maharajah’s eldest son, a slender, subdued, -cross-eyed young man in an embroidered -smoking-cap and a purple silk frock-coat, and said -“Thank you—thank you!” for a programme of -the afternoon’s diversions. The programme was -printed in gold letters, and he was glad to learn -from it that His Highness’s country residence -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>was called “Floral Bower.” This was entirely -as it should be. He noticed that the Maharajah -had provided wrestling and dancing and theatricals -for the amusement of his guests, and resolved -to see them all. He had a pleasant sense -of a strain momentarily removed, and he did not -importune himself to explain it. There were -very few English people in the crowd that -flocked about the grounds, following with docile -admiration the movements of the principal -guests; it was easy to keep away from them. -He had only to stroll about, and look at the -curiously futile arrangement of ponds and grottoes -and fountains and summer-houses, and observe -how pretty a rose-bush could be in spite -of everything and how appropriately brilliant -the clothes of the Maharajah’s friends were. -Some of the younger ones were playing football, -with much laughter and screaming and -wonderfully high kicks. He stood and watched -them, smilingly reflecting that he would back a -couple of Harrovians against the lot. His eyes -were still on the boys and the smile was still on -his lips when he found himself considering that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>he would reach England just about the day of -Ancram’s wedding. Then he realised that Ancram’s -wedding had for him some of the characteristics -of a physical ailment which one tries, -by forgetting, to conjure out of existence. The -football became less amusing, and he was conscious -that much of its significance had faded -out of the Maharajah’s garden-party. Nevertheless -he followed the feebly curved path which -led to His Highness’s private menagerie, and it -was while he was returning the unsympathetic -gaze of a very mangy tiger in a very ramshackle -cage, that the reflection came between them, as -forcibly as if it were a new one, that he would -come back next cold weather to an empty house. -Ancram would be married. He acknowledged, -still carefully examining the tiger, that he would -regret the man less if his departure were due to -any other reason; and he tried to determine, -without much success, to what extent he could -blame himself in that his liking for Ancram had -dwindled so considerably during the last few -months. By the time he turned his back upon -the zoölogical attraction of the afternoon he had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>fallen into the reverie from which he hoped to -escape in the <em>Oriental</em>—the recollection, perfect -in every detail, of the five times he had met -Rhoda Daye before her engagement, and a little -topaz necklace she had worn three times out of -the five, and the several things that he wished he -had said, and especially the agreeable exaltation -of spirit in which he had called himself, after -every one of these interviews, an elderly fool.</p> - -<p class='c016'>His first thought when he saw her, a moment -after, walking towards him with her father, was -of escape—the second quickened his steps in -her direction, for she had bowed, and after that -there could be no idea of going. He concluded -later, with definiteness, that it would have been -distinctly rude when there were not more than -twenty Europeans in the place. Colonel Daye’s -solid white-whiskered countenance broke into -a square smile as Doyle approached—a smile -which expressed that it was rather a joke to meet -a friend at a maharajah’s garden party.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You’re a singular being,” he said, as they -shook hands; “one never comes across you in -the haunts of civilisation. Here’s <em>my</em> excuse.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>Colonel Daye indicated his daughter. “Would -come. Offered to take her to the races instead—wouldn’t -look at it!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“If I had no reason for coming before, I’ve -found one,” said Doyle, with an inclination towards -Rhoda that laid the compliment at her -feet. There were some points about Philip Doyle -that no emotional experience could altogether -subdue. He would have said precisely the same -thing, with precisely the same twinkle, to any -woman he liked.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda looked at him gravely, having no response -ready. If the in-drawing of her under-lip -betrayed anything it was that she felt the least -bit hurt—which, in Rhoda Daye, was ridiculous. -If she had been asked she might have explained -it by the fact that there were people whom she -preferred to take her seriously, and in the ten -seconds during which her eyes questioned this -politeness she grew gradually delicately pink -under his.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Rum business, isn’t it?” Colonel Daye went -on, tapping the backs of his legs with his stick. -“Hallo! there’s Grigg. I must see Grigg—do -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>you mind? Don’t wait, you know—just walk on. -I’ll catch you up in ten minutes.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Without further delay Colonel Daye joined -Grigg.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That’s like my father,” said the girl, with a -trace of embarrassment: “he never can resist the -temptation of disposing of me, if it’s only for ten -minutes. We ought to feel better acquainted -than we do. I’ve been out seven months now, -but it is still only before people that we dare to -chaff each other. I think,” she added, turning -her grey eyes seriously upon Doyle, “that he -finds it awkward to have so much of the society -of a young lady who requires to be entertained.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What a pity that is!” Doyle said involuntarily.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She was going to reply with one of her -bright, easy cynicisms, and then for some reason -changed her mind. “I don’t know about the -advantage of very deep affections,” she said involuntarily, -and there was no flippancy in her -tone. Doyle fancied that he detected a note of -pathos instead, but perhaps he was looking for it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>They were walking with a straggling company -<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>of baboos in white muslin down a double -row of plantains towards the wrestling ring. -Involuntarily he made their pace slower.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You can’t be touched by that ignoble spirit -of the age—already.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Miss Daye felt her moral temperature fall -several degrees from the buoyant condition in -which she contrived to keep it as a rule. To -say she experienced a chill in the region of her -conscience is perhaps to put it grotesquely, but -she certainly felt inclined to ask Philip Doyle -with some astonishment what difference it made -to him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The spirit of the age is an annoying thing. -It robs one of all originality.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Pray,” he said, “be original in some other -direction. You have a very considerable choice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His manner disarmed his words. It was -grave, almost pleading. She wondered why she -was not angry, but the fact remained that she -was only vaguely touched, and rather unhappy. -Then he spoiled it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“In my trade we get into dogmatic ways,” -he apologised. “You won’t mind the carpings -<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>of an elderly lawyer who has won a bad eminence -for himself by living for twenty years in -Calcutta. By the way, I had Ancram’s apologies -to deliver to the Maharajah. If he had known -he would perhaps have entrusted me with more -important ones.” Doyle made this speech in -general compensation, to any one who wanted -it, for being near her—with her. If he expected -blushing confusion he failed to find it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He didn’t know,” she said indifferently; -“and if he had——Oh, there are the wrestlers.” -She looked at them for a moment with disfavour. -“Do you like them? I think they are like performing -animals.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The men separated for a moment and rubbed -their shining brown bodies with earth. Somewhere -near the gate the Maharajah’s band struck -up “God Save the Queen,” four prancing pennons -appeared over the tops of the bushes, and -with one accord the crowd moved off in that -direction. A moment later His Highness was -doubling up in appreciation of His Excellency’s -condescension in arriving. His Excellency himself -was surrounded ten feet deep by his awe-struck -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>and delighted fellow-guests, and the wrestlers, -bereft of an audience, sat down and spat.</p> - -<p class='c016'>What Doyle always told himself that he must -do with regard to Miss Daye was to approach -her in the vein of polished commonplace—polished -because he owed it to himself, commonplace -because its after effect on the nerves he -found to be simpler. Realising his departure -from this prescribed course, he fervently set himself -down a hectoring idiot, and looked round for -Colonel Daye. Colonel Daye radiated the commonplace; -he was a most usual person. In his -society there was not the slightest danger of -saying anything embarrassing. But he was not -even remotely visible.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Believe me,” said Rhoda, with sudden -divination, “we shall be lucky if we see my -father again in half an hour. I am very sorry, -but he really is a most unnatural parent.” There -was a touch of defiance in her laugh. He -should not lecture her again. “Where shall -we go?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Have you seen the acting?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes. It’s a conversation between Rama -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>and Shiva. Rama wears a red wig and Shiva -wears a yellow one; the rest is tinsel and pink -muslin. They sit on the floor and argue—that -is the play. While one argues the other chews -betel and looks at the audience. I’ve seen better -acting,” she added demurely, “at the Corinthian -Theatre.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Doyle laughed irresistibly. Calcutta’s theatrical -resources, even in the season, lend themselves -to frivolous suggestion.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I could show you the Maharajah’s private -chapel, if you like,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Doyle replied that nothing could be more -amusing than a Maharajah’s private chapel; and -as they walked together among the rose bushes -he felt every consideration, every scruple almost, -slip away from him in the one desire her nearness -always brought him—the desire for that -kind of talk with her which should seal the -right he vaguely knew was his to be acknowledged -in a privacy of her soul that was -barred against other people. Once or twice before -he had seemed almost to win it, and by -some gay little saying which rang false upon -<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>his sincerity she had driven him back. She assuredly -did not seem inclined to give him an -opportunity this afternoon. It must be confessed -that she chattered, in that wilful, light, irrelevant -way that so stimulated his desire to be upon -tenderly serious terms with her, by no means as -her mentor, but for his own satisfaction and delight. -She chattered, with her sensitiveness -alive at every point to what he should say and -to what she thought she could guess he was -thinking. She believed him critical, which was -distressing in view of her conviction that he -could never understand her—never! He belonged -to an older school, to another world; -his feminine ideal was probably some sister or -mother, with many virtues and no opinions. -He was a person to respect and admire—she did -respect and she did admire him—but to expect -any degree of fellowship from him was absurd. -The incomprehensible thing was that this conclusion -should have any soreness about it. For -the moment she was not aware that this was -so; her perception of it had a way of coming -afterwards, when she was alone.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>“Here it is,” she said, at the entrance of a -little grotto made of stucco and painted to look -like rock, serving no particular purpose, by the -edge of an artificial lake. “And here is the -shrine and the divinity!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>As a matter of fact, there was a niche in the -wall, and the niche held Hanuman with his -monkey face and his stolen pineapple, coy in -painted plaster.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Miss Daye looked at the figure with a crisp -assumption of interest. “Isn’t he amusing!” she -remarked: “‘Bloomin’ idol made o’ mud’!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And so this is where you think His Highness -comes to say his prayers?” Doyle said, -smiling.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Perhaps he has a baboo to say them for -him,” she returned, as they strolled out. -“That would be an ideal occupation for a -baboo—to make representations on behalf of -one exalted personage to another. I wonder -what he asks Hanuman for! To be protected -from all the evils of this life, and to wake up -in the next another maharajah!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He was so engaged with the airiness of her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>whimsicality and the tilt of the feather in her -hat that he found no answer ready for this, -and to her imagination he took the liberty of -disapproving her flippancy. Afterwards she -told herself that it was not a liberty—that the -difference in their ages made it a right if he -chose to take it—but at the moment the idea -incited her to deepen his impression. She cast -about her for the wherewithal to make the -completest revelation of her cheaper qualities. -In a crisis of candour she would show him -just how audacious and superficial and trivial -she could be. Women have some curious instincts.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am dying,” she said, with vivacity, “to -see how His Highness keeps house. They say -he has a golden chandelier and the prettiest -harem in Bengal. And I confide to you, Mr. -Doyle, that I should like a glass of simpkin—immensely. -It goes to my head in the -most amusing way in the middle of the afternoon.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“His ideal young woman,” she declared to -herself, “would have said ‘champagne’—no, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>she would have preferred tea; and she would -have died rather than mention the harem.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>But it must be confessed that Philip Doyle -was more occupied for the moment with the -curve of her lips than with anything that -came out of them, except in so far that everything -she said seemed to place him more definitely -at a distance.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’m afraid,” he returned, “that the ladies -are all under double lock and key for the occasion, -but there ought to be no difficulty -about the champagne and the chandelier.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>At that moment Colonel Daye’s tall grey hat -came into view, threading the turbaned crowd in -obvious quest. Rhoda did not see it, and Doyle -immediately found a short cut to the house -which avoided the encounter. He had suddenly -remembered several things that he wanted -to say. They climbed a flight of marble -stairs covered with some dirty yards of matting, -and found themselves almost alone in the -Maharajah’s drawing-room. The Viceroy had -partaken of an ice and gone down again, -taking the occasion with him; and the long -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>table at the end of the room was almost as -heavily laden as when the confectioner had set -it forth.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“A little pink cake in a paper boat, please,” -she commanded, “with jam inside”; and then, -as Doyle went for it, she sat down on one of -Pattore’s big brocaded sofas, and crossed her -pretty feet, and looked at the chromolithographs -of the Prince and Princess of Wales -askew upon the wall, and wondered why she -was making a fool of herself.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’ve brought you a cup of coffee: do you -mind?” he asked, coming back with it. “His -Highness’ intentions are excellent, but the source -of his supplies is obscure. I tried the champagne,” -he added apologetically: “it’s unspeakable!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>No, Miss Daye did not mind. Doyle sat -down at the other end of the sofa, and reflected -that another quarter of an hour was all he -could possibly expect, and then——</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am going home, Miss Daye,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Since there was no other way of introducing -himself to her consideration, he would do -it with a pitchfork.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>“I knew you were. Soon?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The day after to-morrow, in the <em>Oriental</em>. -I suppose Ancram told you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I believe he did. You and he are great -friends, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We live together. Men must be able to -tolerate each other pretty fairly to do that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How long shall you be in England?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Six months, I hope.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She was silent, and he fancied she was thinking, -with natural resentment, that he might have -postponed his departure until after the wedding. -Doyle hated a lie more than most people, -but he felt the situation required that he -should say something.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The exigency of my going is unkind,” he -blundered. “It will deprive me of the pleasure -of offering Ancram my congratulations.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>There was only the faintest flavour of mendacity -about this; but she detected it, and fitted -it, with that unerring feminine instinct we hear -so much about, to her thought. For an instant -she seemed lost in buttoning her glove; then -she looked up, with a little added colour.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>“Don’t tamper with your sincerity for me,” -she said quickly: “I’m not worth it. It’s very -kind of you to consider my feelings, but I -would much rather have the plain truth between -us—that you don’t approve of me or -of the—the marriage. I jar upon you—oh! -I see it! a dozen times in half an hour—and -you are sorry for your friend. For his sake -you even try to like me: I’ve seen you doing -it. Please don’t: it distresses me to know -that you take that trouble——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Here you are!” exclaimed Colonel Daye, -in the doorway. “Much obliged to you, Doyle, -really, for taking care of this little girl. Most -difficult man to get hold of, Grigg.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER IX.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>It has been obvious, I hope, that Lewis -Ancram was temperamentally equal to adjusting -himself to a situation. His philosophy was -really characteristic of him; and none the less so -because it had a pessimistic and artistic tinge, -and he wore it in a Persian motto inside a crest -ring on his little finger. It can hardly be said -that he adjusted himself to his engagement and -his future, when it became apparent to him -that the one could not be broken or the other -changed, with cheerfulness—for cheerfulness was -too commonplace a mental condition to have -characterised Mr. Ancram under the happiest -circumstances. Neither can it be denied, however, -that he did it with a good deal of dignity -and some tact. He permitted himself to lose -the abstraction that had been overcoming him so -habitually in Rhoda’s society, and he said more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>of those clever things to her which had been -temporarily obscured by the cloud on his spirits. -They saw one another rather oftener than usual -in the fortnight following the evening on which -Mr. Ancram thought he could suggest a course -for their mutual benefit to Miss Daye and -her daintily authoritative manner with him convinced -him that his chains were riveted very -firmly. At times he told himself that she had, -after all, affectionate potentialities, though he met -the problem of evolving them with a shrug. He -disposed himself to accept all the ameliorations -of the situation that were available, all the consolations -he could find. One of the subtlest and -therefore most appreciable of these was the -necessity, which his earlier confidence involved, -of telling Judith Church in a few suitably hesitating -and well-chosen words that things were -irrevocable. Judith kept silence for a moment, -and then, with a gravely impersonal smile, she -said, “I hope—and think—you may be happier -than you expect,” in a manner which made -further discussion of the matter impossible. It -cannot be doubted, however, that she was able -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>to convey to him an under-current of her sympathy -without embarrassment. Otherwise he -would hardly have found himself so dependent -on the odd half-hours during which they talked -of Henley’s verses and Swan’s pictures and the -possibility of barricading oneself against the -moral effect of India. Ancram often gave her -to understand, in one delicate way or another, -that if there were a few more women like her in -the country it could be done.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The opinion seemed to be general, though -perhaps nobody else formulated it exactly in -those terms. People went about assuring each -other that Mrs. Church was the most charming -social success, asserting this as if they recognised -that it was somewhat unusual to confer such a -decoration upon a lady whose husband had as -yet none whatever. People said she was a really -fascinating woman in a manner which at once condoned -and suggested her undistinguished antecedents—an -art which practice has made perfect -in the bureaucratic circles of India. They even -went so far as to add that the atmosphere of -Belvedere had entirely changed since the beginning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>of the officiating period—which was preposterous, -for nothing could change the social atmosphere -of any court of Calcutta short of the -reconstruction of the Indian Empire. The total -of this meant that Mrs. Church had a good memory, -much considerateness, an agreeable disposition, -and pretty clothes. Her virtues, certainly -her virtues as I know them, would hardly be -revealed in the fierce light which beats upon the -wife of an acting Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal -from November until April, though a shadow -of one of them might have been detected in the -way she behaved to the Dayes. Ancram thought -her divine in this, but she was only an honest -woman with a temptation and a scruple. Her -dignity made it difficult; she was obliged to think -out delicate little ways of offering them her friendship -in the scanty half hours she had to herself -after dinner, while the unending scratch of her -husband’s pen came through the portière that -hung across the doorway into his dressing-room. -What she could do without consulting them she -did; though it is not likely that Colonel Daye -will ever attribute the remarkable smoothness of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>his official path at this time to anything but the -spirit of appreciation in which he at last found -Government disposed to regard his services. -The rest was not so easy, because she had to -count with Rhoda. On this point her mother -was in the habit of invoking Rhoda’s better -nature, with regrettable futility. Mrs. Daye said -that for her part she accepted an invitation in the -spirit in which it was given, and it is to be feared -that no lady in Mrs. Church’s “official position” -would be compelled to make overtures twice to -Mrs. Daye, who told other ladies, in confidence, -that she had the best reason to believe Mrs. -Church a noble-minded woman—a beautiful soul. -It distressed her that she was not able to say -this to Rhoda also, to be frank with Rhoda, to -discuss the situation and perhaps to hint to the -dear child that her non-responsiveness to Mrs. -Church’s very kind attitude looked “the least bit -in the world like the little green monster, you -know, dearest one.” It was not, Mrs. Daye acknowledged, -that Rhoda actively resisted Mrs. -Church’s interest; she simply appeared to be unaware -of it, and sat on a chair beside that sweet -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>woman in the Belvedere drawing-room with the -effect of being a hundred miles away. Mrs. Daye -sometimes asked herself apprehensively how -soon Mrs. Church would grow tired of coaxing -Rhoda, how long their present beatitudes might -be expected to last. It was with this consideration -in mind that she went to her daughter’s -room the day after the Maharajah of Pattore’s -garden-party, which was Thursday. The windows -of that apartment were wide open, letting -in great squares of vivid sunlight, and their -muslin curtains bellied inward with the pleasant -north wind. It brought gusts of sound from the -life outside—the high plaintive cheeling of the -kites, the interminable cawing of the crows, the -swish of the palm fronds, the scolding of the -mynas; and all this life and light and clamour -seemed to centre in and circle about the yellow-haired -girl who sat, half-dressed, on the edge of -the bed writing a letter. She laid it aside face -downward, at her mother’s knock, and that -amiable lady found her daughter seated before -the looking-glass with a crumpled little brown -ayah brushing her hair.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>Mrs. Daye cried out at the glare, at the noise. -“It’s like living in one of those fretwork marble -summer-houses at Delhi where the kings of -what-you-may-call-it dynasty kept their wives!” -she declared, with her hands pressed on her -eyes and a thumb in each ear; and when the -shutters were closed and the room reduced to -some degree of tranquillity, broken by glowing -points where the green slats came short of the -sash, she demanded eau-de-cologne and sank into -a chair. “I’ve come for ‘Cruelle Enigme,’ -Rhoda,” Mrs. Daye announced.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No, you haven’t, mummie. And besides, -you can’t have it—it isn’t a nice book for you -to read.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Can’t I?” Mrs. Daye asked plaintively. -“Well, dear, I suppose I must take your opinion—you -know how much my wretched nerves will -stand. From all I hear I certainly can’t be too -thankful to you for protecting me from Zola.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ayah,” Rhoda commanded in the ayah’s -tongue, “give me the yellow book on the little -table—the yellow one, owl’s daughter! Here’s -one you can have, mother,” she said, turning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>over a few of the leaves with a touch that was a -caress—“‘Robert Helmont’—you haven’t read -that.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye glanced at it without enthusiasm.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It’s about a war, isn’t it? I’m not fond of -books about wars as a rule, they’re so ‘bluggy,’” -and the lady made a little face; “but of course—oh -yes, Daudet, I know he would be charming -even if he <em>was</em> bluggy. Rhoda, don’t make any -engagement for Sunday afternoon. I’ve accepted -an invitation from Belvedere for a river-party.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The face in the looking-glass showed the least -contraction between the eyebrows. The ayah -saw it, and brushed even more gently than -before. Mrs. Daye was watching for it, and -hurried on. “I gather from Mrs. Church’s extremely -kind note—she writes herself, and not -the aide-de-camp—that it is a little <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>fête</em></span> she is -making especially, in a manner, for you and -Mr. Ancram, dear—in celebration, as it were. -She has asked only people we know very well -indeed; it is really almost a family affair. <em>Very</em> -sweet of her I call it, though of course Lewis -<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>Ancram is an old friend of—of the Lieutenant-Governor’s.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The contraction between the girl’s brows -deepened seriously, gave place to a considering -air, and for a moment she looked straight into her -own eyes in the glass and said nothing. They -rewarded her presently with a bubble of mischievous -intelligence, which almost broke into -a smile. Mrs. Daye continued to the effect that -nothing did one so much good as a little jaunt -on the river—it seemed to blow the malaria out -of one’s system—for her part she would give up -anything for it. But Rhoda had no other engagement?</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh dear no!” Miss Daye replied. “There -is nothing in the world to interfere!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then you will go, dearest one?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I shall be delighted.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My darling child, you <em>have</em> relieved my -mind! I was so afraid that some silly little fad—I -know how much you dislike the glare of the -river——” then, forgetfully, “I will write at once -and accept for us all.” Mrs. Daye implanted a -kiss upon her daughter’s forehead, with a sense -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>that she was picturesquely acknowledging dutiful -obedience, and rustled out. “Robert Helmont” -remained on the floor beside her chair, -and an indefinitely pleasant freshness was diffused -where she had been.</p> - -<p class='c016'>As Rhoda twisted her hair a little uncontrollable -smile came to her lips and stayed -there. “Ayah, worthy one,” she said, “give me -the letter from the bed”; and having read -what she had written she slowly tore it into -very small pieces. “After all,” she reflected, -“that would be a stupid way.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER X.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>The opinion was a united one on board the -<em>Annie Laurie</em> the next Sunday afternoon that -Nature had left nothing undone to make the -occasion a success. This might have testified -to less than it did; for a similar view has been -expressed as unanimously, and adhered to as -firmly, on board the <em>Annie Laurie</em> when the banks -of the Hooghly have been grey with deluge and -the ladies have saved their skirts by sitting on -one another’s knees in her tiny cabin. The -<em>Annie Laurie</em> being the Lieutenant-Governor’s -steam-launch, nobody but the Lieutenant-Governor -presumes to be anything but complimentary -as to the weather experienced aboard her. And -this in India is natural. It could not be said, -however, that there was anything necessarily -diplomatic even in Mrs. Daye’s appreciation of -this particular afternoon. The air—they all dilated -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>on the air—blew in from the sea, across -the salt marshes, through the plantains and the -cocoanut-trees of the little villages, and brought -a dancing crispness, softened by the sun. The -brown river hurtled outwards past her buoys, -and a great merchant ship at anchor in midstream -swung slowly round with the tide. A -vague concourse of straight masts and black -hulls and slanting funnels stretched along the -bank behind them with the indefiniteness that -comes of multitude, for every spar and line stood -and swung clear cut in the glittering sun; and -the point they were bound for elbowed itself -out into the river two miles farther down, in the -grey greenness of slanting, pluming palms. Already -the water was growing more golden -where the palms toppled over the river: there -would not be more than two good hours of -daylight. As Mrs. Daye remarked to the Lieutenant-Governor, -life was all too short in the -cold weather really to absorb, to drink in, the -beauties of nature—there was so much going on.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then,” said His Honour, “we must make -the most of our time.” But he did not prolong -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>his gaze at Mrs. Daye by way of emphasising his -remark, as another man, and especially another -lieutenant-governor, might have done. He fixed -it instead on the dilapidated plaster façade on -the left bank of the river, formerly inhabited by -the King of Oudh and his relatives, and thought -of the deplorable sanitation there.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Not that John Church was by any means -unappreciative of the beauties of nature. It -was because he acknowledged the moral use of -them that he came on these Sunday afternoon -picnics. He read the poets, and would pay a -good price for a bronze or a picture, for much -the same reason. They formed part of his system -of self-development; he applied them to his -mind through the medium which nature has -provided, and trusted that the effect would be -good. He did it, however, as he did everything, -with the greatest possible economy of time, and -sometimes other considerations overlapped. -That very afternoon he meant to speak to the -Superintendent of the Botanical Gardens—the -green elbow of the river crooked about this -place—concerning the manufacture and distribution -<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>of a new febrifuge, and he presently edged -away from Mrs. Daye with the purpose of finding -out her husband’s views concerning the silting -up of river-beds in Bengal and the cost of -preventive measures. Life with John Church -could be measured simply as an area for effort.</p> - -<div id='i150a' class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_150a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>Notwithstanding, it was gay enough.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Notwithstanding these considerations, it was -gay enough. Captain Thrush, A.D.C., sat on the -top of the cabin, and swung his legs to the accompaniment -of his amusing experiences the last -time he went quail shooting. The St. Georges -were there, and the St. Georges were proverbial -in Calcutta for lightheartedness. Sir William -Scott might have somewhat overweighted the -occasion; but Sir William Scott had taken off his -hat, the better to enjoy the river-breeze, and this -reduced him to a name and a frock coat. In the -general good spirits the abnegation and the resolution -with which Lewis Ancram and Judith -Church occupied themselves with other people -might almost have passed unnoticed. Rhoda -Daye found herself wondering whether it would -be possible for Ancram to be pathetic under the -most moving circumstances, so it may be presumed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>that she perceived it; but the waves of -mirth engendered by Captain Thrush and the -St. Georges rolled over it so far as the rest were -concerned, as they might over a wreck of life -and hope. This pretty simile occurred to Miss -Daye, who instantly dismissed it as mawkish, -but nevertheless continued, for at least five minutes, -to reflect on the irony of fate, as, for the -moment, she helped to illustrate it. A new gravity -fell upon her for that period, as she sat there -and watched Judith Church talking to Sir William -Scott about his ferns. For the first time -she became aware that the situation had an -edge to it—that she was the edge. She was -the saturnine element in what she had hitherto -resolutely regarded as a Calcutta comedy; she -was not sure that she could regard it as a -comedy any longer, even from the official point -of view. Ancram evidently had it in mind to -make an exhibition to the world in general, and -to Mrs. Church in particular, of devotion to his -betrothed. She caught him once or twice in the -act of gratefully receiving Mrs. Church’s approving -glance. Nevertheless she had an agreeable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>tolerance for all that he found to do for her. -She forbade herself, for the time being, any -further analysis of a matter with which she meant -to have in future little concern. In that anticipation -she became unaccountably light-hearted and -talkative and merry. So much so, that Captain -Thrush, A.D.C., registered his conviction that -she was really rather a pretty girl—more in her -than he thought; and the Honourable Mr. Lewis -Ancram said to himself that she was enjoying, -in anticipation, the prestige she would have a -month later, and that the cleverest of women -were deplorably susceptible to social ambition.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Superintendent met them at the wharf, -and John Church led the way up the great -central avenue of palms, whose grey, shaven -polls look as if they had been turned by some -giant lathe, with his hand on the arm of this -gentleman. The others arranged themselves -with a single eye to avoiding the stupidity -of walking with their own wives and trooped -after.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We are going to the orchid-houses, John,” -Mrs. Church called after her husband, as Sir -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>William Scott brought them to a halt at a -divergent road he loved; and Church took off -his hat in hurried acquiescence.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Notice my new Dendrobium!” cried the -Superintendent, turning a rueful countenance -upon them. “The only one in Asia!” Then -his head resumed its inclination of respectful -attention, and the pair disappeared.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Church laughed frankly. “Poor Dr. -James!” she exclaimed. “My husband is -double-dyed in febrifuge to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram took the privilege—it was one he -enjoyed—of gently rebuking her. “It is one -of those common, urgent needs of the people,” -he said, “that His Honour so intimately -understands.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith looked at him with a sudden sweet -humility in her eyes. “You are quite right,” -she returned. “I sometimes think that nobody -knows him as you do. Certainly,” she added, -in a lower tone, as the two fell back, “nobody -has more of his confidence, more of his -dependence.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t know,” Ancram answered vaguely. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>“Do you really think so? I don’t -know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am sure of it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He looked straight before him in silence, -irritated in his sensitive morality—the morality -which forbade him to send a Government -<em>chuprassie</em> on a private errand, or to write to -his relations in England on office paper. A -curve in the walk showed them Rhoda Daye, -standing alone on the sward, beside a bush in -crimson-and-orange flower, intently examining a -spray. Almost involuntarily they paused, and -Ancram turned his eyes upon Mrs. Church -with the effect of asking her what he should -do, what he must do.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Go!” she said; and then, as if it were a -commonplace: “I think Miss Daye wants you. -I will overtake the others.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She thought he left her very willingly, and -hurried on with the conviction that, like everything -else, it would come right—quite right—in -the end. She was very happy if in any way she -had helped it to come right—so happy that she -longed to be alone with her sensations, and revolted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>with all her soul against the immediate -necessity of Sir William Scott and the St. -Georges. To be for a few hours quite alone, -unseen and unknown, in the heart of some -empty green wilderness like this, would help -her, she knew, to rationalise her satisfaction. -“My dear boy,” she said, with nervous patience, -as Captain Thrush appeared in search -of her, “did you think I had fallen into a -tank? Do go and take care of the other people.” -An aide-de-camp was not a serious impediment -to reflection, but at the moment -Judith would have been distressed by the attendance -of her own shadow, if it were too -perceptible.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram crossed over to Rhoda, with his -antipathy to the Lieutenant-Governor sensibly -aggravated by the fact that his wife took an -interest in him—an appreciative interest. It -was out of harmony, Ancram felt vaguely, that -she should do this—it jarred. He had so admired -her usual attitude of pale, cool, sweet -tolerance toward John Church—had so approved -it. That attitude had been his solace -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>in thinking about her in her unique position -and with her rare temperament. To suppose -her counting up her husband’s virtues, weighing -them, doing justice to them, tinged her -with the commonplace, and disturbed him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That’s a curious thing,” he said to Rhoda.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She let go her hold of the twig, and the -red-and-gold flower danced up like a flame.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It belongs to the sun and the soil; so it -pleases one better than any importation.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“An orchid is such a fairy—you can’t expect -it to have a nationality,” he returned.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She stood, with her head thrown back a little, -looking at the sprays that swung above the -line of her lips. Her wide-brimmed hat dropped -a soft shadow over the upper part of her face; -her eyes shone through it with a gleam of intensely -feminine sweetness, and the tender curve -of her throat gave him an unreasoned throb of -anticipation. In six weeks he would be married -to this slender creature; it would be an excursion -into the unknown, not unaccompanied by -adventures. Tentatively, it might be agreeable; -it would certainly be interesting. He confessed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>to a curiosity which was well on the way to become -impatient.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then do you want to go and see the Dendrobium?” -she asked.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Not if you prefer to do anything else.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I think I would enjoy the cranes more, or -the pink water-lilies. The others will understand, -won’t they, that we two might like to take -a little walk?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Her coquetry, he said to himself, was preposterously -pretty. They took another of the wide -solitary paths that led under showery bamboos -and quivering mahogany trees to where a stretch -of water gave back the silence of the palms -against the evening sky, and he dropped unconsciously -into the stroll which is characterised -everywhere as a lover’s. She glanced at him -once or twice corroboratively, and said to herself -that she had not been mistaken: he had real -distinction—he was not of the herd. Then she -picked up broad, crisp leaves with the point of -her parasol and pondered while he talked of a -possible walking tour in the Tyrol. Presently -she broke in irrelevantly, hurriedly.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“I like to do a definite thing in a definite -way: don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Certainly; yes, of course.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well; and that is why I waited till this -afternoon to tell you—to tell you——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“To tell me——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear Mr. Ancram, that I cannot possibly -marry you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She had intended to put it differently, more -effectively—perhaps with a turn that would -punish him for his part in making the situation -what it was. But it seemed a more momentous -thing than she thought, now that she came to do -it; she had a sense that destiny was too heavy a -thing to play with.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He gave her an official look, the look which -refuses to allow itself to be surprised, and -said “Really?” in a manner which expressed absolutely -nothing except that she had his attention.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I do not pretend,” she went on, impaling -her vanity upon her candour, “that this will give -you the slightest pain. I have been quite conscious -of the relation between us” (here she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>blushed) “for a very long time; and I am afraid -you must understand that I have reached this decision -without any undue distress—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>moi aussi</em></span>.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She had almost immediately regained her -note; she was wholly mistress of what she said. -For an instant Ancram fancied that the bamboos -and the mahogany trees and the flaming hibiscus -bushes were unreal, that he was walking into a -panorama, and it seemed to him that his steps -were uncertain. He was carrying his silk hat, -and he set himself mechanically to smooth it -round and round with his right hand as he -listened.</p> - -<p class='c016'>When she paused he could find nothing -better to say than “Really?” again; and he -added, “You can’t expect me to be pleased.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, but I do,” she returned promptly. -“You are, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>It seemed a friendly reminder of his best interests. -It brought the bamboos back to a -vegetable growth, and steadied Ancram’s nerves. -He continued to smooth his hat; but he recovered -himself sufficiently to join her, at a -bound, in the standpoint from which she seemed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>inclined to discuss the matter without prejudice.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Since we are to be quite candid with each -other,” he said, smiling, “I’m not sure.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Your candour has—artistic qualities—which -make it different from other people’s. At all -events, you will be to-morrow: to-morrow you -will thank Heaven fasting.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He looked at her with some of the interest -she used to inspire in him before his chains -began to gall him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Prickly creature!” he said. “Are <em>you</em> quite -sure? Is your determination unalterable?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I acknowledge your politeness in asking -me,” she returned. “It is.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then I suppose I must accept it.” He -spoke slowly. “But for the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>soulagement</em></span> you suggest -I am afraid I must wait longer than to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They walked on in silence, reached the rank -edge of the pond, and turned to go back. The -<a id='corr160.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='afternooon'>afternoon</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_160.20'><ins class='correction' title='afternooon'>afternoon</ins></a></span> still hung mellow in mid air, and -something of its tranquillity seemed to have -descended between them. In their joint escape -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>from their mutual burden they experienced a -reciprocal good feeling, something like comradeship, -not untouched by sentiment. Once or -twice he referred to their broken bond, asking -her, with the appetite of his egotism, to give -him the crystal truth of the reason she had accepted -him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I accepted my idea of you,” she said simply, -“which was not altogether an accurate one. -Besides, I think a good deal about—a lot of questions -of administration. I thought I would like to -have a closer interest, perhaps a hand in them. -Such fools of women do.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>After which they talked in a friendly way (it -has been noted that Ancram was tolerant) about -how essential ambition was to the bearableness of -life in India.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I see that you will be a much more desirable -acquaintance,” Rhoda said once, brightly, -“now that I am not going to marry you.” And -he smiled in somewhat unsatisfied acquiescence.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram grew silent as they drew near the -main avenue and the real parting. The dusk -had fallen suddenly, and a little wind brought -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>showers of yellow leaves out of the shivering -bamboos. They were quite alone, and at a short -distance almost indistinguishable from the ixora -bushes and the palmettos.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Rhoda,” he said, stopping short, “this is -our last walk together—we who were to have -walked together always. May I kiss you?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The girl hesitated for an instant. “No,” she -said, with a nervous laugh: “not that. It would -be like the resurrection of something that had -never lived and never died!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>But she gave him her hand, and he kissed -that, with some difficulty in determining whether -he was grateful or aggrieved.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It’s really very raw,” said Miss Daye, as -they approached the others; “don’t you think -you had better put on your hat?”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XI.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“Rhoda,” said Mrs. Daye, as her daughter -entered the drawing-room next morning, “I -have thought it all out, and have decided to ask -them. Mrs. St. George quite agrees with me. -<em>She</em> says, sound the Military Secretary first, and -of course I will; but she thinks they are certain -to accept. Afterward we’ll have the whole -party photographed on the back verandah—I -don’t see how they could get out of it—and -that will be a souvenir for you, if you like.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The girl sank into a deep easy chair and -crossed her knees with deliberation. She was -paler than usual; she could not deny a certain -lassitude. As her mother spoke she put up her -hand to hide an incipient yawn, and then turned -her suffused eyes upon that lady, with the effect -of granting a weary but necessary attention.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>“You have decided to ask them?” she asked, -with absent-minded interrogation. “Whom?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How ridiculous you are, Rhoda! The -Viceroy and Lady Scansleigh, of course! As -if there could be the slightest doubt about anybody -else! You will want to know next what -I intend to ask them to. I have never known -a girl take so little interest in her own wedding.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That brings us to the point,” said Rhoda.</p> - -<p class='c016'>An aroused suspicion shot into Mrs. Daye’s -brown eyes. “What point, pray? No nonsense, -now, Rhoda!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No nonsense this time, mummie; but no -wedding either. I have decided—finally—not to -marry Mr. Ancram.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye sat upright—pretty, plump, determined. -She really looked at the moment as if -she could impose her ideas upon anybody. She -had a perception of the effect, to this end, of an -impressive <em>tournure</em>. Involuntarily she put a -wispish curl in its place, and presented to her -daughter the outline of an unexceptionable -shoulder and sleeve.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>“Your decision comes too late to be effectual, -Rhoda. People do not change their minds in -such matters when the wedding invitations are -actually——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Written out to be lithographed—but not -ordered yet, mummie.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“In half an hour they will be.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Would have been, mummie dear.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye assumed the utmost severity possible -to a countenance intended to express only -the amenities of life, and took her three steps -toward the door. “This is childish, Rhoda,” -she said over her shoulder, “and I will not -remain to listen to it. Retraction on your part -at this hour would be nothing short of a crying -scandal, and I assure you once for all that -neither your father nor I will hear of it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye reached the door very successfully. -Rhoda turned her head on its cushion, -and looked after her mother in silence, with a -half-deprecating smile. Having achieved the -effect of her retreat, that lady turned irresolutely.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I cannot remain to listen to it,” she repeated, -and stooped to pick up a pin.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>“Oh, do remain, mummie! Don’t behave -like the haughty and hard-hearted mamma of -primitive fiction; she is such an old-fashioned -person. Do remain and be a nice, reasonable, -up-to-date mummie: it will save such a lot of -trouble.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You don’t seem to realise what you are -talking of throwing over!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye, in an access of indignation, came -as far back as the piano.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Going down to dinner before the wives of -the Small Cause Court! What a worldly lady -it is!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I wish,” Mrs. Daye ejaculated mentally, -“that I had been brought up to manage daughters.” -What she said aloud, with the effect of -being forced to do so, was that Rhoda had also -apparently forgotten that her sister Lettice was -to come out next year. Before the gravity of -this proposition Mrs. Daye sank into the nearest -chair. And the expense, with new frocks for -Darjiling, would be really——</p> - -<p class='c016'>“All the arguments familiar to the pages of -the <cite>Family Herald</cite>,” the girl retorted, a dash of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>bitterness in her amusement, “‘with a little store -of maxims, preaching down a daughter’s heart!’ -Aren’t you ashamed, mummie! But you needn’t -worry about that. I’ll go back to England and -live with Aunt Jane: she dotes on me. Or I’ll -enter the Calcutta Medical College and qualify -as a lady-doctor. I shouldn’t like the cutting up, -though—I really shouldn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Rhoda, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>tu me fais mal</em></span>! If you could only -be serious for five minutes together. I suppose -you have some absurd idea that Mr. Ancram is -not sufficiently—demonstrative. But that will -all come in due time, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The girl laughed so uncontrollably that Mrs. -Daye suspected herself of an unconscious witticism, -and reflected a compromising smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You think I could win his affections afterwards. -Oh! I should despair of it. You have -no idea how coy he is, mummie!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye made a little grimace of sympathy, -and threw up her eyes and her hands. -They laughed together, and then the elder lady -said with severity that her daughter was positively -indecorous. “Nothing could have been -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>more devoted than his conduct yesterday afternoon. -‘How ridiculously happy,’ was what -Mrs. St. George said—‘how ridiculously happy -those two are!’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye had become argumentative and -plaintive. She imparted the impression that -if there was another point of view—which she -doubted—she was willing to take it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh! no doubt it was evident enough,” -Rhoda said tranquilly: “we had both been let -off a bad bargain. An afternoon I shall always -remember with pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then you have actually done it—broken -with him!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Irrevocably?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Very much so.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>Do</em> tell me how he took it!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Calmly. With admirable fortitude. It occupied -altogether about ten minutes, with -digressions. I’ve never kept any of his notes—he -doesn’t write clever notes—and you know -I’ve always refused to wear a ring. So there -was nothing to return except Buzz, which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>wouldn’t have been fair to Buzz. It won’t -make a scandal, will it, my keeping Buzz? -He’s quite a changed dog since I’ve had him, -and I love him for himself alone. He doesn’t -look in the least,” Rhoda added, thoughtfully -regarding the terrier curled up on the sofa, -who turned his brown eyes on her and wagged -his tail without moving, “like a Secretariat -puppy.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And is that all?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That’s all—practically.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well, Rhoda, of course I had to think of -your interests first—<em>any</em> mother would; but if -it’s really quite settled, I must confess that I -believe you are well out of it, and I’m rather -relieved myself. When I thought of being that -man’s mother-in-law I used to be thankful sometimes -that your father would retire so soon—which -was horrid, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I can understand your feelings, mummie.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’m sure you can, dear: you are always my -sympathetic child. <em>I</em> wouldn’t have married him -for worlds! I never could imagine how you -made up your mind to it in the first place. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>Now, I suppose that absurd Mrs. St. George -will go on with her theory that no daughter -of mine will ever marry in India, because the -young men find poor old me so amusing!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“She’s a clever woman—Mrs. St. George,” -Rhoda observed.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And now that we’ve had our little talk, -dear, there’s one thing I should like you to -take back—that quotation from Longfellow, or -was it Mrs. Hemans?—about a daughter’s heart, -you know.” Mrs. Daye inclined her head coaxingly -towards the side. “I <em>shouldn’t</em> like to have -that to remember between us, dear,” she said, -and blew her nose with as close an approach -to sentiment as could possibly be achieved in -connection with that organ.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You ridiculous old mummie! I assure you -it hadn’t the slightest application.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then <em>that’s</em> all right,” Mrs. Daye returned, -in quite her sprightly manner. “I’ll refuse the -St. Georges’ dinner on Friday night; it’s only -decent that we should keep rather quiet for a -fortnight or so, till it blows over a little. And -we shall get rid of you, my dear child, I’m -<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>perfectly certain, quite soon enough,” she added -over her shoulder, as she rustled out. “With -your brains, you might even marry very well -at home. But your father is sure to be put out -about this—awfully put out!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Do you know, Buzz,” murmured Rhoda a -moment later (the terrier had jumped into her -lap), “if I had been left an orphan in my early -youth, I fancy I would have borne it better than -most people.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>The editor of the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> sat in his -office correcting a proof. The proof looked insurmountably -difficult of correction, because it -was printed in Bengali; but Tarachand Mookerjee’s -eye ran over it nimbly, and was accompanied -by a smile, ever expanding and contracting, -of pleased, almost childish appreciation. -The day was hot, unusually so for February; -and as the European editors up-town worked -in their shirt-sleeves, so Tarachand Mookerjee -worked in his <em>dhoty</em>, which left him bare from -his waist up—bare and brown and polished, like -a figure carved in mahogany, for his ribs were -very visible. He wore nothing else, except -patent leather shoes and a pair of white cotton -stockings, originally designed for a more -muscular limb, if for a weaker sex. These -draperies were confined below the knee by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>pieces of the red tape with which a considerate -Government tied up the reports and resolutions -it sent the editor of the <cite>Word of -Truth</cite> for review. Above Tarachand’s three-cornered -face his crisp black hair stood in -clumps of oily and admired disorder; he had -early acquired the literary habit of running his -fingers through it. He had gentle, velvety eyes, -and delicate features, and a straggling beard. -He had lost two front teeth, and his attenuated -throat was well sunk between his narrow shoulders. -This gave him the look of a poor nervous -creature; and, indeed, there was not a black-and-white -terrier in Calcutta that could not have -frightened him horribly. Yet he was not in -the least afraid of a watch-dog belonging to -Government—an official translator who weekly -rendered up a confidential report of the emanations -of the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> in English—because -he knew that this animal’s teeth were drawn by -the good friends of Indian progress in the English -Parliament.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Tarachand did almost everything that had -to be done for the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> except the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>actual printing; although he had a nephew -at the Scotch Mission College who occasionally -wrote a theatrical notice for him in consideration -of a free ticket, and who never -ceased to urge him to print the paper in -English, so that he, the nephew, might have -an opportunity of practising composition in that -language. It was Tarachand who translated the -news out of the European papers into his own -columns, where it read backwards, who reviewed -the Bengali school-books written by the pundits -of his acquaintance, who “fought” the case of -the baboo in the Public Works Department -dismissed for the trivial offence of stealing blotting-paper. -It was, above all, Tarachand who -wrote editorials about the conduct of the Government -of India: that was the business of his -life, his morning and his evening meditation. -Tarachand had a great pull over the English -editors uptown here; had a great pull, in fact, -over any editors anywhere who felt compelled -to base their opinions upon facts, or to express -them with an eye upon consequences. Tarachand -knew nothing about facts—it is doubtful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>whether he would recognise one if he saw it—and -consequences did not exist for him. In place -of these drawbacks he had the great advantages -of imagination and invective. He was therefore -able to write the most graphic editorials.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He believed them, too, with the open-minded, -admiring simplicity that made him wax and -wane in smiles over this particular proof. I -doubt whether Tarachand could be brought to -understand the first principles of veracity as applied -to public affairs, unless possibly through his -pocket. A definition to the Aryan mind is always -best made in rupees, and to be mulcted -heavily by a court of law might give him a -grieved and surprised, but to some extent convincing -education in political ethics. It would -necessarily interfere at the same time, however, -with his untrammelled and joyous talent for the -creation and circulation of cheap fiction; it -would be a hard lesson, and in the course of it -Tarachand would petition with fervid loyalty and -real tears. Perhaps it was on some of these -accounts that the Government of India had never -run Tarachand in.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>Even for an editor’s office it was a small -room, and though it was on the second floor, the -walls looked as if fungi grew on them in the -rains. The floor was littered with publications; -for the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> was taken seriously in -Asia and in Oxford, and “exchanged” with a -number of periodicals devoted to theosophical -research, or the destruction of the opium revenue, -or the protection of the sacred cow by combination -against the beef-eating Briton. In one -corner lay a sprawling blue heap of the reports -and resolutions before mentioned, accumulating -the dust of the year, at the end of which -Tarachand would sell them for waste paper. -For the rest, there was the editorial desk, with -a chair on each side of it, the editorial gum-pot -and scissors and waste-paper basket; and portraits, -cut from the <cite>Illustrated London News</cite>, -askew on the wall and wrinkling in their frames, -of Max Müller and Lord Ripon. The warm air -was heavy with the odour of fresh printed sheets, -and sticky with Tarachand’s personal anointing -of cocoa-nut oil, and noisy with the clamping -of the press below, the scolding of the crows, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>the eternal wrangle of the streets. Through the -open window one saw the sunlight lying blindly -on the yellow-and-pink upper stories, with their -winding outer staircases and rickety balconies -and narrow barred windows, of the court -below.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Tarachand finished his proof and put it aside -to cough. He was bent almost double, and still -coughing when Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty -came in; so that the profusion of smiles with -which he welcomed his brother journalist was -not undimmed with tears. They embraced strenuously, -however, and Mohendra, with a corner -of his nether drapery, tenderly wiped the eyes -of Tarachand. For the moment the atmosphere -became doubly charged with oil and sentiment, -breaking into a little storm of phrases of affection -and gestures of respect. When it had been -gone through with, these gentlemen of Bengal -sat opposite each other beaming, and turned -their conversation into English as became gentlemen -of Bengal.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I deplore,” said Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty -concernedly, with one fat hand outspread -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>on his knee, “to see that this iss still remaining -with you——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The other, with a gesture, brushed his ailment -away. “Oh, it iss nothing—nothing whatever! -I have been since three days under astronomical -treatment of Dr. Chatterjee. ‘Sir,’ he remarked -me yesterday, as I was leaving his höwwse, -‘after <em>one</em> month you will be again salubrious. -You will be on legs again—<em>take</em> my word!’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra leaned back in his chair, put his -head on one side, and described a right angle -with one leg and the knee of the other. “Smart -chap, Chatterjee!” he said, in perfect imitation -of the casual sahib. He did not even forget to -smooth his chin judicially as he said it. The -editor of the <cite>Word of Truth</cite>, whose social opportunities -had been limited to his own caste, looked -on with admiration.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And what news do you bring? But already -I have perused the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite> of to-day, -so without doubt I know all the news!” Tarachand -made this professional compliment as -coyly and insinuatingly as if he and Mohendra -had been sweethearts. “I can<em>not</em> withhold my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>congratulations on that leader of thiss morning,” -he went on fervently. “Here it is to my hand; -diligently I have been studying it with awful -admiration.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra’s chin sank into his neck in a series -of deprecating nods and inarticulate expressions -of dissent, and his eyes glistened. Tarachand -took up the paper and read from it:—</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>“‘<span class='sc'>The Satrap and the Colleges.</span>’</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah, how will His Honour look when he sees -that!</p> - -<p class='c020'>“‘Is it possible, we ask all sane men with a heart -in their bosom, that Dame Rumour is right in her -prognostications? Can it be true that the tyrant of -Belvedere will dare to lay his hand on the revenue -sacredly put aside to shower down upon our young -hopefuls the mother’s milk of an Alma Mater upon -any pretext whatsoever? We fear the affirmative. -Even as we go to press the knell of higher education -may be sounding, and any day poor Bengal may learn -from a rude Notification in the <cite>Gazette</cite> that her hope -of progress has been shattered by the blasting pen of -the caitiff Church. We will not mince matters, nor -hesitate to proclaim to the housetops that the author -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>of this dastardly action is but a poor stick. Doubtless -he will say that the College grants are wanted for -this or for that; but full well the people of this province -know it is to swell the fat pay of boot-licking -English officials that they are wanted. A wink is as -good as a nod to a blind horse, and any excuse will -serve when an autocrat without fear of God or man -sits upon the <em>gaddi</em>. Many are the pitiable cases of -hardship that will now come to view. One amongst -thousands will serve. Known to the writer is a family -man, and a large one. He has been blessed with -seven sons, all below the age of nine. Up to the -present he has been joyous as a lark and playful as a -kitten, trusting in the goodness of Government to -provide the nutrition of their minds and livelihoods. -Now he is beating his breast, for his treasures will be -worse than orphans. How true are the words of the -poet—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c021'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,</div> - <div class='line'>Tenets with books, and principles with times!’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Again and yet again have we exposed the hollow, -heartless and vicious policy of the acting Lieutenant-Governor, -but, alas! without result.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c021'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘Destroy his fib or sophistry—in vain;</div> - <div class='line'>The creature’s at his dirty work again!’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>But will this province sit tamely down under its -brow-beating? A thousand times no! We will -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>appeal to the justice, to the mercy of England, -through our noble friends in Parliament, and the lash -will yet fall like a scorpion upon the shrinking hide -of the coward who would filch the people from their -rights.’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Tarachand stopped to cough, and his round -liquid eyeballs, as he turned them upon Mohendra, -stood out of their creamy whites with -enthusiasm. “One word,” he cried, as soon as -he had breath: “you are the Ma<em>cau</em>lay of -Bengal! No less. The Ma<em>cau</em>lay of Bengal!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>(John Church, when he read Mohendra’s -article next day, laughed, but uneasily. He -knew that in all Bengal there is no such thing as -a sense of humour.)</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My own feeble pen,” Tarachand went on -deprecatingly, “has been busy at this thing for -the to-morrow’s issue. I also have been saying -some worthless remark, perhaps not altogether -beyond the point,” and the corrected proof went -across the table to Mohendra. While he glanced -through it Tarachand watched him eagerly, reflecting -every shade of expression that passed -over the other man’s face. When Mohendra -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>smiled Tarachand laughed out with delight, -when Mohendra looked grave Tarachand’s -countenance was sunk in melancholy.</p> - -<p class='c020'>“‘Have the hearts of the people of India turned to -water that any son of English mud may ride over -their prostrate forms?’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>he read aloud in Bengali. “That is well said.</p> - -<p class='c020'>“‘Too often the leaders of the people have waited -on the Lieutenant-Governor to explain desirable -matters, but the counsel of grey hairs has not been -respected. Three Vedas, and the fourth a cudgel! -The descendants of monkeys have forgotten that -once before they played too many tricks. The white -dogs want another lesson.’</p> - -<p class='c016'>“A-ha!” Mohendra paused to comment, -smiling. “Very good talk. But it is necessary -also to be a little careful. After that—it is my -advice—you say how Bengalis are loyal before -everything.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The editor of the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> slowly -shook his head, showing, in his contemptuous -amusement, a row of glittering teeth stained with -the red of the betel. “No harm can come,” he -said. “They dare not muzzle thee press.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>The phrase was pat and familiar. “When the -loin-cloth burns one must speak out. I am a -poor man, and I have sons. Where is their rice -to come from? Am I a man without shame, -that I should let the Sirkar turn them into -carpenters?” In his excitement Tarachand had -dropped into his own tongue.</p> - -<div class='letter'> - -<p class='c016'>“‘Education to Bengalis is as dear as religion. -They have fought for religion, they may well -fight for education. Let the game go on; let European -officials grow fat on our taxes; let the -wantons, their women, dance in the arms of men, -and look into their faces with impudence, at the -<em>tamashos</em> of the Burra Lât as before. But if the -Sirkar robs the poor Bengali of his education let him -beware. He will become without wings or feathers, -while Shiva will protect the helpless and those with a -just complaint.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class='c016'>“Without doubt that will make a <em>sen</em>sation,” -Mohendra said, handing back the proof. “With<em>out</em> -doubt! You can have much more the -courage of your opinion in the vernacular. -English—that iss a<em>noth</em>er thing. I wrote myséêlf, -last week, some issmall criticism on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>Chairman of the Municipality, maybe half a -column—about that new drain in Colootollah -which we must put our hand in our pocket. -Yesterda-ay I met the Chairman on the Red -Road, and he takes no notiss off my face! That -was <em>not</em> pleasant. To-day I am writing on -issecond thoughts we cannot live without drainage, -and I will send him marked copy. But in -that way it iss troublesome, the English.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“These Europeans they have no eye-shame. -They are entirely made of wood. But I think -this Notification will be a nice kettle of fish! -Has the Committee got isspeakers for the mass -meeting on the Maidan?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra nodded complacently. “Already -it is being arranged. For a month I have known -every word spoken by His Honour on this thing. -I have the <em>best</em> information. Every week I am -watching the <cite>Gazette</cite>. The morning of publication -<em>ekdum</em><a id='rB' /><a href='#fB' class='c018'><sup>[B]</sup></a> goes telegram to our good friend -in Parliament. Agitation in England, agitation -in India! Either will come another Royal Commission -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>to upset the thing, or the Lieutenant-Governor -is forced to <em>re</em>tire.”</p> - -<hr class='c019' /> -<div class='footnote' id='fB'> -<p class='c016'><a href='#rB'>B</a>. In one breath.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c019' /> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra’s nods became oracular. Then -his expression grew seriously regretful. “Myséêlf -I hope they will—what iss it in English?—<em>w’itewass</em> -him with a commission. It goes against -me to see disgrace on a high official. It is <em>not</em> -pleasant. He means well—he <em>means</em> well. And -at heart he is a very good fellow—personally I -have had much agreeable conversation with him. -Always he has asked me to his garden-parties.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He has set fire to his own beard, brother,” -said the editor of the <cite>Word of Truth</cite> in the -vernacular, spitting.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Very true—oh, very true! And all the -more we must attack him because I see the reptile -English press, in Calcutta, in Bombay, in Allahabad, -they are upholding this dacoity. That iss -the only word—dacoity.” Mohendra rose. “And -we two have both off us the best occasion to -fight,” he added beamingly, as he took his departure, -“for did we not graduate hand in hand -that same year out off Calcutta University?”</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>“God knows, Ancram, I believe it is the -right thing to do!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>John Church had reached his difficult moment—the -moment he had learned to dread. It -lay in wait for him always at the end of unbaffled -investigation, of hard-fast steering by principle, -of determined preliminary action of every -kind—the actual executive moment. Neither -the impulse of his enthusiasm nor the force of -his energy ever sufficed to carry him over it -comfortably; rather, at this point, they ebbed -back, leaving him stranded upon his responsibility, -which invariably at once assumed the -character of a quicksand. He was never defeated -by himself at these junctures, but he -hated them. He turned out from himself then, -consciously seeking support and reinforcement, -to which at other times he was indifferent; and -it was in a crisis of desire for encouragement -that he permitted himself to say to Lewis -Ancram that God knew he believed the College -Grants Notification was the right thing to do. -He had asked Ancram to wait after the Council -meeting was over very much for this purpose.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>“Yes, sir,” the Chief Secretary replied; “if -I may be permitted to say so, it is the most -conscientious piece of legislation of recent -years.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Lieutenant-Governor looked anxiously -at Ancram from under his bushy eyebrows, and -then back again at the Notification. It lay in -broad margined paragraphs of beautiful round -baboo’s handwriting, covering a dozen pages of -foolscap, before him on the table. It waited only -for his ultimate decision to go to the Government -Printing Office and appear in the <cite>Gazette</cite> and be -law to Bengal. Already he had approved each -separate paragraph. His Chief Secretary had -never turned out a better piece of work.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“To say precisely what is in my mind, -Ancram,” Church returned, beginning to pace -the empty chamber, “I have sometimes thought -that you were not wholly with me in this -matter.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I will not disguise from you, sir”—Ancram -spoke with candid emphasis—“that I think it’s a -risky thing to do, a—deuced risky thing.” His -Honour was known to dislike strong language. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>“But as to the principle involved there can be -no two opinions.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His Honour’s gaunt shadow passed and repassed -against the oblong patch of westering -February sunlight that lightened the opposite -wall before he replied.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am prepared for an outcry,” he said -slowly at last. “I think I can honestly say that -I am concerned only with the principle—with -the possible harm, and the probable good.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram felt a rising irritation. He reflected -that if His Honour had chosen to take him into -confidence earlier, he—Mr. Ancram—might have -been saved a considerable amount of moral unpleasantness. -By taking him into confidence -now the Lieutenant-Governor merely added to -it appreciably and, Ancram pointed out to himself, -undeservedly. He played with his watch-chain -for distraction, and looked speculatively -at the Notification, and said that one thing was -certain, they could depend upon His Excellency -if it came to any nonsense with the Secretary of -State. “Scansleigh is loyal to his very marrow. -He’ll stand by us, whatever happens.” No one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>admired the distinguishing characteristic of the -Viceroy of India more than the Chief Secretary -of the Government of Bengal.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Scansleigh sees it as I do,” Church returned; -“and I see it plainly. At least I have -not spared myself—nor any one else,” he added, -with a smile of admission which was at the -moment pathetic, “in working the thing up. -My action has no bearing that I have not carefully -examined. Nothing can result from it -that I do not expect—at least approximately—to -happen.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram almost imperceptibly raised his eyebrows. -The gesture, with its suggestion of dramatic -superiority, was irresistible to him; he -would have made it if Church had been looking -at him; but the eyes of the Lieutenant-Governor -were fixed upon the sauntering multitude in the -street below. He turned from the window, and -went on with a kind of passion.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I tell you, Ancram, I feel my responsibility -in this thing, and I will not carry it any longer -in the shape of a curse to my country. I don’t -speak of the irretrievable mischief that is being -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>done by the wholesale creation of a clerkly class -for whom there is no work, or of the danger of -putting that sharpest tool of modern progress—higher -education—into hands that can only use it -to destroy. When we have helped these people -to shatter all their old notions of reverence and -submission and self-abnegation and piety, and -given them, for such ideals as their fathers had, -the scepticism and materialism of the West, I -don’t know that we shall have accomplished -much to our credit. But let that pass. The ultimate -consideration is this: You know and I know -where the money comes from—the three lakhs -and seventy-five thousand rupees—that goes -every year to make B.A.s of Calcutta University. -It’s a commonplace to say that it is sweated in -annas and pice out of the cultivators of the -villages—poor devils who live and breed and -rot in pest-stricken holes we can’t afford to drain -for them, who wear one rag the year through -and die of famine when the rice harvest fails! -The ryot pays, that the money-lender who screws -him and the landowner who bullies him may -give their sons a cheap European education.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>“The wonder is,” Ancram replied, “that it -has not been acknowledged a beastly shame long -ago. The vested interest has never been very -strong.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah well,” Church said more cheerfully, “we -have provided for the vested interest; and my -technical schools will, I hope, go some little way -toward providing for the cultivators. At all -events they will teach him to get more out of -his fields. It’s a tremendous problem, that,” he -added, refolding the pages with a last glance, -and slipping them into their cover: “the ratio -at which population is increasing out here and -the limited resources of the soil.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He had reassumed the slightly pedantic manner -that was characteristic of him; he was again -dependent upon himself, and resolved.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Send it off at once, will you?” he said; and -Ancram gave the packet to a waiting messenger. -“A weighty business off my mind,” he added, -with a sigh of relief. “Upon my word, Ancram, -I am surprised to find you so completely in -accord with me. I fancied you would have objections -to make at the last moment, and that I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>should have to convince you. I rather wanted -to convince somebody. But I am very pleased -indeed to be disappointed!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is a piece of work which has my sincerest -admiration, sir,” Ancram answered; and as the -two men descended the staircases from the Bengal -Council Chamber to the street, the Lieutenant-Governor’s -hand rested upon the arm of his -Chief Secretary in a way that was almost affectionate.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Three days later the Notification appeared. -John Church sat tensely through the morning, -unconsciously preparing himself for emergencies—deputations, -petitions, mobs. None of these -occurred. The day wore itself out in the usual -routine, and in the evening His Honour was -somewhat surprised to meet at dinner a member -of the Viceroy’s Council who was not aware that -anything had been done. He turned with some -eagerness next morning to the fourth page of his -newspaper, and found its leading article illuminating -the subject of an archæological discovery -in Orissa, made some nine months previously. -The Lieutenant-Governor was an energetic person, -and did not understand the temper of Bengal. -He had published a Notification subversive -of the educational policy of the Government for -sixty years, and he expected this proceeding to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>excite immediate attention. He gave it an importance -almost equal to that of the Derby -Sweepstakes. This, however, was in some degree -excusable, considering the short time he had -spent in Calcutta and the persevering neglect -he had shown in observing the tone of society.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Even the telegram to the sympathetic Member -of Parliament failed of immediate transmission. -Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty wrote it -out with emotion; then he paused, remembering -that the cost of telegrams paid for by enthusiastic -private persons was not easily recoverable from -committees. Mohendra was a solid man, but -there were funds for this purpose. He decided -that he was not justified in speeding the nation’s -cry for succour at his own expense; so he submitted -the telegram to the committee, which -met at the end of the week. The committee -asked Mohendra to cut it down and let them see -it again. In the end it arrived at Westminster -almost as soon as the mail. Mohendra, besides, -had his hands and his paper full, at the moment, -with an impassioned attack upon an impulsive -judge of the High Court who had shot a bullock -<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>with its back broken. As to the <cite>Word of Truth</cite>, -Tarachand Mookerjee was celebrating his daughter’s -wedding, at the time the Notification was -published, with tom-toms and sweetmeats and a -very expensive nautch, and for three days the -paper did not appear at all.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The week lengthened out, and the Lieutenant-Governor’s -anxiety grew palpably less. His -confidence had returned to such a degree that -when the officers of the Education Department -absented themselves in a body from the first of -his succeeding entertainments he was seriously -disturbed. “It’s childish,” he said to Judith. -“By my arrangement not a professor among -them will lose a pice either in pay or pension. -If the people are anxious enough for higher education -to pay twice as much for it as they do -now these fellows will go on with their lectures. -If not, we’ll turn them into inspectors, or superintendents -of the technical schools.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I can understand a certain soreness on the -subject of their dignity,” his wife suggested.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Church frowned impatiently. “People might -think less of their dignity in this country and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>more of their duty, with advantage,” he said, and -she understood that the discussion was closed.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The delay irritated Ancram, who was a man -of action. He told other people that he feared -it was only the ominous lull before the storm, -and assured himself that no man could hurry -Bengal. Nevertheless, the terms in which he -advised Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty, who came -to see him every Sunday afternoon, were successful -to the point of making that Aryan drive -rather faster on his way back to the <cite>Bengal Free -Press</cite> office. At the end of a fortnight Mr. Ancram -was able to point to the verification of his -prophecy; it had been the lull before the storm, -which developed, two days later, in the columns -of the native press, into a tornado.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I tell you,” said he, “you might as well -petition Sri Krishna as the Viceroy,” when -Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty reverted to this -method of obtaining redress. Mohendra, who -was a Hindoo of orthodoxy, may well have found -this flippant, but he only smiled, and assented, -and went away and signed the petition. He -yielded to the natural necessity of the pathetic -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>temperament of his countrymen—even when -they were university graduates and political -agitators—to implore before they did anything -else. An appeal was distilled and forwarded. -The Viceroy promptly indicated the nature of -his opinions by refusing to receive this document -unless it reached him through the proper channel—which -was the Bengal Government. The -prayer of humility then became a shriek of defiance, -a transition accomplished with remarkable -rapidity in Bengal. In one night Calcutta flowered -mysteriously into coloured cartoons, depicting -the Lieutenant-Governor in the prisoner’s -dock, charged by the Secretary of State, on the -bench, with the theft of bags of gold marked -“College Grants”; while the Director of Education, -weeping bitterly, gave evidence against -him. The Lieutenant-Governor was represented -in a green frock-coat and the Secretary of State -in a coronet, which made society laugh, and -started a wave of interest in the College Grants -Notification. John Church saw it in people’s -faces at his garden parties, and it added to the -discomfort with which he read advertisements -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>of various mass meetings, in protest, to be held -throughout the province, and noticed among the -speakers invariably the unaccustomed names of -the Rev. Professor Porter of the Exeter Hall -Institute, the Rev. Dr. MacInnes of the Caledonian -Mission, and Father Ambrose, who ruled -St. Dominic’s College, and who certainly insisted, -as part of <em>his</em> curriculum, upon the lives of the -Saints.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The afternoon of the first mass meeting in -Calcutta closed into the evening of the last -ball of the season at Government House. A -petty royalty from Southern Europe, doing -the grand tour, had trailed his clouds of glory -rather indolently late into Calcutta; and, as society -anxiously emphasized, there was practically -only a single date available before Lent for a -dance in his honour. When it was understood -that Their Excellencies would avail themselves -of this somewhat contracted opportunity, society -beamed upon itself, and said it knew they would—they -were the essence of hospitality.</p> - -<p class='c016'>There are three square miles of the green -Maidan, round which Calcutta sits in a stucco -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>semi-circle, and past which her brown river -runs to the sea. Fifteen thousand people, therefore, -gathered in one corner of it, made a -somewhat unusually large patch of white upon -the grass, but were not otherwise impressive, -and in no wise threatening. Society, which had -forgotten about the mass meeting, put up its eye-glass, -driving on the Red Road, and said that -there was evidently something “going on”—probably -a football team of Tommies from the -Fort playing the town. Only two or three -elderly officials, taking the evening freshness in -solitary walks, looked with anxious irritation at -the densely-packed mass; and Judith Church, -driving home through the smoky yellow twilight, -understood the meaning of the cheers the -south wind softened and scattered abroad. -They brought her a stricture of the heart -with the thought of John Church’s devotion -to these people. Ingrates, she named them to -herself, with compressed lips—ingrates, traitors, -hounds! Her eyes filled with the impotent -tears of a woman’s pitiful indignation; her -heart throbbed with a pang of new recognition -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>of her husband’s worth, and of tenderness for -it, and of unrecognised pain beneath that even -this could not constitute him her hero and master. -She asked herself bitterly—I fear her politics -were not progressive—what the people in -England meant by encouraging open and ignorant -sedition in India, and whole passages came -eloquently into her mind of the speech she -would make in Parliament if she were but a -man and a member. They brought her some -comfort, but she dismissed them presently to -reflect seriously whether something might not -be done. She looked courageously at the possibility -of imprisoning Dr. MacInnes. Then she -too thought of the ball, and subsided upon the -determination of consulting Lewis Ancram, at -the ball, upon this point. She drew a distinct -ethical satisfaction from her intention. It seemed -in the nature of a justification for the quickly -pulsating pleasure with which she looked forward -to the evening.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Gentlemen native to Bengal are not usually -invited to balls at Government House. It is -unnecessary to speak of the ladies: they are -non-existent to the social eye, even if it belongs -to a Viceroy. The reason is popularly supposed -to be the inability of gentlemen native to Bengal -to understand the waltz, except by Aryan analysis. -It is thought well to circumscribe their -opportunities of explaining it thus, and they are -asked instead to evening parties which offer -nothing more stimulating to the imagination -than conversation and champagne—of neither -of which they partake. On this occasion however, -at the entreaty of the visiting royalty, the -rule was relaxed to admit perhaps fifty; and -when Lewis Ancram arrived—rather late—the -first personality he recognised as in any way -significant was that of Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>who leaned against a pillar, with his hands -clasped behind him, raptly contemplating a -polka. Mohendra, too, had an appreciation of -personalities, and of his respectful duty to them. -He bore down in Ancram’s direction unswervingly -through the throng, his eye humid with -happiness, his hand held out in an impulse of -affection. When he thought he had arrived at -the Chief Secretary’s elbow he looked about him -in some astonishment. A couple of subalterns in -red jackets disputed with mock violence over the -dance-card of a little girl in white, and a much -larger lady was waiting with imposing patience -until he should be pleased to get off her train. -At the same moment an extremely correct black -back glanced through the palms into the verandah.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The verandah was very broad and high, and -softly lighted in a way that made vague glooms -visible and yet gave a gentle radiance to the -sweep of pale-tinted drapery that here and there -suggested a lady sunk in the depths of a roomy -arm-chair, playing with her fan and talking in -undertones. It was a place of delicious mystery, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>in spite of the strains of the orchestra that -throbbed out from the ball-room, in spite of the -secluded fans opening and closing in some commonplace -of Calcutta flirtation. The mystery -came in from without, where the stars crowded -down thick and luminous behind the palms, and -a grey mist hung low in the garden beneath, -turning it into a fantasy of shadowed forms and -filmy backgrounds and new significances. Out -there, in the wide spaces beyond the tall verandah -pillars, the spirit of the spring was abroad—the -troubled, throbbing, solicitous Indian -spring, perfumed and tender. The air was -warm and sweet and clinging; it made life a -pathetic, enjoyable necessity, and love a luxury -of much refinement.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram folded his arms and stood in the -doorway and permitted himself to feel these -things. If he was not actually looking for -Judith Church, it was because he was always, -so to speak, anticipating her; in a state of -readiness to receive the impression of her face, -the music of her voice. Mrs. Church was the -reason of the occasion, the reason of every occasion -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>in so far as it concerned him. She seemed -simply the corollary of his perception of the -exquisite night when he discovered her presently, -on one of the more conspicuous sofas, talking -to Sir Peter Bloomsbury. She was waiting for -him to find her, with a little flickering smile that -came in the pauses between Sir Peter’s remarks; -and when Ancram approached he noticed, with -as keen a pleasure as he was capable of feeling, -that her replies to this dignitary were made -somewhat at random.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Their conversation changed when Sir Peter -went away only to take its note of intimacy and -its privilege of pauses. They continued to speak -of trivial matters, and to talk in tones and in -things they left unsaid. His eyes lingered in the -soft depths of hers to ascertain whether the roses -were doing well this year at Belvedere, and there -was a conscious happiness in the words with -which she told him that they were quite beyond -her expectations not wholly explicable even by -so idyllic a fact. The content of their neigbourhood -surrounded them like an atmosphere, beyond -which people moved about irrationally and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>a string band played unmeaning selections much -too loud. She was lovelier than he had ever -seen her, more his possession than he had ever -felt her—the incarnation, as she bent her graceful -head towards him, of the eloquent tropical night -and the dreaming tropical spring. He told himself -afterwards that he felt at this moment an -actual pang of longing, and rejoiced that he -could still experience an undergraduate’s sensation -after so many years of pleasures that were -but aridly intellectual at their best. Certainly, as -he sat there in his irreproachable clothes and -attitude, he knew that his blood was beating -warm to his finger-tips with a delicious impulse -to force the sweet secret of the situation between -them. The south wind suggested to him, -through the scent of breaking buds, that prudence -was entirely a relative thing, and not even -relative to a night like this and a woman like -that. As he looked at a tendril of her hair, -blown against the warm whiteness of her neck, -it occurred to the Honourable Mr. Ancram that -he might go a little further. He felt divinely -rash; but his intention was to go only a little -<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>further. Hitherto he had gone no distance -at all.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The south wind drove them along together. -Judith felt it on her neck and arms, and in little, -cool, soft touches about her face. She did not -pause to question the happiness it brought her: -there were other times for pauses and questions; -her eyes were ringed with them, under the -powder. She abandoned herself to her woman’s -divine sense of ministry; and the man she loved -observed that she did it with a certain inimitable -poise, born of her confidence in him, which was -as new as it was entrancing.</p> - -<p class='c016'>People began to flock downstairs to supper -in the wake of the Viceroy and the visiting -royalty; the verandah emptied itself. Presently -they became aware that they were alone.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You have dropped your fan,” Ancram said, -and picked it up. He looked at its device for -a moment, and then restored it. Judith’s hands -were lying in her lap, and he slipped the fan -into one of them, letting his own rest for a perceptible -instant in the warm palm of the other. -There ensued a tumultuous silence. He had only -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>underscored a glance of hers; yet it seemed that -he had created something—something as formidable -as lovely, <a id='corr207.3'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='a embarrassing'>as embarrassing</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_207.3'><ins class='correction' title='a embarrassing'>as embarrassing</ins></a></span> as divine. As he -gently withdrew his hand she lifted her eyes to -his with mute entreaty, and he saw that they -were full of tears. He told himself afterwards -that he had been profoundly moved; but this -did not interfere with his realisation that it was -an exquisite moment.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram regarded her gravely, with a smile -of much consideration. He gave her a moment -of time, and then, as she did not look up again, -he leaned forward, and said, quite naturally and -evenly, as if the proposition were entirely legitimate: -“The relation between us is too tacit. -Tell me that you love me, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>For an instant he repented, since it seemed -that she would be carried along on the sweet -tide of his words to the brink of an indiscretion. -Once more she looked up, softly seeking his -eyes; and in hers he saw so lovely a light -of self-surrender that he involuntarily thanked -Heaven that there was no one else to recognise -it. In her face was nothing but the thought of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>him; and, seeing this, he had a swift desire to -take her in his arms and experience at its fullest -and sweetest the sense that she and her little -empire were gladly lost there. In the pause of -her mute confession he felt the strongest exultation -he had known. Her glance reached him -like a cry from an unexplored country; the -revelation of her love filled him with the knowledge -that she was infinitely more adorable and -more desirable than he had thought her. From -that moment she realised to him a supreme -good, and he never afterwards thought of his -other ambitions without a smile of contempt -which was almost genuine. But she said nothing: -she seemed removed from any necessity of -speech, lifted up on a wave of absolute joy, and -isolated from all that lay either behind or before. -He controlled his impatience for words from -her—for he was very sure of one thing; that -when they came they would be kind—and chose -his own with taste.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Don’t you think that it would be better if -we had the courage and the candour to accept -things as they are? Don’t you think we would -<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>be stronger for all that we must face if we acknowledged—only -to each other—the pain and -the sweetness of it?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I have never been blind,” she said softly.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“All I ask is that you will not even pretend -to be. Is that too much?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How can it be a question of that?” Her -voice trembled a little. Then she hurried illogically -on: “But there can be no change—there -must be no change. These are things I hoped -you would never say.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The alternative is too wretched: to go on -living a lie—and a stupid, unnecessary lie. -Why, in Heaven’s name, should there be the -figment of hypocrisy between us? I know that -I must be content with very little, but I am -afraid there is no way of telling you how much -I want that little.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She had grown very pale, and she put up -her hand and smoothed her hair with a helpless, -mechanical gesture.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No, no,” she said—“stop. Let us make -an end of it quickly. I was very well content -to go on with the lie. I think I should -<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>always have been content. But now there -is no lie: there is nothing to stand upon any -longer. You must get leave, or something, -and go away—or I will. I am not—really—very -well.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked at him miserably, with twitching -lips, and he laid a soothing hand—there was still -no one to see—upon her arm.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Judith, don’t talk of impossibilities. How -could we two live in one world—and apart! -Those are the heroics of a dear little schoolgirl. -You and I are older, and braver.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She put his hand away with a touch that was -a caress, but only said irrelevantly, “And Rhoda -Daye might have loved you honestly!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah, that threadbare old story!” He felt as -if she had struck him, and the feeling impelled -him to ask her why she thought he deserved -punishment. “Not that it hurts,” Mr. Ancram -added, almost resentfully.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She gave him a look of vague surprise, and -then lapsed, refusing to make the effort to understand, -into the troubled depths of her own -thought.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>“Be a little kind, Judith. I only want a -word.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The south wind brought them a sound out of -the darkness—the high, faint, long-drawn sound -of a cheer from the Maidan. She lifted her head -and listened intently, with apprehensive eyes. -Then she rose unsteadily from her seat, and, as -he gave her his arm in silence, she stood for a -moment gathering up her strength, and waiting, -it seemed, for the sound to come again. Nothing -reached them but the wilder, nearer wail of -the jackals in the streets.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I must go home,” she said, in a voice that -was quite steady; “I must find my husband -and go home.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He would have held her back, but she walked -resolutely, if somewhat purposelessly, round the -long curve of the verandah, and stood still, looking -at the light that streamed out of the ballroom -and glistened on the leaves of a range of -palms and crotons in pots that made a seclusion -there.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then,” said Ancram, “I am to go on with -the forlorn comfort of a guess. I ought to be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>thankful, I suppose, that you can’t take that from -me. Perhaps you would,” he added bitterly, “if -you could know how precious it is.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>His words seemed to fix her in a half-formed -resolve. Her hand slipped out of his arm, and -she took a step away from him toward the crotons. -Against their dark green leaves he saw, -with some alarm, how white her face was.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Listen,” she said: “I think you do not -realise it, but I know you are hard and cruel. -You ask me if I am not to you what I ought -to be to my husband, who is a good man, and -who loves me, and trusts you. And, what is -worse, this has come up between us at a time -when he is threatened and troubled: on the -very night when I meant—when I meant”—she -stopped to conquer the sob in her throat—“to -have asked you to think of something that might -be done to help him. Well, but you ask me if -I have come to love you, and perhaps in a way -you have a right to know; and the truth is better, -as you say. And I answer you that I have. -I answer you yes, it is true, and I know it will -always be true. But from to-night you will remember -<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>that every time I look into your face -and touch your hand I hurt my own honour -and my husband’s, and—and you will not let -me see you often.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>As Ancram opened his lips to speak, the -cheer from the Maidan smote the air again, -and this time it seemed nearer. Judith took -his arm nervously.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What can they be doing out there?” she -exclaimed. “Let us go—I must find my husband—let -us go!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They crossed the threshold into the ballroom, -where John Church joined them almost -immediately, his black brows lightened by an -unusually cheerful expression.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’ve been having a long talk with His Excellency,” -he said to them jointly. “An uncommonly -capable fellow, Scansleigh. He tells me -he has written a strong private letter to the -Secretary of State about this Notification of -mine. That’s bound to have weight, you know, -in case they make an attempt to get hold of -Parliament at home.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>As Mrs. Church and Mr. Lewis Ancram left -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>the verandah a chair was suddenly pushed back -behind the crotons. Miss Rhoda Daye had been -sitting in the chair, alone too, with the south -wind and the stars. She had no warning of -what she was about to overhear—no sound had -reached her, either of their talk or their approach—and -in a somewhat agitated colloquy -with herself she decided that nothing could be -so terrible as her personal interruption of what -Mrs. Church was saying. That lady’s words, -though low and rapid, were very distinct, and -Rhoda heard them out involuntarily, with a -strong disposition to applaud her and to love -her. Then she turned a key upon her emotions -and Judith Church’s secret, and slipped -quietly out to look for her mother, who asked -her, between her acceptance of an ice from the -Home Secretary and a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>petit four</em></span> from the General -Commanding the Division, why on earth she -looked so depressed.</p> - -<div id='i214a' class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_214a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>“What do I know about the speech!”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram, turning away from the Churches, -almost ran into the arms of Mohendra Lal -Chuckerbutty, with whom he shook hands. -His manner expressed, combined with all the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>good will in the world, a slight embarrassment -that he could not remember Mohendra’s -name, which is so often to be noticed when -European officials have occasion to greet natives -of distinction—natives of distinction are so very -numerous and so very similar.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I hope you are well!” beamed the editor of -the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite>. “It is a very select -party.” Then Mohendra dropped his voice -confidentially: “We have sent to England, by -to-day’s mail, every word of the isspeech of -Dr. MacInnes——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Damn you!” Ancram said, with a respectful, -considering air: “what do I know -about the speech of Dr. MacInnes! <em>Jehannum -jao!</em>”<a id='rC' /><a href='#fC' class='c018'><sup>[C]</sup></a></p> - -<hr class='c019' /> -<div class='footnote' id='fC'> -<p class='c016'><a href='#rC'>C</a>. “Go to Hades!”</p> -</div> -<hr class='c019' /> - -<p class='c016'>Mohendra laughed in happy acquiescence as -the Chief Secretary bowed and left him. “Certainlie! -certainlie!” he said; “it is a very select -party!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The evening had one more incident. Mr. and -Mrs. Church made their retreat early: Judith’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>face offered an excuse of fatigue which was better -than her words. Their carriage turned out -of Circular Road with a thickening crowd of -natives talking noisily and walking in the same -direction. They caught up with a glare and the -smell and smoke of burning pitch. Judith said -uneasily that there seemed to be a bonfire in the -middle of the road. They drew a little nearer, -and the crowd massed around them before and -behind, on the bridge leading to Belvedere out -of the city. Then John Church perceived that -the light streamed from a burning figure which -flamed and danced grotesquely, wired to a pole -attached to a bullock cart and pulled along by -coolies. The absorbed crowd that walked -behind, watching and enjoying like excited -children at a show, chattered defective English, -and the light from the burning thing -on the pole streamed upon faces already -to some extent illumined by the higher culture -of the University Colleges. But it was -not until they recognised his carriage and -outriders, and tried to hurry and to scatter -on the narrow bridge, that the Acting Lieutenant-Governor -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>of Bengal fully realised that -he had been for some distance swelling a -procession which was entertaining itself with -much gusto at the expense of his own effigy.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XV.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>When it became obvious that the College -Grants Notification held fateful possibilities for -John Church personally, and for his wife incidentally, -it rapidly developed into a topic. Ladies, -in the course of midday visits in each -other’s cool drawing-rooms, repeated things their -husbands had let fall at dinner the night before, -and said they were awfully sorry for Mrs. -Church; it must be too trying for her, poor -thing. If it were only on <em>her</em> account, some of -them thought, the Lieutenant-Governor—the -“L.G.,” they called him—ought to let things go -on as they always had. What difference did it -make anyway! At the clubs the matter superseded, -for the moment, the case of an army -chaplain accused of improper conduct at Singapore, -and bets were freely laid on the issue—three -to one that Church would be “smashed.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>If this attitude seemed less sympathetic than -that of the ladies, it betokened at least no hostility. -On the contrary, no small degree of appreciation -was current for His Honour. He -would not have heard the matter discussed often -from his own point of view, but that was because -his own point of view was very much his own -property. He might have heard himself commended -from a good many others, however, and -especially on the ground of his pluck. Men said -between their cigars that very few fellows would -care to put their hands to such a piece of <em>zubberdusti</em><a id='rD' /><a href='#fD' class='c018'><sup>[D]</sup></a> -at this end of the century, however much -it was wanted. Personally they hoped the beggar -would get it through, and with equal solicitude -they proceeded to bet that he wouldn’t. -Among the sentiments the beggar evoked, perhaps -the liveliest was one of gratitude for so -undeniable a sensation so near the end of the -cold weather, when sensations were apt to take -flight, with other agreeable things, to the hill -stations.</p> - -<hr class='c019' /> -<div class='footnote' id='fD'> -<p class='c016'><a href='#rD'>D</a>. “High-handed proceeding.”</p> -</div> -<hr class='c019' /> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>The storm reached a point when the Bishop -felt compelled to put forth an allaying hand from -the pulpit of the Cathedral. As the head of the -Indian Establishment the Bishop felt himself -allied in no common way with the governing -power, and His Lordship was known to hold -strong views on the propriety with which lawn -sleeves might wave above questions of public -importance. Besides, neither Dr. MacInnes nor -Professor Porter were lecturing on the binomial -theorem under Established guidance, while as to -Father Ambrose, he positively invited criticism, -with his lives of the Saints. When, therefore, -the Cathedral congregation heard his Lordship -begin his sermon with the sonorous announcement -from Ecclesiastes,</p> - -<p class='c023'>“<em>For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that -increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. He—that -increaseth—knowledge—increaseth—sorrow</em>,”</p> - -<p class='c017'>it listened, with awakened interest, for a snub to -Dr. MacInnes and Professor Porter, and for a -rebuke, full of dignity and austerity, to Father -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>Ambrose; both of which were duly administered. -His Lordship’s views, supported by the -original Preacher, were doubtless more valuable -in his sermon than they would be here, but it -is due to him to say that they formed the happiest -combination of fealty and doctrine. The -Honourable Mr. Ancram said to Sir William -Scott on the Cathedral steps after the service—it -was like the exit of a London theatre, with -people waiting for their carriages—that while -his Lordship’s reference was very proper and -could hardly fail to be of use, public matters -looked serious when they came to be discussed -in the pulpit. To which Sir William gave a -deprecating agreement.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Returning to his somewhat oppressively -lonely quarters, Ancram felt the need of further -conversation. The Bishop had stirred him to -vigorous dissent, which his Lordship’s advantage -of situation made peculiarly irritating to so -skilled an observer of weak points. He bethought -himself that he might write to Philip -Doyle. He remembered that Doyle had not -answered the letter in which he had written of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>his changed domestic future, frankly asking for -congratulation rather than for condolence; but -without resentment, for why should a man trouble -himself under Florentine skies with unnecessary -Calcutta correspondents? He consulted -only his own pleasure in writing again: Doyle -was so readily appreciative, he would see the -humour in the development of affairs with His -Honour. It was almost a week since Mr. Ancram -had observed at the ball, with acute annoyance, -what an unreasonable effect the matter was -having upon Judith Church, and he was again -himself able to see the humour of it. He finally -wrote with much facility a graphically descriptive -letter, in which the Bishop came in as a -mere picturesque detail at the end. He seemed -to pick his way, as he turned the pages, out of -an embarrassing moral quagmire; he was so -obviously high and dry when he could fix the -whole thing in a caricature of effective paragraphs. -He wrote:—</p> - -<p class='c016'>/# -“I don’t mind telling you privately that I have -no respect whatever for the scheme, and very little -for the author of it. He reminds one of nothing so -#/ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>/# -much as an elderly hen sitting, with the obstinacy of -her kind, on eggs out of which it is easy to see no -addled reform will ever step to crow. He is as blind -as a bat to his own deficiencies. I doubt whether -even his downfall will convince him that his proper -sphere of usefulness in life was that of a Radical -cobbler. He has a noble preference for the ideal of -an impeccable Indian administrator, which he goes -about contemplating, while his beard grows with the -tale of his blunders. The end, however, cannot be -far off. Bengal is howling for his retirement; and, -notwithstanding a fulsome habit he has recently -developed of hanging upon my neck for sympathy, I -own to you that, if circumstances permitted, I would -howl too.” -#/</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram’s first letter had miscarried, a peon in -the service of the Sirkar having abstracted the -stamps; and Philip Doyle, when he received the -second, was for the moment overwhelmed with -inferences from his correspondent’s silence regarding -the marriage, which should have been -imminent when he wrote. Doyle glanced -rapidly through another Calcutta letter that arrived -with Ancram’s for possible news; but the -brief sensation of Miss Daye’s broken engagement -had expired long before it was written, and it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>contained no reference to the affair. The theory -of a postponement suggested itself irresistibly; -and he spent an absorbed and motionless twenty -minutes, sitting on the edge of his bed, while his -pipe went out in his hand, looking fixedly at the -floor of his room in the hotel, and engaged in -constructing the tissue of circumstances which -would make such a thing likely. If he did not -grow consciously lighter-hearted with this occupation, -at least he turned, at the end of it, to re-peruse -his letters, as if they had brought him -good news. He read them both carefully again, -and opened the newspaper that came with the -second. It was a copy of the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite>, -and his friend of the High Court had called his -special attention to its leading article, as the most -caustic and effective attack upon the College -Grants Notification which had yet appeared. -Mr. Justice Shears wrote:—</p> - -<p class='c016'>/# -“As you will see, there is abundant intrinsic evidence -that no native wrote it. My own idea, which -I share with a good many people, is that it came from -the pen of the Director of Education, which is as facile -as it would very naturally be hostile. Let me know -#/ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>/# -what you think. Ancram is non-committal, but he -talks of Government’s prosecuting the paper, which -looks as if the article had already done harm.” -#/</p> - -<p class='c016'>Doyle went through the editorial with interest -that increased as his eye travelled down -the column. He smiled as he read; it was certainly -a telling and a forcible presentation of the -case against His Honour’s policy, adorned with -gibes that were more damaging than its argument. -Suddenly he stopped, with a puzzled -look, and read the last part of a sentence once -again:—</p> - -<p class='c016'>/# -“But he has a noble preference for the ideal of an -impeccable Indian administrator, which he goes -about contemplating, while his beard grows with the -tale of his blunders.” -#/</p> - -<p class='c016'>The light of a sudden revelation twinkled in -Doyle’s eyes—a revelation which showed the -Chief Secretary to the Bengal Government led -on by vanity to forgetfulness. He reopened -Ancram’s letter, and convinced himself that the -words were precisely those he had read there. -For further assurance, he glanced at the dates of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>the letter and the newspaper: the one had been -written two days before the other had been -printed. Presently he put them down, and instinctively -rubbed his thumb and the ends of his -fingers together with the light, rapid movement -with which people assure themselves that they -have touched nothing soiling. He permitted -himself no characterisation of the incident—lofty -denunciation was not part of Doyle’s habit -of mind—beyond what might have been expressed -in the somewhat disgusted smile with -which he re-lighted his pipe. It was like him -that his principal reflection had a personal tinge, -and that it was forcible enough to find words. -“And I,” he said, with a twinkle at his own expense, -“lived nine months in the same house with -that skunk!”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Every day at ten o’clock the south wind -came hotter and stronger up from the sea. The -sissoo trees on the Maidan trembled into delicate -flower, and their faint, fresh fragrance stood -like a spell about them. The teak pushed out its -awkward rags, tawdry and foolish, but divinely -green; and here and there a tamarind by the -roadside lifted its gracious head, like a dream-tree -in a billow of misty leaf. The days grew -long and lovely; the coolies going home at sunset -across the burnt grass of the Maidan joined -hands and sang, with marigolds round their -necks. The white-faced aliens of Calcutta -walked there too, but silently, for “exercise.” -The crows grew noisier than ever, for it was -young crow time; the fever-bird came and told -people to put up their punkahs. The Viceroy -and all that were officially his departed to Simla, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>and great houses in Chowringhee were to let. -It was announced rather earlier than usual that -His Honour the Lieutenant-Governor would go -“on tour,” which had no reference to Southern -Europe, but meant inspection duty in remote -parts of the province. Mrs. Church would accompany -the Lieutenant-Governor. The local -papers, in making this known, said it was hoped -that the change of air would completely restore -“one of Calcutta’s most brilliant and popular -hostesses,” whose health for the past fortnight -had been regrettably unsatisfactory.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Dayes went to Darjiling, and Dr. -MacInnes to England. Dr. MacInnes’ expenses -to England, and those of Shib Chunder Bhose, -who accompanied him, were met out of a fund -which had swelled astonishingly considering that -it was fed by Bengali sentiment—the fund established -to defeat the College Grants Notification. -Dr. MacInnes went home, as one of the -noble band of Indian missionaries, to speak to the -people of England, and to explain to them how -curiously the administrative mind in India became -perverted in its conceptions of the mother -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>country’s duty to the heathen masses who look to -her for light and guidance. Dr. MacInnes was -prepared to say that the cause of Christian missions -in India had been put back fifty years by -the ill-judged act, so fearful in its ultimate consequences, -of the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. -Since that high official could not be brought to -consider his responsibility to his Maker, he -should be brought to consider his responsibility -to the people of England. Dr. MacInnes doubtless -did not intend to imply that the latter -tribunal was the higher of the two, but he certainly -produced the impression that it was the -more effective.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Shib Chunder Bhose, in fluent and deferential -language, heightened this impression, which did -no harm to the cause. Shib Chunder Bhose had -been found willing, in consideration of a second-class -passage, to accompany Dr. MacInnes in the -character of a University graduate who was also -a Christian convert. Shib Chunder’s father had -married a Mohamedan woman, and so lost his -caste, whereafter he embraced Christianity because -Father Ambrose’s predecessor had given -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>him four annas every time he came to catechism. -Shib Chunder inherited the paternal religion, -with contumely added on the score of his mother, -and, since he could make no other pretension, -figured in the College register as Christian. A -young man anxious to keep pace with the times, -he had been a Buddhist since, and afterwards -professed his faith in the tenets of Theosophy; -but whenever he fell ill or lost money he returned -irresistibly to the procedure of his youth, and -offered rice and marigolds to the Virgin Mary. -Dr. MacInnes therefore certainly had the facts -on his side when he affectionately referred to -his young friend as living testimony to the work -of educational missions in India, living proof -of the falsity of the charge that the majority -of mission colleges were mere secular institutions. -As his young friend wore a frock-coat -and a humble smile, and was able on occasion -to weep like anything, the effect in the provinces -was tremendous.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Dr. MacInnes gave himself to the work with -a zeal which entirely merited the commendation -he received from his conscience. Sometimes he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>lectured twice a day. He was always freely -accessible to interviewers from the religious -press. He refrained, in talking to these gentlemen, -from all personal malediction of the Lieutenant-Governor—it -was the sin he had to do -with, not the distinguished sinner—and thereby -gained a widespread reputation for unprejudiced -views. Portraits of the reverend crusader and -Shib Chunder Bhose appeared on the posters -which announced Dr. MacInnes’ subject in large -letters—“<span class='sc'>Missions and Mammon. Shall a -Lieutenant-Governor Rob God?</span>”—and in -all the illustrated papers. The matter arrived -regularly with the joint at Hammersmith Sunday -dinner-tables. Finally the <cite>Times</cite> gave it -almost a parochial importance, and solemnly, in -two columns, with due respect for constituted -authority, came to no conclusion at all from -every point of view.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The inevitable question was early asked in -Parliament, and the Under-Secretary of State -said he would “inquire.” Further questions -were asked on different and increasingly urgent -grounds, with the object of reminding and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>hastening the Secretary of State. A popular -Nonconformist preacher told two thousand people -in Exeter Hall that they and he could no -longer conscientiously vote to keep a Government -in office that would hesitate to demand the -instant resignation of an official who had brought -such shame upon the name of England. Shortly -afterwards one hon. member made a departure -in his attack upon Mr. John Church, which completely -held the attention of the House while it -lasted. The effect was unusual, to be achieved -by this particular hon. member, and he did it by -reading aloud the whole of an extremely graphic -and able article criticising His Honour’s policy -from the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite>.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I put it to hon. members,” said he, weightily, -in conclusion, “whether any one of us, in our -boasted superiority of intellect, has the right to -say that people who can thus express themselves -do not know what they want!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>That evening, before he went to bed, Lord -Strathell, Secretary of State for India, in Eaton -Square, London, wrote a note to Lord Scansleigh, -Viceroy and Governor-General of India, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>in Viceregal Lodge, Simla. The note was -written on Lady Strathell’s letter-paper, which -was delicately scented and bore a monogram and -coronet. It was a very private and friendly -note, and it ran:—</p> - -<div class='letter'> - -<p class='c016'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Scansleigh</span>: I needn’t tell you how much -I regret the necessity of my accompanying official -letter asking you to arrange Church’s retirement. I -can quite understand that it will be most distasteful -to you, as I know you have a high opinion of him, -both personally and as an administrator. But the -Missionary Societies, etc., have got us into the -tightest possible place over his educational policy. -Already several Nonconformist altars—if there are -such things—are crying out for the libation of our -blood. Somebody must be offered up. I had a Commission -suggested, and it was received with rage and -scorn. Nothing will do but Church’s removal from -his present office—and the sooner the better. I suppose -we must find something else for him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Again assuring you of my personal regret, believe -me, dear Scansleigh, yours cordially,</p> - -<div class='c024'>”<span class='sc'>Strathell</span>.</div> - -<p class='c016'>“P.S.—Thus Party doth make Pilates of us all.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>It was the first time in history that the town -of Bhugsi had been visited by a Lieutenant-Governor. -Bhugsi was small, but it had a reputation -for malodorousness not to be surpassed by any -municipality of Eastern Bengal. Though Bhugsi -was small it was full—full of men and children -and crones and monkeys, and dwarfed, lean-ribbed -cattle, and vultures of the vilest appetite. -The town squatted round a tank, very old, very -slimy, very sacred. Bhugsi bathed in the tank -and so secured eternal happiness, drank from the -tank and so secured it quickly. All such abominations -as are unnameable Bhugsi also preferred -to commit in the vicinity of the tank, -and it was possibly for this reason that the -highest death-rate of the last “year under report” -had been humbly submitted by Bhugsi.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Noting this achievement, John Church added -<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>Bhugsi to his inspection list. The inspection list -was already sufficiently long for the time at his -disposal, but Church had a way of economising -his time that contributed much to the discipline -of provincial Bengal. He accomplished this by -train and boat and saddle; and his staff, with -deep inward objurgations, did its best to keep -up. He pressed upon Judith the advisability of -a more leisurely progress by easier routes, with -occasional meeting-places, but found her quietly -obstinate in her determination to come with him. -She declared herself the better for the constant -change and the stimulus of quick moves; and -this he could believe, for whenever they made a -stay of more than forty-eight hours anywhere it -was always she who was most feverishly anxious -to depart. She filled her waking moments -and dulled her pain in the natural way, with -actual physical exertion. While the servants -looked on in consternation she toiled instinctively -over packings and unpackings, and was -glad of the weariness they brought her. She -invented little new devotions to her husband—these -also soothed her—and became freshly solicitous -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>about his health, freshly thoughtful about -his comfort. Observing which, Church reflected -tenderly on the unselfishness of women, and said -to his wife that he could not have her throwing -herself, this way, before the Juggernaut of his -official progress.</p> - -<p class='c016'>There were no Europeans at all at Bhugsi, -so the Lieutenant-Governor’s party put up at the -dâk-bungalow, three miles outside the town. -Peter Robertson, the Commissioner of the Division, -and the district officer, who were in attendance -upon His Honour, were in camp near -by, as their custom is. The dâk-bungalow had -only three rooms, and this made the fact that -two of His Honour’s suite had been left at the -last station with fever less of a misfortune. By -this time, indeed, the suite consisted of Judith -and the private secretary and the servants; but -as John Church said, getting into his saddle at -six o’clock in the morning, there were quite -enough of them to terrify Bhugsi into certain -reforms.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He spent three hours inspecting the work of -the native magistrate, and came back to breakfast -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>with his brows well set together over that -official’s amiable tolerance of a popular way of -procuring confessions among the police, which -was by means of needles and the supposed criminal’s -finger-nails. It had been practised in Bhugsi, -as the native magistrate represented, for thousands -of years, but it made John Church angry. -He ate with stern eyes upon the table-cloth, and -when the meal was over rode back to Bhugsi. -There was only that one day, and beside the all-important -matter of the sanitation he had to -look at the schools, to inspect the gaol, to receive -an address and to make a speech. He -reflected on the terms of the speech as he -rode, improving upon their salutary effect. He -said to his private secretary, cantering alongside, -that he had never known it so hot in April—the -air was like a whip. It was borne in upon him -once that if he could put down the burden of -his work and of his dignity and stretch himself -out to sleep beside the naked coolies who lay on -their faces in the shadow of the pipal trees by -the roadside, it would be a pleasant thing, but -this he did not say to his private secretary.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>It was half-past five, and the bamboos were -all alive with the evening twitter of hidden sparrows, -before the Lieutenant-Governor returned. -For an instant Judith, coming out at the sound -of hoofs, failed to recognise her husband, he -looked, with a thick white powder of dust over -his beard and eyebrows, so old a man. He -stooped in his saddle, too, and all the gauntness -of his face and figure had a deeper accent.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Put His Honour to bed, Mrs. Church,” -cried the Commissioner, lifting his hat as he -rode on to camp. “He has done the work of -six men to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You will be glad of some tea,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He tumbled clumsily out of his saddle and -leaned for a moment against his animal’s shoulder. -The mare put her head round whinnying, -but when Church searched in his pocket for her -piece of sugar-cane and offered it to her, she -snuffed it and refused it. He dropped the -sugar-cane into the dust at her feet and told -the syce to take her away.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“If she will not eat her gram give me word -of it,” he said. But she ate her gram.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>“Will you change first, John?” Judith asked -with her hand on his coat-sleeve. “I think you -should—you are wet through and through.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes, I will change,” he said; but he dropped -into the first chair he saw. The chair stood on -the verandah, and the evening breeze had already -begun to come up. He threw back his -head and unfastened his damp collar and felt -its gratefulness. In the intimate neighbourhood -of the dâk-bungalow the private secretary could -be heard splashing in his tub.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Poor Sparks!” said His Honour. “I’m -afraid he has had a hard day of it. Good -fellow, Sparks, thoroughly good fellow. I hope -he’ll get on. It’s very disheartening work, this -of ours in India,” he went on absently; “one -feels the depression of it always, more or less, -but to-night——” He paused and closed his -eyes as if he were too weary to finish the -sentence. A servant appeared with a wicker -table and another with a tray.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“A cup of tea,” said Judith cheerfully, “will -often redeem the face of nature”; but he waved -it back.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>“I am too hungry for tea. Tell them to -bring me a solid meal: cold beef—no, make it -hot—that game pie we had at breakfast—anything -there is, but as soon as possible. How -refreshing this wind is!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Go and change, John,” his wife urged.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes, I must, immediately: I shall be taking -a chill.” As he half rose from his chair he saw -the postman, turbaned, barefooted, crossing the -grass from the road, and dropped back again.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Here is the dâk,” he said; “I must just -have a look first.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Church took her letters, and went into -the house to give orders to the butler. Five -minutes afterwards she came back, to find her -husband sitting where she had left him, but -upright in his chair and mechanically stroking -his beard, with his face set. He had grown -paler, if that was possible, but had lost every -trace of lassitude. He had the look of being -face to face with a realised contingency which -his wife knew well.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“News, John?” she asked nervously; “anything -important?”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“The most important—and the worst,” he -answered steadily, without looking at her. His -eyes were fixed on the floor, and on his course -of action.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What do you mean, dear? What has happened? -May I see?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>For answer he handed her his private letter -from Lord Scansleigh. She opened it with shaking -fingers, and read the first sentence or two -aloud. Then instinctively her voice stopped, -and she finished it in silence. The Viceroy had -written:—</p> - -<div class='letter'> - -<p class='c016'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Church</span>: The accompanying official -correspondence will show you our position, -when the mail left England, with the Secretary of -State. I fear that nothing has occurred in the meantime -to improve it—in fact, one or two telegrams -seem rather to point the other way. I will not waste -your time and mine in idle regrets, if indeed they -would be justifiable, but write only to assure you -heartily in private, as I do formally in my official -letter, that if we go we go together. I have already -telegraphed this to Strathell, and will let you know -the substance of his reply as soon as I receive it. -I wish I could think that the prospect of my own -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>resignation is likely to deter them from demanding -yours, but I own to you that I expect our joint -immolation will not be too impressive a sacrifice for -the British Public in this connection.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“With kind regards to Mrs. Church, in which my -wife joins,</p> - -<div class='c025'>“Believe me, dear Church, yours sincerely,</div> - -<div class='c024'>“<span class='sc'>Scansleigh</span>.”</div> - -</div> - -<p class='c016'>They spoke for a few minutes of the Viceroy’s -loyalty and consideration and appreciation. -She dwelt upon that with instinctive tact, -and then Church got up quickly.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I must write to Scansleigh at once,” he -said. “I am afraid he is determined about -this, but I must write. There is a great deal -to do. When Sparks comes out send him to -me.” Then he went over to her and awkwardly -kissed her. “You have taken it very well, -Judith,” he said—“better than any woman I -know would have done.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She put a quick detaining hand upon his -arm. “Oh, John, it is only for your sake that -I care at all. I—I am so tired of it. I should -be only too glad to go home with you, dear, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>find some little place in the country where we -could live quietly——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes, yes,” he said, hurrying away. “We -can discuss that afterwards. Don’t keep Sparks -talking.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Sparks appeared presently, swinging an embossed -silver cylinder half a yard long. New -washed and freshly clad in garments of clean -country silk, with his damp hair brushed crisply -off his forehead, there was a pinkness and a -healthiness about Sparks that would have been -refreshing at any other moment. “Have you -seen this bauble, Mrs. Church?” he inquired: -“Bhugsi’s tribute, enshrining the address. It -makes the fifth.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith looked at it, and back at Captain -Sparks, who saw, with a falling countenance, -that there were tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is the last he will ever receive,” she said, -and one of the tears found its way down her -cheek. “They have asked him from England -to resign—they say he must.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Captain Sparks, private secretary, stood for -a moment with his legs apart in blank astonishment, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>while Mrs. Church sought among the folds -of her skirt for her pocket-handkerchief.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“By the Lord—impossible!” he burst out; -and then, as Judith pointed mutely to her husband’s -room, he turned and shot in that direction, -leaving her, as her sex is usually left, with -the teacups and the situation.</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'>A few hours later Captain Sparks’ dreams of -the changed condition of things were interrupted -by a knock. It was Mrs. Church, sleepy-eyed, -in her dressing-gown, with a candle; and -she wanted the chlorodyne from the little travelling -medicine chest, which was among the private -secretary’s things.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My husband seems to have got a chill,” she -said. “It must have been while he sat in the -verandah. I am afraid he is in for a wretched -night.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Three fingers of brandy,” suggested Sparks -concernedly, getting out the bottle. “Nothing -like brandy.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He has tried brandy. About twenty drops -of this, I suppose?”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>“I should think so. Can I be of any use?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith said No, thanks—she hoped her husband -would get some sleep presently. She -went away, shielding her flickering candle, and -darkness and silence came again where she had -been.</p> - -<p class='c016'>A quarter of an hour later she came back, -and it appeared that Captain Sparks could be of -use. The chill seemed obstinate; they must -rouse the servants and get fires made and water -heated. Judith wanted to know how soon one -might repeat the dose of chlorodyne. She was -very much awake, and had that serious, pale -decision with which women take action in emergencies -of sickness.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Later still they stood outside the door of his -room and looked at each other. “There is a -European doctor at Bhai Gunj,” said Captain -Sparks. “He may be here with luck by six -o’clock to-morrow afternoon—<em>this</em> afternoon.” -He looked at his watch and saw that it was past -midnight. “Bundal Singh has gone for him, and -Juddoo for the native apothecary at Bhugsi—but -he will be useless. Robertson will be over -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>immediately. He has seen cases of it, I -know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>A thick sound came from the room they had -left, and they hurried back into it.</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'>“Water?” repeated the Commissioner; “yes, -as much as he likes. I wish to God we had some -ice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then, sir, I may take leave?” It was the -unctuous voice of the native apothecary.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No, you may not. Damn you, I suppose -you can help to rub him? Quick, Sparks; the -turpentine!”</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'>Next day at noon arrived Hari Lal, who had -travelled many hours and many miles with a -petition to the Chota Lât Sahib, wherein he and -his village implored that the goats might eat the -young shoots in the forest as aforetime; for if not—they -were all poor men—how should the goats -eat at all? Hari Lal arrived upon his beast, and -saw from afar off that there was a chuprassie in -red and gold upon the verandah whose favour -would cost money. So he dismounted at a considerable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>and respectful distance, and approached -humbly, with salaams and words that -were suitable to a chuprassie in red and gold. -The heat stood fiercely about the bungalow, and -it was so silent that a pair of sparrows scolding -in the verandah made the most unseemly -wrangle.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Bundal Singh had not the look of business. -He sat immovable upon his haunches, with his -hands hanging between his knees. His head fell -forward heavily, his eyes were puffed, and he -regarded Hari Lal with indifference.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“O most excellent, how can a poor man seeking -justice speak with the Lât Sahib? The matter -is a matter of goats——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>Bus!</em> The Lât Sahib died in the little -dawn. This place is empty but for the widow. -<em>Mutti dani wasti gia</em>—they have gone to give the -earth. It was the bad sickness, and the pain of -it lasted only five hours. When he was dead, -worthy one, his face was like a blue puggri -that has been thrice washed, and his hand was -no larger than the hand of my woman! What -talk is there of justice? <em>Bus!</em>”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>Hari Lal heard him through with a countenance -that grew ever more terrified. Then he -spat vigorously, and got again upon his animal. -“And you, fool, why do you sit here?” he asked -quaveringly, as he sawed at the creature’s -mouth.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Because the servant-folk of the Sirkar do -not run away. Who then would do justice and -collect taxes, <em>budzat</em>? <em>Jao</em>, you Bengali rice-eater! -I am of a country where those who are -not women are men!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Bengali rice-eater went as he was bidden, -and only a little curling cloud of white dust, -sinking back into the road under the sun, remained -to tell of him. Bundal Singh, hoarse -with hours of howling, lifted up his voice in the -silence because of the grief within him, and -howled again.</p> - -<p class='c016'>A little wind stole out from under a clump -of mango trees and chased some new-curled -shavings about the verandah, and did its best -to blow them in at the closed shutters of a -darkened room. The shavings were too substantial, -but the scent of the fresh-cut planks -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>came through, and brought the stunned woman -on the bed a sickening realisation of -one unalterable fact in the horror of great -darkness through which she groped, babbling -prayers.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>“It was all very well for <em>him</em>, poor man, to -want to be buried in that hole-and-corner kind -of way—where he fell, I suppose, doing his duty: -very simple and proper, I’m sure; and I should -have felt just the same about it in his place—but -on <em>her</em> account he ought to have made it -possible for them to have taken him back to -Calcutta and given him a public funeral.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Daye spoke feelingly, gently tapping her -egg. Mrs. Daye never could induce herself to -cut off the top of an egg with one fell blow; -she always tapped it, tenderly, first.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It would have been something!” she continued. -“Poor dear thing! I <em>was</em> so fond of -Mrs. Church.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I see they have started subscriptions to give -him a memorial of sorts,” remarked her husband -from behind his newspaper. “But whether it’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>to be put in Bhugsi or in Calcutta doesn’t seem -to be arranged.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, in Calcutta, of course! They won’t get -fifty rupees if it’s to be put up at Bhugsi. <em>Nobody</em> -would subscribe!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Is there room?” asked Miss Daye meekly, -from the other side of the table. “The illustrious -are already so numerous on the Maidan. -Is there no danger of overcrowding?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How ridiculous you are, Rhoda! You’ll -subscribe, Richard, of course? Considering how -<em>very</em> kind they’ve been to us I should say—what -do you think?—a hundred rupees.” Mrs. -Daye buttered her toast with knitted brows.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“We’ll see. Hello! Spence is coming out -again. ‘By special arrangement with the India -Office.’ He’s fairly well now, it seems, and willing -to sacrifice the rest of his leave ‘rather than -put Government to the inconvenience of another -possible change of policy in Bengal.’ <em>That</em> -means,” Colonel Daye continued, putting down -the Calcutta paper and taking up his coffee-cup, -“that Spence has got his orders from Downing -Street, and is being packed back to reverse this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>College Grants business. But old Hawkins -won’t have much of a show, will he? Spence -will be out in three weeks.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’m very pleased,” Mrs. Daye remarked -vigorously. “Mrs. Hawkins was bad enough -in the Board of Revenue; she’d be un<em>bear</em>able at -Belvedere. And Mrs. Church was so <em>per</em>fectly -unaffected. But I don’t think we would be quite -justified in giving a hundred, Richard—seventy-five -would be ample.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“One would think, mummie, that the hat -was going round for Mrs. Church,” said her -daughter.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Hats have gone round for less deserving -persons,” Colonel Daye remarked, “and in cases -where there was less need of them, too. St. -George writes me that there was no insurances, -and not a penny saved. Church has always -been obliged to do so much for his people. The -widow’s income will be precisely her three hundred -a year of pension, and no more—bread and -butter, but no jam.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Talking of jam,” said Mrs. Daye, with an -effect of pathos, “if you haven’t eaten it all, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>Richard, I should like some. Poor dear thing! -And if she marries again, she loses even that, -doesn’t she? Oh, no, she doesn’t, either: there -was that Madras woman that had three husbands -and three pensions; they came altogether -to nine hundred a year in the end. Of course, -money is out of the question; but a little offering -of something useful—made in a friendly way—she -might even be grateful for. I am thinking -of sending her a little something.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What, mummie?” Rhoda demanded, with -suspicion.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“That long black cloak I got when we all -had to go into mourning for your poor dear -grandmother, Rhoda. I’ve hardly worn it at -all. Of course, it would require a little alteration, -but——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>Mummie!</em> How beastly of you! You must -not <em>dream</em> of doing it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It’s fur-lined,” said Mrs. Daye, with an injured -inflection. “Besides, she isn’t the wife of -the L.G. <em>now</em>, you know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Papa——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What? Oh, certainly not! Ridiculous! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>Besides, you’re too late with your second-hand -souvenir, my dear. St. George says that Mrs. -Church sails to-day from Calcutta. Awfully cut -up, poor woman, he says. Wouldn’t go back to -Belvedere; wouldn’t see a soul: went to a -boarding-house and shut herself up in two -rooms.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“How un<em>kind</em> you are about news, Richard! -Fancy your not telling us that before! And I -think you and Rhoda are <em>quite</em> wrong about the -cloak. If <em>you</em> had died suddenly of cholera in a -a dâk-bungalow in the wilds and <em>I</em> was left -with next to nothing, I would accept little -presents from friends in the spirit in which they -were offered, no matter <em>what</em> my position had -been!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I daresay you would, my dear. But if I—hello! -Exchange is going up again—if I catch -you wearing cast-off mourning for me, I’ll come -and hang around until you burn it. By the way, -I saw Doyle last night at the Club.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The barrister? Did you speak to him?” -asked Mrs. Daye.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes. ‘Hello!’ I said: ‘thought you were -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>on leave. What in the world brings you up -here?’ Seems that Pattore telegraphed askin’ -Doyle to defend him in this big diamond case -with Ezra, and he came out. ‘Well,’ I said, -‘Pattore’s in Calcutta, Ezra’s in Calcutta, diamond’s -in Calcutta, an’ you’re in Darjiling. -When I’m sued for two lakhs over a stone -to dangle on my tummy I won’t retain you!’”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And what did Mr. Doyle say to that, -papa?” his daughter inquired.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh—I don’t remember. Something about -never having seen the place before or something. -Here, khansamah—cheroot!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The man brought a box and lighted a match, -which he presently applied to one end of the -cigar while his master pulled at the other.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well,” said Mrs. Daye, thoughtfully dabbling -in her finger-bowl, “about this statue or -whatever it is to Mr. Church—if it were a mere -question of inclination—but as things are, Richard, -I really don’t think we can afford more than -fifty. It isn’t as if it could do the poor man -any good. Where are you going, Rhoda? -Wait a minute.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>Mrs. Daye followed her daughter out of the -room, shutting the door behind her, and put -an impressive hand upon Rhoda’s arm at the -foot of the staircase.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear child,” she said, with a note of candid -compassion, “what do you think has happened? -Your father and I were discussing it as -you came down, but I said ‘Not a word before -Rhoda!’ They have made Lewis Ancram -Chief Commissioner of Assam!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The colour came back into the girl’s face with -a rush, and the excitement went out of her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Good heavens, mummie, how you—— Why -shouldn’t they? Isn’t he a proper person?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Very much so. <em>That</em> has nothing to do -with it. Think of it, Rhoda—a Chief Commissioner, -at his age! And you <em>can’t</em> say I -didn’t prophesy it. <em>The</em> rising man in the Civil -Service I always told you he was.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And I never contradicted you, mummie -dear! My own opinion is that when Abdur -Rahman dies they’ll make him Amir!” Rhoda -laughed a gay, irresponsible laugh, and tripped -<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>on upstairs with singular lightness of step. -Mrs. Daye, leaning upon the end of the -banister, followed her with reproachful -eyes.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You seem to take it very lightly, Rhoda, -but I must say it serves you perfectly right -for having thrown the poor man over in that -disgraceful way. Girls who behave like that -are generally sorry for it later. I knew of a -chit here in Darjiling that jilted a man in the -Staff Corps and ran away with a tea-planter. -The man will be the next Commander-in-Chief -of the Indian Army, everybody says, and I hope -she likes her tea-planter.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Mummie!” Rhoda called down confidentially -from the landing.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Put your head in a bag, mummie. I’m going -out. Shall I bring you some chocolates or -some nougat or anything?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I shall tell your father to whip you. Yes, -chocolates if they’re fresh—<em>insist</em> upon that. -Those crumbly Neapolitan ones, in silver-and-gold -paper.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>“All right. And mummie!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Write and congratulate Mr. Ancram. Then -he’ll know there’s no ill-feeling!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Which Mrs. Daye did.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Ten minutes later Rhoda stood fastening her -glove at her father’s door and looking out upon -a world of suddenly novel charm. The door -opened, as it were, upon eternity, with a patch -of garden between, but eternity was blue and -sun-filled and encouraging. The roses and -sweet-williams stood sheer against the sky, with -fifty yellow butterflies dancing above them. -Over the verge of the garden—there was not -more than ten feet of it in any direction—she -saw tree-tops and the big green shoulders of -the lower hills, and very far down a mat of -fleecy clouds that hid the flanks of some of -these. The sunlight was tempting, enticing. -It made the rubble path warm beneath her -feet and drew up the scent of the garden -until the still air palpitated with it. Rhoda -took little desultory steps to the edge of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>ledge the house was built on, and down the -steep footway to the road. The white oaks met -over her head, and far up among the tree-ferns -she heard a cuckoo. Its note softened and accented -her unreasoned gladness, seemed to -give it a form and a metre. She looked up -into the fragrant leafy shadows and listened -till it came again, vaguely aware that it was -enough to live for. If she had another -thought it was that Philip Doyle had come -too late to see the glory of the rhododendrons, -there was only, here and there, a red -rag of them left.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She stepped with a rattle of pebbles into the -wide main road round the mountain, and there -stood for a moment undecided. It was the chief -road, the Mall; and if she turned to the right it -would lead her past the half-dozen tiny European -shops that clung to the side of the hill, past the -hotels and the club, and through the expansion -where the band played in the afternoon, where -there were benches and an admirable view, and -where new-comers to Darjiling invariably sat for -two or three days and contentedly occupied -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>themselves with processes of oxygenation. This -part of the Mall was frequented and fashionable; -even at that hour she would meet her acquaintances -on hill ponies and her mother’s friends in -dandies and her mother’s friends’ babies in perambulators, -with a plentiful background of -slouching Bhutia coolies, their old felt hats -tied on with their queues, and red-coats from -a recuperating regiment, and small black-and-white -terriers. It was not often that this -prospect attracted her; she had discovered a -certain monotony in its cheerfulness some time -before; but to-day she had to remind herself -of that discovery before she finally decided to -turn to the left instead. She had another -reason: if she went that way it might look -to Philip Doyle as if she wanted to meet him. -Why this gentleman should have come to so -extraordinary a conclusion on the data at his -disposal Miss Daye did not pause to explain. -She was quite certain that he would, so she -turned to the left.</p> - -<p class='c016'>It suited her mood, when once she had taken -that direction, to walk very fast. She had an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>undefined sense of keeping pace with events; -her vigorous steps made a rhythm for her -buoyant thought, and helped it out. She was -entirely occupied with the way in which she -would explain to Mr. Doyle how it was that -she was not married to Lewis Ancram. She -anticipated a pleasure in this, and she thought -it was because Doyle would be gratified, on his -friend’s account. He had never liked the match—she -clung to that impression in all humility—he -would perhaps approve of her breaking it off. -Rhoda felt a little excited satisfaction at the -idea of being approved of by Philip Doyle. -She put the words with which she would tell -him into careful phrases as she walked, constructing -and reconstructing them, while Buzz -kept an erratic course before her with inquisitive -pauses by the wayside and vain chasing of -little striped squirrels that whisked about the -boles of the trees. Buzz, she thought, had never -been more idiotically amusing.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The road grew boskier and lonelier. Miss -Daye met a missionary lady in a jinricksha, and -then a couple of schoolboys sprinting, and then -<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>for a quarter of a mile nobody at all. The little -white houses stopped cropping out on ledges -above her head, the wall of rock or of rubble -rose solidly up, wet and glistening, and tapestried -thick with tiny ferns and wild begonias. -All at once, looking over the brink, she saw -that the tin roofs of the cottages down the -khud-side no longer shone in the sun; the -clouds had rolled between it and them—very -likely down there it was raining. Presently -the white mist smoked up level with the road, -and she and the trees and the upper mountain -stood in dappled sunlight for a moment alone -above a phantasmally submerged world. Then -the crisp leaf-shadows on the road grew indistinct -and faded, the sunlight paled and went -out, and in a moment there was nothing near -or far but a wandering greyness, and here and -there perhaps the shadowed hole of an oak-tree -or the fantastic outline of a solitary nodding -fern.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It’s going to rain, Buzz,” she said, as the -little dog mutely inquired for encouragement -and direction, “and neither of us have got an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>umbrella. So we’ll both get wet and take our -death of cold. <em>Sumja</em>,<a id='rE' /><a href='#fE' class='c018'><sup>[E]</sup></a> Buzz?”</p> - -<hr class='c019' /> -<div class='footnote' id='fE'> -<p class='c016'><a href='#rE'>E</a>. “Do you understand?”</p> -</div> -<hr class='c019' /> - -<p class='c016'>As she spoke they passed the blurred figure -of a man, walking rapidly in the other direction. -“Buzz!” Rhoda cried, as the dog turned and -trotted briskly after: “Come back, sir!” Buzz -took no notice whatever, and immediately she -heard him addressed in a voice which made a -sudden requirement upon her self-control. She -had a divided impulse—to betake herself on as -fast as she could into remote indistinguishability, -and to call the dog again. With a little effort of -hardihood she turned and called him, turned -with a thumping heart, and waited for his restoration -and for anything else that might happen. -The mist drifted up for a moment as Philip -Doyle heard her and came quickly back; and -when they shook hands they stood in a little -white temple with uncertain walls and a ceiling -decoration of tree-ferns in high relief.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She asked him when he had come, although -she knew that already, and he inquired for her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>mother, although he was quite informed as to -Mrs. Daye’s well-being. He explained Buzz’s -remembering him, as if he had taken an unfair -advantage of it, and they announced simultaneously -that it was going to rain. Then conversation -seemed to fail them wholly, and Rhoda -made a movement of departure.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I suppose you are going to some friend in -the neighbourhood,” he said, lifting his hat, “if -there is any neighbourhood—which one is inclined -to doubt.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, no, I’m only walking.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“All alone?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Buzz,” she said, with a downcast smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Buzz is such an effective protection that I’m -inclined to ask you to share him.” His voice -was even more tentative than his words. He -fancied he would have made a tremendous advance -if she allowed him to come with her.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, yes,” she said foolishly, “you may have -half.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Thank you. I am three miles from my -club, twenty-four hours from my office, and four -thousand feet above sea-level—and I don’t mind -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>confessing that I’m very frightened indeed. -How long, I wonder, does it take to acquire -the magnificent indifference to the elements -which you display? But the storm is indubitably -coming: don’t you think we had better turn -back?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” she said again, and they turned back; -but they sauntered along among the clouds at -precisely the pace they might have taken in the -meadows of the world below.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She asked him where he had spent his leave -and how he had enjoyed it, and she gathered -from his replies that one might stay too long in -India to find even Italy wholly paradisaical, -although Monte Carlo had always its same old -charm. “You should see Monte Carlo before -some cataclysm overtakes it,” he said. “You -would find it amusing. I spent a month at -Homburg,” he went on humorously, “with what -I consider the greatest possible advantage to my -figure. Though my native friends have been -openly condoling with me on my consequent loss -of prestige, and I have no doubt my sylph-like -condition will undermine my respectability.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>He felt, as he spoke, deplorably middle-aged, and -to mention these things seemed to be a kind of -apology for them.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda looked at him with the conviction -that he had left quite ten years in Europe, but -she found herself oddly reluctant to say so. -“Mummie will tell you,” she said. “Mummie -always discovers the most wonderful changes in -people when they have been home. And why -did you come back so soon?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Why?” he repeated, half facing round, and -then suddenly dropping back again. “I came -to see about something.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, yes, of course you did. I know about -it. And do you think you will win?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked at him with a smile of timid intelligence. -Under it she was thinking that she -had never had such a stupid conversation with -Mr. Doyle before. He smiled back gravely, and -considered for a moment.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I don’t in the least know,” he said with courageous -directness; “but I mean to try—very hard.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>If he had thought, he might have kept the -suggestion out of his voice—it was certainly a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>little premature—but he did not think, and the -suggestion was there. Rhoda felt her soul leap -up to catch its full significance; then she grew -very white, and shivered a little. The shiver -was natural enough: two or three big drops had -struck her on the shoulders, and others were -driving down upon the road, with wide spaces -between them, but heavily determined, and making -little splashes where they struck.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is going to pour,” she said; and, as they -walked on with a futile quickening of pace, she -heard him talk of something else, and called herself -a fool for the tumult in her heart. The rain -gathered itself together and pelted them. She -was glad of the excuse to break blindly into a -run, and Doyle needed all his newly acquired -energy to keep up with her. The storm was -behind them, and as it darkened and thickened -and crashed and drove them on, Rhoda’s blood -tingled with a wild sweet knowledge that she -fled before something stronger and stranger -than the storm, and that in the end she would -be overtaken, in the end she would cede. Her -sense of this culminated when Philip Doyle put -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>a staying hand upon her arm—she could not -have heard him speak—and she sped on faster, -with a little frightened cry.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Come back!” he shouted; and, without -knowing why, she did as he bade her, struggling -at every step, it seemed, into a chaos out of -which the rain smote her on both cheeks, with -only one clear sensation—that he had her hand -very closely pressed to his side, and that somewhere -or other, presently, there would be -shelter. They found it not ten yards behind—one -of those shallow caves that Sri Krishna -scooped out long ago to lodge his beggar priests -in. Some Bhutia coolies had been cooking a -meal there; a few embers still glowed on a heap -of ashes in the middle of the place. Doyle explained, -as he thrust her gently in, that these had -caught his eye.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You won’t mind my leaving you here,” he -said, “while I go on for a dandy and wraps and -things? I shall not be a moment longer than I -can help. You won’t be afraid?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“In this rain! It would be wicked. Yes, I -shall—I shall be horribly afraid! You must stay -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>here too, until it is over. Please come inside <em>at -once</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The little imperious note thrilled Doyle; but -he stayed where he was.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“My dear child,” he said, “this may last for -hours, and, if you don’t get home somehow, you -are bound to get a chill. Besides, I must let -your mother know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It will probably be over by the time you -reach the house. And my mother is always -quite willing to entrust me to Providence, Mr. -Doyle. And if you go I’ll come, too.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked so resolute that Doyle hesitated. -“Won’t you be implored to stay here?” -he asked.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She shook her head. “Not if you go,” she -said. And, without further parley, he stooped -and came in.</p> - -<p class='c016'>They could not stand upright against the shelving -sides and roof of the place, so perforce they -sat upon the ground—she, with her feet tucked -under her, leaning upon one hand, in the way -of her sex, he hugging his knees. There might -have been thirty cubic feet of space in the cave, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>but it was not comfortably apportioned, and he -had to crouch rather awkwardly to keep himself -at what he considered a proper distance. It was -warm and dry there, and the dull fire of the embers -in the middle gave a centre and a significance -to the completeness of their shelter. The -clouds hung like a grey curtain before the entrance, -bordered all round with trailing vines -and drooping ferns; the beat of the rain came -in to them in a heavy distant monotone, and even -the thunder seemed to be rolling in a muffled -way among the valleys below. Doyle felt that -nothing could be more perfect than their solitude. -He would not speak, lest his words should -people it with commonplaces; he almost feared -to move, lest he should destroy the accident that -gave him the privilege of such closeness to her. -The little place was filled, it seemed to him, with -a certain divine exhalation of her personality, -of her freshness and preciousness; he breathed -it, and grew young again, and bold. In the -moments of silence that fell their love arose -before them like a presence. The girl saw how -beautiful it was without looking, the man asked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>himself how long he could wait for its realisation.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Are you very wet?” he asked her at last.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No; only my jacket.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then you ought to take it off, oughtn’t you? -Let me help you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He had to lean closer to her for that. The -wet little coat came off with difficulty; and then -he put an audacious hand upon the warm shoulder -in its cambric blouse underneath, with a -suddenly taught confidence that it would not -shrink away.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Only a little damp,” he said. It was the -most barefaced excuse for his caressing fingers. -“Tell me, darling, when a preposterously venerable -person like me wishes to make a proposal of -marriage to somebody who is altogether sweet -and young and lovable like you, has he any business -to take advantage of a romantic situation to -do it in?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She did not answer. The lightness of his -words somewhat disturbed her sense of their -import. Then she looked into his face, and saw -the wonderful difference that the hope of her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>had written there, and, without any more questioning, -she permitted herself to understand.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Think about it for a little while,” he said, -and came a good deal nearer, and drew her head -down upon his breast. He knew a lifetime of -sweet content in the space it rested there, -while he laid his lips softly upon her hair and -made certain that no other woman’s was so -sweet-scented.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Well?” he said at last.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“But——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“But?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“But you never did approve of me.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Didn’t I? I don’t know. I have always -loved you.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I have never loved anybody—before.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>That was as near as she managed to get, then -or for long thereafter, to the matter of her previous -engagement.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No. Of course not. But for the future?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Without taking her head from his shoulder, -she lifted her eyes to his; and he found the -pledge he sought in them.</p> - -<p class='c016'>And that upturning of her face brought her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>lips, her newly grave, sweet, submissive lips, -very near, and the gladness within him was newborn -and strong. And so the storm swept itself -away, and the purple-necked doves cooed and -called again where the sunlight glistened through -the dripping laurels, and these two were hardly -aware. Then suddenly a Bhutia girl with a -rose behind her ear came and stood in the -door of the cave and regarded them. She -was muscular and red-cheeked and stolid; she -wore many strings of beads as well as the rose -behind her ear, and as she looked she comprehended, -with a slow and foolish smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“It is her tryst!” Rhoda cried, jumping up. -“Let us leave it to her.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Then they went home through a world of -their own, which the piping birds and the wild -roses and the sun-decked mosses reflected fitly. -The clouds had gone to Thibet; all round about, -in full sunlight, the great encompassing, gleaming -Snows rose up and spoke of eternity, and -made a horizon not too solemn and supreme for -the vision of their happiness.</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>“My dearest child.” said Mrs. Daye that -night—she had come late to her daughter’s -room with her hair down—“don’t think I’m -not as pleased as possible, because I <em>am</em>. I’ve -always had the greatest admiration for Mr. -Doyle, and you couldn’t have a better—unofficial—position -in Calcutta. But I <em>must</em> warn -you, dear—I’ve seen such misfortune come of it, -and I knew I shouldn’t sleep if I didn’t—before -this engagement is announced——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I’ll go to church in a cotton blouse and a -serge skirt this time, if that’s what you’re thinking -of, mummie.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“There! I was sure of it! Do think seriously, -Rhoda, of the injustice to poor Mr. Doyle, -if you’re merely marrying him for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>pique</em></span>!”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XX.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>The Honourable Mr. Ancram found himself -gratified by Mrs. Church’s refusal to see him in -Calcutta. It filled out his idea of her, which -was a delicate one, and it gave him a pleasurable -suggestive of the stimulus which he should -always receive from her in future toward the -alternative which was most noble and most satisfying. -Mr. Ancram had the clearest perception -of the value of such stimulus; but the -probability that he was likely to be able to -put it permanently at his disposal could -hardly be counted chief among the reasons -which made him, at this time, so exceedingly -happy. His promotion had even less to do -with it. India is known to be full of people -who would rather be a Chief Commissioner -than Rudyard Kipling or Saint Michael, but -this translation had been in the straight line -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>of Mr. Ancram’s intention for years; it offered -him no fortuitous joy, and if it made a basis -for the more refined delight which had entered -his experience, that is as much as it can -be credited with. Life had hitherto offered him -no satisfaction that did not pale beside the prospect -of possessing Judith Church. He gave -dreamy half-hours to the realisation of how -the sordidness of existence would vanish when -he should regard it through her eyes, of how -her goodness would sweeten the world to him, -and her gaiety brighten it, and her beauty etherealise -it. He tried to analyse the completeness -of their fitness for each other, and invariably -gave it up to fall into a little trance of longing -and of anticipation.</p> - -<p class='c016'>He could not be sufficiently grateful to John -Church for dying—it was a circumstance upon -which he congratulated himself frankly, an accident -by which he was likely to benefit so vastly -that he could indulge in no pretence of regretting -it on any altruistic ground. It was so decent of -Church to take himself out of the way that -his former Chief Secretary experienced a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>change of attitude toward him. Ancram still -considered him an ass, but hostility had faded -out of the opinion, which, when he mentioned -it, dwelt rather upon that animal’s power of -endurance and other excellent qualities. Ancram -felt himself distinctly on better terms -with the late Lieutenant-Governor, and his feeling -was accented by the fact that John Church -died in time to avoid the necessity for a more -formal resignation. His Chief Secretary felt -personally indebted to him for that, on ethical -grounds.</p> - -<p class='c016'>In the long, suggestive, caressing letters -which reached Judith by every mail, he made an -appearance of respecting her fresh widowhood -that was really clever, considering the fervency -which he contrived to imply. As the weeks went -by, however, he began to consider this attitude -of hers, the note she had struck in going six thousand -miles away without seeing him, rather an -extravagant gratification of conscience, and if she -had been nearer it may be doubted whether -his tolerance would have lasted. But she was -in London and he was in Assam, which made -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>restraint easier; and he was able always to -send her the assurance of his waiting passion -without hurting her with open talk of the -day when he should come into his own. -Judith, seeing that his pen was in a leash, -watered her love anew with the thought of his -innate nobility, and shortened the time that lay -between them.</p> - -<p class='c016'>In spite of her conscience, which was a good -one, there were times when Mrs. Church was -shocked by the realisation that she was only -trying to believe herself unhappy. In spite of -other things, too, of a more material sort. -Misfortune had overtaken the family at Stoneborough: -ill-health had compelled her father -to resign the pulpit of Beulah Church, and to -retire upon a microscopic stipend from the -superannuation fund. There was a boy of -fourteen, much like his sister, who wanted to -be a soldier, and did not want to wear a -dirty apron and sell the currants of the leading -member of his father’s congregation. For -these reasons Judith’s three hundred a year -shrank to a scanty hundred and fifty. The boy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>went to Clifton, and she to an attic in that -south side of Kensington where they are astonishingly -cheap. Here she established herself, -and grew familiar with the devices of poverty. -It was not picturesque Bohemian poverty; she -had little ladylike ideals in gloves and shoes -that she pinched herself otherwise to attain, -and it is to be feared that she preferred looking -shabby-genteel with eternal limitations to -looking disreputable with spasmodic extravagances. -But neither the sordidness of her life -nor the discomfort she tried to conjure out of -the past made her miserable. Rather she extracted -a solace from them—they gave her a -vague feeling of expiation; she hugged her little -miseries for their purgatorial qualities, and -felt, though she never put it into a definite -thought, that they made a sort of justification -for her hope of heaven.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Besides, except once a week, on Indian mail -day, her life was for the time in abeyance. She -had a curious sense occasionally, in some sordid -situation to which she was driven for the -lack of five shillings, of how little anything -<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>mattered during this little colourless period; -and she declined kindly invitations from old -Anglo-Indian acquaintances in more expensive -parts of Kensington with almost an ironical appreciation -of their inconsequence. She accepted -existence without movement or charm for the -time, since she could not dispense with it altogether. -She invented little monotonous duties -and occupied herself with <a id='corr281.9'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='then'>them</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_281.9'><ins class='correction' title='then'>them</ins></a></span>, and waited, -always with the knowledge that just beyond her -dingy horizon lay a world, her old world, of full -life and vivid colour and long dramatic days, if -she chose to look.</p> - -<p class='c016'>On mail days she did look, over Ancram’s -luxurious pages with soft eyes and a little participating -smile. They made magic carpets for -her—they had imaginative touches. They took -her to the scent of the food-stuff in the chaffering -bazar; she saw the white hot sunlight sharp-shadowed -by dusty palms, and the people, with -their gentle ways and their simplicity of guile, -the clanking silver anklets of the coolie women, -the black <em>kol</em> smudges under the babies’ eye-lashes—the -dear people! She remembered how -<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>she had seen the oxen treading out the corn in -the warm leisure of that country, and the women -grinding at the mill. She remembered their -simple talk; how the gardener had told her in -his own tongue that the flowers ate much earth; -how a syce had once handed her a beautiful -bazar-written letter, in which he asked for more -wages because he could not afford himself. She -remembered the jewelled Rajahs, and the ragged -magicians, and the coolies’ song in the evening, -and the home-trotting little oxen painted in pink -spots in honour of a plaster goddess, and realised -how she loved India. She realised it even more -completely, perhaps, when November came and -brought fogs which were always dreary in that -they interfered with nothing that she wanted to -do, and neuralgia that was especially hard to -bear for being her only occupation. The winter -dragged itself away. Beside Ancram’s letters -and her joy in answering them, she had one -experience of pleasure keen enough to make -it an episode. She found it in the <cite>Athenian</cite>, -which she picked up on a news-stall, where she -had dropped into the class of customers who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>glance over three or four weeklies and buy one -or two. It was a review, a review of length and -breadth and weight and density, of the second -volume of the “Modern Influence of the Vedic -Books,” by Lewis Ancram, I.C.S. She bought -the paper and took it home, and all that day -her heart beat higher with her woman’s ambition -for the man she loved, sweetened with -the knowledge that his own had become as -nothing to the man who loved her.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>It was a foregone conclusion in Calcutta that -the name of the Chief Commissioner of Assam -should figure prominently in the Birthday Honours -of the season. On the 24th of that very -hot May people sat in their verandahs in early -morning dishabille, and consumed tea and toast -and plantains, and read in the local extras that -a Knight Commandership of the Star of India -had fluttered down upon the head of Mr. -Lewis Ancram, without surprise. Doubtless the -“Modern Influence of the Vedic Books” was to -be reckoned with to some extent in the decorative -result, but the general public gave it less importance -than Sir Walter Besant, for example, -would be disposed to do. The general public -reflected rather upon the Chief Commissioner’s -conspicuous usefulness in Assam, especially the -dexterity with which he had trapped border -<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>raids upon tea-plantations. The general public -remembered how often it had seen Mr. Lewis -Ancram’s name in the newspapers, and in what -invariably approved connections. So the men in -pyjamas on the verandahs languidly regarded the -wide flat spreading red-and-yellow bouquets of -the gold mohur trees where the crows were -gasping and swearing on the Maidan, and declared, -with unanimous yawns, that Ancram was -“just the fellow to get it.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Supreme Government at Simla was -even better acquainted with Lewis Ancram’s -achievements and potentialities than the general -public, however. There had been occasions, -when Mr. Ancram was a modest Chief Secretary -only, upon which the Supreme Government had -cause to congratulate itself privately as to Mr. -Ancram’s extraordinary adroitness in political -moves affecting the “advanced” Bengali. Since -his triumph over the College Grants Notification -the advanced Bengali had become increasingly -outrageous. An idea in this connection so far -emerged from official representations at headquarters -as to become almost obvious, as to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>leave no alternative—which is a very remarkable -thing in the business of the Government of India. -It was to the effect that the capacity to outwit -the Bengali should be the single indispensable -qualification of the next Lieutenant-Governor of -Bengal.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No merely straightforward chap will do,” -said Lord Scansleigh, with a sigh, “however able -he may be. Of course,” he added, “I don’t mean -to say that we want a crooked fellow, but our -man must understand crookedness and be equal -to it. That, poor Church never was.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The Viceroy delivered himself thus because -Sir Griffiths Spence’s retirement was imminent, -and he had his choice for Bengal to make over -again. Simplicity and directness apparently disqualified -a number of gentleman of seniority and -distinction, for ten days later it was announced -that the appointment had fallen to Sir Lewis -Ancram, K.C.S.I. Again the little world of -Calcutta declined to be surprised: nothing, apparently, -exceeded the popular ambition for the -Chief Commissioner of Assam. Hawkins, of the -Board of Revenue, was commiserated for a day -<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>or two, but it was very generally admitted that -men like Hawkins of the Board of Revenue, -solid, unpretentious fellows like that, were extremely -apt, somehow, to be overlooked. People -said generally that Scansleigh had done the right -thing—that Ancram would know how to manage -the natives. It was perceived that the new King -of Bengal would bring a certain picturesqueness -to the sceptre, he was so comparatively young -and so superlatively clever. In view of this the -feelings of Hawkins of the Board of Revenue -were lost sight of. And nothing could have -been more signal than the approbation of the -native newspapers. Mohendra Lal Chuckerbutty, -in the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite>, wept tears of joy -in leading articles every day for a week. “Bengal,” -said Mohendra, editorially, “has been given -a man after her own heart.” By which Sir -Lewis Ancram was ungrateful enough to be -annoyed.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith grew very white over the letter which -brought her the news, remembering many -things. It was a careful letter, but there was a -throb of triumph in it—a suggestion, just perceptible, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>of the dramatic value of the situation. -She told herself that this was inevitable and -natural, just as inevitable and natural as all the -rest; but at the same time she felt that her philosophy -was not quite equal to the remarkable completeness -of Ancram’s succession. With all her -pride in him, in her heart of hearts she would infinitely -have preferred to share some degradation -with him rather than this; she would have liked -the taste of any bitterness of his misfortune -better than this perpetual savour of his usurpation. -It was a mere phase of feeling, which -presently she put aside, but for the moment her -mind dwelt with curious insistence upon one or -two little pictorial memories of the other master -of Belvedere, while tears stood in her eyes and a -foolish resentment at this fortunate turn of -destiny tugged at her heart-strings. In a little -while she found herself able to rejoice for -Ancram with sincerity, but all day she involuntarily -recurred, with deep, gentle irritation, to -the association of the living idea and the dead -one.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Perhaps the liveliest pang inflicted by Sir -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>Lewis Ancram’s appointment was experienced -by Mrs. Daye. Mrs. Daye confided to her husband -that she never saw the Belvedere carriage, -with its guard of Bengal cavalry trotting behind, -without thinking that if things had turned out -differently she might be sitting in it, with His -Honour her son-in-law. From which the constancy -and keenness of Mrs. Daye’s regrets may -be in a measure inferred. She said to privileged -intimate friends that she knew she was a silly, -worldly thing, but really it did bring out -one’s silliness and worldliness to have one’s -daughter jilt a Lieutenant-Governor, in a way -that nobody could understand whose daughter -hadn’t done it. Mrs. Daye took what comfort -she could out of the fact that this limitation excluded -every woman she knew. She would add, -with her brow raised in three little wrinkles of -deprecation, that of course they were immensely -pleased with Rhoda’s ultimate choice: Mr. Doyle -was a dear, sweet man, but she, Mrs. Daye, could -not help having a sort of sisterly regard for him, -which towards one’s son-in-law was ridiculous. -He certainly had charming manners—the very -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>man to appreciate a cup of tea and one’s poor -little efforts at conversation—if he didn’t happen -to be married to one’s daughter. It was ludicrously -impossible to have a seriously enjoyable -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>tête-à-tête</em></span> with a man who was married to one’s -daughter!</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>Calcutta, when the Doyles came down from -Darjiling, chased by the early rains, was prepared -to find the marriage ridiculous. Calcutta -counted on its fingers the years that lay between -Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, and mentioned, as a condoning -fact, that Philip Doyle’s chances for the next -High Court Judgeship were very good indeed. -Following up this line of fancy, Calcutta pictured -a matron growing younger and younger and a -dignitary of the Bench growing older and older, -added the usual accessories of jewels and balls -and Hill captains and the private <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>entrée</em></span>, and -figured out the net result, which was regrettably -vulgar and even more regrettably common. It -is perhaps due to Calcutta rather than to the -Doyles to say that six weeks after their arrival -these prophecies had been forgotten and people -went about calling it an ideal match. One or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>two ladies went so far as to declare that Rhoda -Daye had become a great deal more tolerable -since her marriage; her husband was so much -cleverer than she was, and that was what she -needed, you know. In which statement might -occasionally be discerned a gleam of satisfaction.</p> - -<p class='c016'>It shortly became an item of gossip that very -few engagements were permitted to interfere -with Mrs. Philip Doyle’s habit of driving to her -husband’s office to pick him up at five o’clock in -the afternoon, and that very few clients were -permitted to keep him there after she had arrived. -People smiled in indulgent comment on -it, as the slender, light, tasteful figure in the -cabriolet drove among the thronging carriages in -the Red Road towards Old Post-Office Street, -and looked again, with that paramount interest -in individuals which is almost the only one where -Britons congregate in exile. Mrs. Doyle, in the -picturesque exercise of the domestic virtues, was -generally conceded to be even more piquant than -Miss Daye in the temporary possession of a Chief -Secretary.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>I have no doubt that on one special Wednesday -afternoon she was noted to look absent and -a trifle grave, as the Waler made his own pace to -bring his master. There was no reason for this -in particular, except that His Honour the Lieutenant-Governor -was leaving for England by the -mail train for Bombay that evening. Perhaps -this in itself would hardly have sufficed to make -Mrs. Doyle meditative, but there had been a -great clamour of inquiry and suggestion as to -why Sir Lewis Ancram was straining a point to obtain -three months’ leave under no apparent emergency: people -said he had never looked better—and -Mrs. Doyle believed she knew precisely -why. The little cloud of her secret knowledge -was before her eyes as the crows pecked hoarsely -at the street offal under the Waler’s deliberate -feet, and she was somewhat impatient at being -burdened with any acquaintance with Sir Lewis -Ancram’s private intentions. Also she remembered -her liking for the woman he was going -home to marry; and, measuring in fancy Judith -Church’s capacity for happiness, she came to the -belief that it was likely to be meagrely filled. It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>was the overflowing measure of her own, perhaps, -that gave its liveliness to her very real pang -of regret. She knew Lewis Ancram so much -better than Mrs. Church did, she assured herself; -was it not proof enough, that the other woman -loved him while she (Rhoda) bowed to him? As -at that moment, when he passed her on horseback, -looking young and vigorous and elate. -Rhoda fancied a certain significance in his smile; -it spoke of good-fellowship and the prospect of -an equality of bliss and the general expediency of -things as they were rather than as they might -have been. She coloured hotly under it, and -gathered up the reins and astonished the Waler -with the whip.</p> - -<p class='c016'>As she turned into Old Post-Office Street, a -flanking battalion of the rains—riding up dark -and thunderous behind the red-brick turrets -of the High Court—whipped down upon the -Maidan, and drove her, glad of a refuge, up the -dingy stairs to her husband’s office. Her custom -was to sit in the cabriolet and despatch the syce -with a message. The syce would deliver it in -his own tongue—“The memsahib sends a salutation”—and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>Doyle would presently appear. -But to-day it was raining and there was no -alternative.</p> - -<p class='c016'>A little flutter of consideration greeted her -entrance. Two or three native clerks shuffled to -their feet and salaamed, and one ran to open the -door into Doyle’s private room for her. Her -husband sat writing against time at a large desk -littered thick with papers. At another table a -native youth in white cotton draperies sat making -quill pens, with absorbed precision. The -punkah swung a slow discoloured petticoat -above them both. The tall wide windows were -open. Through them little damp gusts came -in and lifted the papers about the room; -and beyond them the grey rain slanted down, -and sobered the vivid green of everything, -and turned the tilted palms into the likeness -of draggled plumes waving against the -sky.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You have just escaped the shower,” said -Doyle, looking up with quick pleasure at her -step. “I’ll be another twenty minutes, I’m afraid. -And I have nothing for you to play with,” he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>added, glancing round the dusty room—“not -even a novel. You must just sit down and be -good.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Mail letters?” asked Rhoda, with her hand -on his shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c016'>The clerk was looking another way, and she -dropped a foolish, quick little kiss on the top of -his head.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes. It’s this business of the memorial to -Church. I’ve got the newspaper reports of the -unveiling together, and the Committee have -drafted a formal letter to Mrs. Church, and -there’s a good deal of private correspondence—letters -from big natives sending subscriptions, -and all that—that I thought she would like to -see. As Secretary to the Committee, it of course -devolves upon me to forward everything. And -at this moment,” Doyle went on, glancing ruefully -at the page under his hand, “I am trying -to write to her privately, poor thing.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda glanced down at the letter. “I know -you will be glad to have these testimonials, -which are as sincere as they are spontaneous, to -the unique position Church held in the regard of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>many distinguished people,” she read deliberately, -aloud.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Do you think that is the right kind of thing -to say? It strikes me as rather formal. But -one is so terribly afraid of hurting her by some -stupidity.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, I don’t think so at all, Philip. I mean—it -is quite the proper thing, I think. After all, -it’s—it’s more than a year ago, you know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“The wives of men like Church remember -them longer than that, I fancy. But if you will -be pleased to sit down, Mrs. Doyle, I’ll finish it -in some sort of decency and get it off.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda sat down and crossed her feet and -looked into dusty vacancy. The recollection of -Ancram’s expression as he passed her in the road -came back to her, and as she reflected that the -ship which carried him to Judith Church would -also take her the balm respectfully prepared by -the Committee, her sense of humour curved her -lips in an ironical smile. The grotesqueness of -the thing made it seem less serious, and she -found quite five minutes’ interested occupation -in considering it. Then she regarded the baboo -<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>making pens, and picked up a “Digest” and put -it down again, and turned over the leaves of a -tome on the “Hindu Law of Inheritance,” and -yawned, and looked out of the window, and observed -that it had stopped raining.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Philip, aren’t you nearly done? Remember -me affectionately to Mrs. Church—no, perhaps -you’d better not, either.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Doyle was knitting his brows over a final -sentiment, and did not reply.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Philip, is that one of your old coats hanging -on the nail? Is it old enough to give away? I -want an old coat for the syce to sleep in: he had -fever yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Mrs. Doyle went over to the object of -her inquiries, took it down, and daintily -shook it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>Philip!</em> Pay some attention to me. May I -have this coat? There’s nothing in the pockets—nothing -but an old letter and a newspaper. -Oh!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Her husband looked up at last, noting a -change in the tone of her exclamation. She -stood looking in an embarrassed way at the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>address on the envelope she held. It was in -Ancram’s handwriting.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“What letter?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She handed it to him, and at the sight of it he -frowned a little.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Is the newspaper the <cite>Bengal Free Press</cite>?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” she said, glancing at it. “And it’s -marked in one or two places with red pencil.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then read them both,” Doyle replied. -“They don’t tell a very pretty story, but it may -amuse you. I thought I had destroyed them -long ago. I can’t have worn that coat since I -left Florence.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Rhoda sat down, with a beating curiosity, and -applied herself to understand the story that was -not very pretty. It sometimes annoyed her that -she could not resist her interest in things that -concerned Ancram, especially things that exemplified -him. She brought her acutest intelligence -to bear upon the exposition of the letter -and the newspaper; but it was very plain and -simple, especially where it was underscored in -red pencil, and she comprehended it at once.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She sat thinking of it, with bright eyes, fitting it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>into relation with what she had known and -guessed before, perhaps unconsciously pluming -herself a little upon her penetration, and, it -must be confessed, feeling a keen thrill of unregretting -amusement at Ancram’s conviction. -Then suddenly, with a kind of mental gasp, she -remembered Judith Church.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Ah!” she said to herself, and her lips almost -moved. “What a complication!” And -then darted up from some depth of her moral -consciousness the thought, “She ought to know, -and I ought to tell her.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She tried to look calmly at the situation, and -analyse the character of her responsibility. She -sought for its <em>pros</em> and <em>cons</em>; she made an effort -to range them and to balance them. But, in -spite of herself, her mind rejected everything -save the memory of the words she had overheard -one soft spring night on the verandah at -Government House:</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>You ask me if I am not to you what I ought to -be to my husband, who is a good man, and who loves -me and trusts you.</em>”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And trusts you! and trusts you!” Remembering -<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>the way her own blood quickened -when she heard Judith Church say that, Rhoda -made a spiritual bound towards the conviction -that she could not shirk opening such deplorably -blind eyes and respect herself in future. Then -her memory insisted again, and she heard Judith -say, with an inflection that precluded all mistake, -all self-delusion, all change:</p> - -<p class='c016'>“<em>But you ask me if I have come to love you, and -perhaps in a way you have a right to know; and -the truth is better, as you say. And I answer you -that I have. I answer you, Yes, it is true; and -I know it will always be true.</em>”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Did that make no difference? And was there -not infinitely too much involved for any such casual, -rough-handed interference as hers would be?</p> - -<p class='c016'>At that moment she saw that her husband -was putting on his hat. His letter to Mrs. -Church lay addressed upon the desk, the papers -that were to accompany scattered about it, and -Doyle was directing the clerk with regard to -them.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You will put all these in a strong cover, -Luteef,” said he, “and address it as I have addressed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>that letter. I would like you to take -them to the General Post Office yourself, and see -that they don’t go under-stamped.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yessir. All thee papers, sir? And I am to -send by letter-post, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes, certainly. Well, Rhoda? That was a -clever bit of trickery, wasn’t it? I heard afterwards -that the article was quoted in the House, -and did Church a lot of damage.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Doyle spoke with the boldness of embarrassment. -These two were not in the habit of -discussing Ancram; they tolerated him occasionally -as an object, but never as a subject. Already -he regretted the impulse that put her in -possession of these facts. It seemed to his -sensitiveness like taking an unfair advantage of -a man when he was down, which, considering to -what Lewis Ancram had risen, was a foolish and -baseless scruple. Rhoda looked at her husband, -and hesitated. For an instant she played with -the temptation to tell him all she knew, deciding, -at the end of the instant, that it would entail -too much. Even a reference to that time had -come to cost her a good deal.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>“I am somehow not surprised,” she said, -looking down at the letter and paper in her hand. -“But—I think it’s a pity Mrs. Church doesn’t -know.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Poor dear lady! why should she? I am -glad she is spared that unnecessary pang. We -should all be allowed to think as well of the -world as we can, my wife. Come; in twenty -minutes it will be dark.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Do you think so?” his wife asked doubtfully. -But she threw the letter and the newspaper -upon the desk. She would shirk it; as a -duty it was not plain enough.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Then you ought to burn those, Philip,” she -said, as they went downstairs together. “They -wouldn’t make creditable additions to the records -of the India Office.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I will,” replied her husband. “I don’t -know why I didn’t long ago. How deliciously -fresh it is after the rain!”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span> - <h2 class='c014'>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c015'>There was a florist’s near by—in London -there always is a florist’s near by—and Judith -stood in the little place, among the fanciful straw -baskets and the wire frames and the tin boxes of -cut flowers and the damp pots of blooming ones, -and made her choice. In her slenderness and her -gladness she herself had somewhat the poise of a -flower, and the delicate flush of her face, with its -new springing secret of life, did more to suggest -one—a flower just opened to the summer and -the sun.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She picked out some that were growing in -country lanes then—it was the middle of July—poppies -and cornbottles and big brown-hearted -daisies. They seemed to her to speak in a simple -way of joy. Then she added a pot of ferns and -some clustering growing azaleas, pink and white -and very lovely. She paid the florist’s wife ten -<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>shillings, and took them all with her in a cab. -This was not a day for economies. She drove -back to her rooms, the azaleas beside her on the -seat making a picture of her that people turned -to look at. In her hand she carried a folded -brown envelope. On the form inside it was -written, in the generically inexpressive characters -of the Telegraph Department, “<em>Arrive London -2.30. Will be with you at five. Ancram.</em>”</p> - -<div id='i304a' class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_304a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>She drove back.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>It was ten o’clock in the morning, but she -felt that the day would be too short for all -there was to do. There should be nothing sordid -in her greeting, nothing to make him remember -that she was poor. Her attic should -be swept and garnished: women think of these -little things. She had also with her in the cab -a pair of dainty Liberty muslin curtains to keep -out the roof and the chimneys, and a Japanese -tea-set, and tea of a kind she was not in the -habit of drinking. She had only stopped buying -pretty fresh decorative things when it occurred -to her that she must keep enough -money to pay the cabman. As she hung the -curtains, and put the ferns on the window-seat -<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>and the azaleas in the corners, and the -plump, delicate-coloured silk cushions in the -angles of her small hard sofa, her old love of -soft luxurious things stirred within her. Instinctively -she put her poverty away with -impatience and contempt. What in another -woman might have been a calculating thought -came to her as a hardly acknowledged sense -of relief and repose. There would be no more -of <em>that</em>!</p> - -<p class='c016'>A knock at the door sent the blood to her -heart, and her hand to her dusty hair, before -she remembered how impossible it was that -this should be any but an unimportant knock. -Yet she opened the door with a thrill—it -seemed that such a day could have no trivial -incidents. When she saw that it was the -housemaid with the mail, the Indian mail, she -took it with a little smile of indifference and -satisfaction. It was no longer the master of -her delight.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She put it all aside while she adjusted the -folds of the curtains and took the step-ladder -out of the room. Then she read Philip Doyle’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>letter. She read it, and when she had -finished she looked gravely, coldly, at the -packet that came with it, carefully addressed -in the round accurate hand of the clerk who -made quill pens in Doyle’s office. She was -conscious of an unkindness in this chance; it -might so well have fallen last week or next. -There was no ignoring it—it was there, it had -been delivered to her, it seemed almost as -urgent a demand upon her time and thought -and interest as if John Church himself had -put it into her hand. With an involuntary -movement she pushed the packet aside and -looked round the room. There were still several -little things to do. She got up to go -about them; but she moved slowly, and the -glow had gone out of her face, leaving her -eyes shadowed as they were on other days. -She made the cornbottles and the daisies up -into little bouquets, but she let her hands drop -into her lap more than once, and thought -about other things.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Suddenly, with a quick movement, she went -over to where the packet lay and took it up. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>It was as if she turned her back upon something; -she had a resolute look. As she broke -the wax and cut the strings, any one might -have recognised that she confronted herself -with a duty which she did not mean to postpone. -It would have been easy to guess her -unworded feeling—that, however differently her -heart might insist, she could not slight John -Church. This was a sensitive and a just -woman.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She opened letter after letter, reading slowly -and carefully. Every word had its due, every -sentence spoke to her. Gradually there came -round her lips the look they wore when she -knelt upon her hassock in St. Luke’s round the -corner, and repeated, with bent head,</p> - -<p class='c016'>/* -“But Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders: -Spare Thou them, O Lord, which confess their faults.” -*/</p> - -<p class='c016'>It seemed to her that in not having loved John -Church while he lived nor mourned him in sackcloth -when he was dead she had sinned indeed. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>She was in the midst of preparations that were -almost bridal, yet it is quite true that for this -man whose death had wrought her deliverance -and her joy, her eyes were full of a tender, -reverent regret. Presently she came upon a -letter which she put aside, with a pang, to be -read last of all. It was like Ancram, she -thought, to have borne witness to her husband’s -worth—he could never have guessed -that his letter would hurt her a little one -day. She noticed that it was fastened together -with a newspaper, by a narrow rubber -circlet, and that the newspaper was marked in -red pencil. She remembered Ancram’s turn -for journalism—he had acknowledged many a -clever article to her—and divined that this was -some tribute from his pen. The idea gave her -a realising sense that her lover shared her penance -and was vaguely comforting.</p> - -<p class='c016'>She went through all the rest, as I have -said, conscientiously, seriously, and with a -troubled heart. Philip Doyle had not been -mistaken in saying that they were sincere, and -spontaneous. The tragedy of Church’s death -<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>had brought out his motives in high relief; -it was not likely he could ever have lived to -be so appreciated. These were impressions of -him struck off as it were in a white heat of -feeling. His widow sat for a moment silent -before the revelation they made of him, even -to her.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Then, to leave nothing undone, Judith opened -Ancram’s letter. Her startled eyes went -through it once without comprehending a line -of its sequence, though here and there words -struck her in the face and made it burn. She -put her hand to her head to steady herself; -she felt giddy, and sickeningly unable to comprehend. -She fastened her gaze upon the -page, seeing nothing, while her brain worked -automatically about the fact that she was the -victim of some terribly untoward circumstance—what -and why it refused to discover for her. -Presently things grew simpler and clearer; she -realised the direction from which the blow had -come. Her power to reason, to consider, to -compare, came back to her; and she caught -up her misfortune eagerly, to minimise it. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>lines of Ancram’s hostility and contempt traced -themselves again upon her mind, and this time -it quivered under their full significance. -“Happily for Bengal,” she read, “a fool is -invariably dealt with according to his folly.” -Then she knew that no mollifying process of -reasoning could alter the fact which she had -to face.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Her mind grew acute in its pain. She began -to make deductions, she looked at the date. -The corroboration of the newspaper flashed -upon her instantly, and with it came a keen -longing to tell her husband who had written -that article—he had wondered so often and so -painfully. All at once she found herself framing -a charge.</p> - -<p class='c016'>A clock struck somewhere, and as if the -sound summoned her she got up from her seat -and opened a little lacquered box that stood -upon the mantel. It contained letters chiefly, -but from among its few photographs she drew -one of her husband. With this in her hand -she went into her bedroom and shut the door -and locked it.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>When the maid brought Sir Lewis Ancram’s -card up at five o’clock she found the door open. -Mrs. Church was fitting a photograph into a -little frame. She looked thoughtful, but charming; -and she said so unhesitatingly, “Bring -the gentleman up, Hetty,” that Hetty, noticing -the curtains and the cushions in Mrs. Church’s -sitting-room, brought the gentleman up with a -smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>At his step upon the stair her eyes dilated, -she took a long breath and pulled herself together, -her hand tightening on the corner of -the table. He came in quickly and stood before -her silent; he seemed to insist upon his -presence and on his outstretched hands. His -face was almost open and expansive in its -achieved happiness; one would have said he -was a fellow-being and not a Lieutenant-Governor. -It looked as if to him the moment -were emotional, but Mrs. Church almost immediately -deprived it of that character. She -gave him the right hand of ordinary intercourse -and an agreeable smile.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“You are looking surprisingly well,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>If this struck Ancram as inadequate he hesitated -about saying so. The words upon his -own lips were “My God! how glad I am -to see you!” but he did not permit these -to escape him either. Her friendliness was -too cheerful to chill him, but he put his -eyeglass into his eye, which he generally -did when he wanted to reflect, behind a -pause.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And you are just the same,” he said. “A -little more colour, perhaps.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I am not really, you know,” she returned, -slipping her hand quickly out of his. “Since -I saw you I am older—and wiser. Nearly -two years older and wiser.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>The smile which he sent into her eyes was -a visible effort to bring himself nearer to -her.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Where have you found so much instruction?” -he asked, with tender banter.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Her laugh accepted the banter and ignored -its quality. “In ‘The Modern Influence of -the Vedic Books,’ among other places,” she -said, and rang the bell. “Tea, Hetty.”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>“I must be allowed to congratulate you upon -that,” she went on pleasantly. “All the wise -people are talking about it, aren’t they? And -upon the rest of your achievements. They -have been very remarkable.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“They are very incomplete,” he hinted; -“but I am glad you are disposed to be kind -about them.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>They had dropped into chairs at the usual -conversational distance, and he sat regarding -her with a look which almost confessed that -he did not understand.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I suppose you had an execrable passage,” -Judith volunteered, with sociable emphasis. “I -can imagine what it must have been, as far as -Aden, with the monsoon well on.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Execrable,” he repeated. He had come to -a conclusion. It was part of her moral conception -of their situation that he should begin -his love-making over again. She would not -tolerate their picking it up and going on with -it. At least that was her attitude. He wondered, -indulgently, how long she would be able -to keep it.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>“And Calcutta? I suppose you left it steaming?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I hardly know. I was there only a couple -of days before the mail left. Almost the whole -of July I have been on tour.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh—really?” said Mrs. Church. Her face -assumed the slight sad impenetrability with -which we give people to understand that they -are trespassing upon ground hallowed by the -association of grief. Ancram observed, with -irritation, that she almost imposed silence upon -him for a moment. Her look suggested to him -that if he made any further careless allusions she -might break into tears.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Dear me!” Judith said softly at last, pouring -out the tea, “how you bring everything back -to me!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>He thought of saying boldly that he had -come to bring her back to everything, but for -some reason he refrained.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Not unpleasantly, I hope?” He had an -instant’s astonishment at finding such a commonplace -upon his lips. He had thought of this in -poems for months.</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>She gave him his tea, and a pathetic smile. -It was so pathetic that he looked away from it, -and his eye fell upon the portrait of John -Church, framed, near her on the table.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Do you think it is a good one?” she asked -eagerly, following his glance. “Do you think it -does him justice? It was so difficult,” she added -softly, “to do him justice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Sir Lewis Ancram stirred his tea vigorously. -He never took sugar, but the manipulation of his -spoon enabled him to say, with candid emphasis, -“He never got justice.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>For the moment he would abandon his -personal interest, he would humour her conscience; -he would dwell upon the past, for the -moment.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No,” she said, “I think he never did. Perhaps, -now——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram’s lip curled expressively.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes, now,” he said—“now that no appreciation -can encourage him, no applause stimulate -him, now that he is for ever past it and them, -they can find nothing too good to say of him. -What a set of curs they are!”</p> - -<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>“It is the old story,” she replied. Her eyes -were full of sadness.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Forgive me!” Ancram said involuntarily. -Then he wondered for what he had asked to be -forgiven.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He was a martyr,” Judith went on calmly—“‘John -Church, martyr,’ is the way they ought -to write him down in the Service records. But -there were a few people who knew him great -and worthy while he lived. I was one——”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“And I was another. There were more than -you think.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“He used to trust you. Especially in the -matter that killed him—that educational matter—he -often said that without your sympathy -and support he would hardly know where to -turn.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“His policy was right. Events are showing -now how right it was. Every day I find what -excellent reason he had for all he did.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Yes,” Judith said, regarding him with a kind -of remote curiosity. “You have succeeded to -his difficulties. I wonder if you lie awake over -them, as he used to do! And to all the rest. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>You have taken his place, and his hopes, and the -honours that would have been his. How strange -it seems!”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Why should it seem so strange, Judith?”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She half turned and picked up a letter and -a newspaper that lay on the table behind her.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“This is one reason,” she said, and handed -them to him. “Those have reached me to-day, -by some mistake in Mr. Doyle’s office, I suppose. -One knows how these things happen in India. -And I thought you might like to have them -again.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>Ancram’s face fell suddenly into the lines of -office. He took the papers into his long nervous -hands in an accustomed way, and opened the -pages of the letter with a stroke of his finger and -thumb which told of a multitude of correspondence -and a somewhat disregarding way of dealing -with it. His eyes were riveted upon Doyle’s -red pencil marks under “<em>his beard grows with the -tale of his blunders</em>” in the letter and the newspaper, -but his expression merely noted them -for future reference.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Thanks,” he said presently, settling the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>papers together again. “Perhaps it is as well -that they should be in my possession. It was -thoughtful of you. In other hands they might -be misunderstood.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She looked at him full and clearly, and something -behind her eyes laughed at him.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, I think not!” she said. “Let me give -you another cup of tea.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>“No more, thank you.” He drew his feet -together in a preliminary movement of departure, -and then thought better of it.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“I hope you understand,” he said, “that in—in -official life one may be forced into hostile -criticism occasionally, without the slightest personal -animus.” His voice was almost severe—it -was as he were compelled to reason with a subordinate -in terms of reproof.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Judith smiled acquiescently.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Oh, I am sure that must often be the case,” -she said; and he knew that she was beyond all -argument of his. She had adopted the official -attitude; she was impersonal and complaisant -and non-committal. Her comment would reach -him later, through the authorised channels of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>empty years. It would be silent and negative in -its nature, the denial of promotion, but he would -understand. Even in a matter of sentiment the -official attitude had its decencies, its conveniences. -He was vaguely aware of them as he rose, -with a little cough, and fell back into his own.</p> - -<p class='c016'>Nevertheless it was with something like an inward -groan that he abandoned it, and tried, for -a few lingering minutes, to remind her of the -man she had known in Calcutta.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Judith,” he said desperately at the door, -after she had bidden him a cheerful farewell, “I -once thought I had reason to believe that you -loved me.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She was leaning rather heavily on the back of -a chair. He had made only a short visit, but he -had spent five years of this woman’s life since he -arrived.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“Not you,” she said: “my idea of you. And -that was a long time ago.”</p> - -<p class='c016'>She kept her tone of polite commonplace; -there was nothing for it but a recognisant bow, -which Ancram made in silence. As he took his -way downstairs and out into Kensington, a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>malignant recollection of having heard something -very like this before took possession of him -and interfered with the heroic quality of his -grief. If he had a Nemesis, he told himself, it -was the feminine idea of him. But that was -afterward.</p> - -<hr class='c022' /> - -<p class='c016'>One day, a year later, Sir Lewis Ancram -paused in his successful conduct of the affairs -of Bengal long enough to state the case with -ultimate emphasis to a confidentially inquiring -friend.</p> - -<p class='c016'>“As the wife of my late honoured chief,” he -said, “I have the highest admiration and respect -for Mrs. Church; but the world is wrong in -thinking that I have ever made her a proposal of -marriage; nor have I the slightest intention of -doing so.”</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>THE END.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>D. 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The material offered by the life -and history of old Quebec has never been utilized for the purposes of fiction -with the command of plot and incident, the mastery of local color, and the -splendid realization of dramatic situations shown in this distinguished and -moving romance. The illustrations preserve the atmosphere of the text, for -they present the famous buildings, gates, and battle grounds as they appeared -at the time of the hero’s imprisonment in Quebec.</p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD.</cite></span> A Novel. -12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“Mr. Parker here adds to a reputation already wide, and anew demonstrates his -power of pictorial portrayal and of strong dramatic situation and climax.”—<cite>Philadelphia -Bulletin.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The tale holds the reader’s interest from first to last, for it is full of fire and spirit, -abounding in incident, and marked by good character drawing.”—<cite>Pittsburg Times.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE TRESPASSER.</cite></span> 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; -cloth, $1.00.</p> -<p class='c028'>“Interest, pith, force, and charm—Mr. Parker’s new story possesses all these -qualities.... Almost bare of synthetical decoration, his paragraphs are stirring because -they are real. We read at times—as we have read the great masters of romance—breathlessly.”—<cite>The -Critic.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus far this is his masterpiece.... It -is one of the great novels of the year.”—<cite>Boston Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><span class='large'><cite>THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE.</cite></span> 16mo. -Flexible cloth, 75 cents.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“A book which no one will be satisfied to put down until the end has been matter -of certainty and assurance.”—<cite>The Nation.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A story of remarkable interest, originality, and ingenuity of construction.”—<cite>Boston -Home Journal.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The perusal of this romance will repay those who care for new and original types -of character, and who are susceptible to the fascination of a fresh and vigorous style.”—<cite>London -Daily News.</cite></p> - -<hr class='c030' /> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c031'> - <div>BY S. R. CROCKETT.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><cite><span class='large'>CLEG KELLY, ARAB OF THE CITY.</span> His -Progress and Adventures.</cite> Uniform with “The Lilac Sunbonnet” -and “Bog-Myrtle and Peat.” Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, -$1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>It is safe to predict for the quaint and delightful figure of Cleg Kelly a -notable place in the literature of the day. Mr. Crockett’s signal success in -his new field will enlarge the wide circle of his admirers. The lights and -shadows of curious phases of Edinburgh life, and of Scotch farm and railroad -life, are pictured with an intimate sympathy, richness of humor, and -truthful pathos which make this new novel a genuine addition to literature. -It seems safe to say that at least two characters—Cleg and Muckle Alick—are -likely to lead Mr. Crockett’s heroes in popular favor. The illustrations of -this fascinating novel have been the result of most faithful and sympathetic -study.</p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT.</cite></span> Third edition. -12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life, written in words that thrill and -burn.... Each is a poem that has an immortal flavor. They are fragments of the -author’s early dreams, too bright, too gorgeous, too full of the blood of rubies and the -life of diamonds to be caught and held palpitating in expression’s grasp.”—<cite>Boston -Courier.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Hardly a sketch among them all that will not afford pleasure to the reader for its -genial humor, artistic local coloring, and admirable portrayal of character.”—<cite>Boston -Home Journal.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One dips into the book anywhere and reads on and on, fascinated by the writer’s -charm of manner.”—<cite>Minneapolis Tribune.</cite></p> -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE LILAC SUNBONNET.</cite></span> Sixth edition. -12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“A love story pure and simple, one of the old-fashioned, wholesome, sunshiny -kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine who is merely a good and -beautiful woman; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written this year, -it has escaped our notice.”—<cite>New York Times.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the growth of love -between the young chief and heroine, is delineated with a sweetness and a freshness, -a naturalness and a certainty, which places ‘The Lilac Sunbonnet’ among the best -stories of the time.”—<cite>New York Mail and Express.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“In its own line this little love story can hardly be excelled. It is a pastoral, an -idyl—the story of love and courtship and marriage of a fine young man and a lovely -girl—no more. But it is told in so thoroughly delightful a manner, with such playful -humor, such delicate fancy, such true and sympathetic feeling, that nothing more could -be desired.”—<cite>Boston Traveller.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c031'> - <div><span class='sc'>By A. CONAN DOYLE.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><cite><span class='large'>THE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD.</span> -A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier.</cite> Illustrated. -12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>There is a flavor of Dumas’s Musketeers in the life of the redoubtable Brigadier -Gerard, a typical Napoleonic soldier, more fortunate than many of his compeers because -some of his Homeric exploits were accomplished under the personal observation of the -Emperor. His delightfully romantic career included an oddly characteristic glimpse -of England, and his adventures ranged from the battlefield to secret service. In picturing -the experiences of his fearless, hard-fighting and hard-drinking hero, the author -of “The White Company” has given us a book which absorbs the interest and -quickens the pulse of every reader.</p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS.</cite></span> Being a -Series of Twelve Letters written by <span class='sc'>Stark Munro</span>, M. B., -to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, -of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. Illustrated. -12mo. Buckram, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock Holmes, -and I pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him.”—<cite>Richard le Gallienne, in the London -Star.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Every one who wants a hearty laugh must make acquaintance with Dr. James -Cullingworth.”—<cite>Westminster Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Every one must read; for not to know Cullingworth should surely argue one’s -self to be unknown.”—<cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the freshest figures to be met with in any recent fiction.”—<cite>London Daily -News</cite>.</p> - -<p class='c020'>“‘The Stark Munro Letters’ is a bit of real literature.... Its reading will be an -epoch-making event in many a life.”—<cite>Philadelphia Evening Telegraph.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Positively magnetic, and written with that combined force and grace for which the -author’s style is known.”—<cite>Boston Budget.</cite></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='sc'>Seventh Edition.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><span class='large'><cite>ROUND THE RED LAMP.</cite></span> Being Facts and -Fancies of Medical Life. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“Too much can not be said in praise of these strong productions, that, to read, -keep one’s heart leaping to the throat and the mind in a tumult of anticipation to the -end.... No series of short stories in modern literature can approach them.”—<cite>Hartford -Times.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“If Mr. A. Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in the front rank of living -English writers by ‘The Refugees,’ and other of his larger stories, he would surely do -so by these fifteen short tales.”—<cite>New York Mail and Express.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modern literature.”—<cite>Boston -Saturday Evening Gazette.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE ONE WHO LOOKED ON.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>F. F. Montrésor</span>, author of “Into the Highways and Hedges.” 16mo. -Cloth, special binding, $1.25.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“The story runs on as smoothly as a brook through lowlands; it excites your interest -at the beginning and keeps it to the end.”—<cite>New York Herald.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“An exquisite story.... No person sensitive to the influence of what makes for the -true, the lovely, and the strong in human friendship and the real in life’s work can read -this book without being benefited by it.”—<cite>Buffalo Commercial.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The book has universal interest and very unusual merit.... Aside from its -subtle poetic charm, the book is a noble example of the power of keen observation.”—<cite>Boston -Herald.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>CORRUPTION.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>Percy White</span>, author of “Mr. -Bailey-Martin,” etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“There is intrigue enough in it for those who love a story of the ordinary kind, and -the political part is perhaps more attractive in its sparkle and variety of incident than -the real thing itself.”—<cite>London Daily News.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A drama of biting intensity, a tragedy of inflexible purpose and relentless result.”—<cite>Pall -Mall Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c032'><span class='large'><cite>A HARD WOMAN.</cite></span> A Story in Scenes. By <span class='sc'>Violet -Hunt</span>. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“An extremely clever work. Miss Hunt probably writes dialogue better than any -of our young novelists.... Not only are her conversations wonderfully vivacious and -sustained, but she contrives to assign to each of her characters a distinct mode of -speech, so that the reader easily identifies them, and can follow the conversations without -the slightest difficulty.”—<cite>London Athenæum.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the best writers of dialogue of our immediate day. The conversations in -this book will enhance her already secure reputation.”—<cite>London Daily Chronicle.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A creation that does Miss Hunt infinite credit, and places her in the front rank of -the younger novelists.... Brilliantly drawn, quivering with life, adroit, quiet-witted, -unfalteringly insolent, and withal strangely magnetic.”—<cite>London Standard.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>AN IMAGINATIVE MAN.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>Robert S. -Hichens</span>, author of “The Green Carnation.” 12mo. Cloth, -$1.25.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“One of the brightest books of the year.”—<cite>Boston Budget.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Altogether delightful, fascinating, unusual.”—<cite>Cleveland Amusement Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A study in character.... Just as entertaining as though it were the conventional -story of love and marriage. The clever hand of the author of ‘The Green -Carnation’ is easily detected in the caustic wit and pointed epigram.”—<cite>Jeannette L. -Gilder, in the New York World.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><b>“A better book than ‘The Prisoner of Zenda.’”</b>—<cite>London Queen.</cite></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><span class='large'><cite>THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO.</cite></span> -By <span class='sc'>Anthony Hope</span>, author of “The God in the Car,” “The -Prisoner of Zenda,” etc. With photogravure Frontispiece by -S. W. Van Schaick. Third edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of Antonio of -Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws.... To all those whose pulses still stir -at the recital of deeds of high courage, we may recommend this book.... The chronicle -conveys the emotion of heroic adventure, and is picturesquely written.”—<cite>London -Daily News.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep order.... In -point of execution ‘The Chronicles of Count Antonio’ is the best work that Mr. Hope -has yet done. The design is clearer, the workmanship more elaborate, the style more -colored.... The incidents are most ingenious, they are told quietly, but with great -cunning, and the Quixotic sentiment which pervades it all is exceedingly pleasant.”—<cite>Westminster -Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy of his former -books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment and a healthy exaltation of the -spirits by every one who takes it up.”—<cite>The Scotsman.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A gallant tale, written with unfailing freshness and spirit.”—<cite>London Daily -Telegraph.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the most fascinating romances written in English within many days. The -quaint simplicity of its style is delightful, and the adventures recorded in these ‘Chronicles -of Count Antonio’ are as stirring and ingenious as any conceived even by Weyman -at his best.”—<cite>New York World.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Romance of the real flavor, wholly and entirely romance, and narrated in true romantic -style. The characters, drawn with such masterly handling, are not merely pictures -and portraits, but statues that are alive and step boldly forward from the canvas.”—<cite>Boston -Courier.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Told in a wonderfully simple and direct style, and with the magic touch of a man -who has the genius of narrative, making the varied incidents flow naturally and rapidly -in a stream of sparkling discourse.”—<cite>Detroit Tribune.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Easily ranks with, if not above, ‘A Prisoner of Zenda.’... Wonderfully strong, -graphic, and compels the interest of the most blasé novel reader.”—<cite>Boston Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count Antonio.... -The author knows full well how to make every pulse thrill, and how to hold his readers -under the spell of his magic.”—<cite>Boston Herald.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A book to make women weep proud tears, and the blood of men to tingle with -knightly fervor.... In ‘Count Antonio’ we think Mr. Hope surpasses himself, as he -has already surpassed all the other story-tellers of the period.”—<cite>New York Spirit of -the Times.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE REDS OF THE MIDI.</cite></span> An Episode of the -French Revolution. By <span class='sc'>Félix Gras</span>. Translated from the -Provençal by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Catharine A. Janvier</span>. With an Introduction -by <span class='sc'>Thomas A. Janvier</span>. With Frontispiece. 12mo. -Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>M. Félix Gras is the official head of the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>Félibrige</em></span>, the society of Provençal men of -letters, the highest honor in their gift. It is believed that the introduction of his rare -talent to our readers will meet with prompt appreciation.</p> - -<p class='c020'>“In all French history there is no more inspiring episode than that with which M. -Gras deals in this story: the march to Paris and the doings in Paris of that Marseilles -Battalion made up of men who were sworn to cast down ‘the tyrant,’ and who ‘knew -how to die.’ His epitome of the motive power of the Revolution in the feelings of one -of its individual pleasant parts is the very essence of simplicity and directness. His -method has the largeness and clearness of the Greek drama. The motives are distinct. -The action is free and bold. The climax is inevitable, and the story has a place entirely -apart from all the fiction of the French Revolution with which I am acquainted.”—<em>From -Mr. Janvier’s Introduction.</em></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE GODS, SOME MORTALS, AND LORD -WICKENHAM.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>John Oliver Hobbes</span>. With Portrait. -12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“Mrs. Craigie has taken her place among the novelists of the day. It is a high -place and a place apart. Her method is her own, and she stands not exactly on the -threshold of a great career, but already within the temple of fame.”—<em>G. W. Smalley, -in the Tribune.</em></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Here is the sweetness of a live love story.... It is to be reckoned among the -brilliants as a novel.”—<cite>Boston Courier.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the most refreshing novels of the period, full of grace, spirit, force, feeling, -and literary charm.”—<cite>Chicago Evening Post.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Clever and cynical, full of epigrams and wit, bright with keen delineations of -character, and with a shrewd insight into life.”—<cite>Newark Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A novel of profound psychological knowledge and ethical import.... Worthy -of high rank in current fiction.”—<cite>Boston Beacon.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>MAELCHO.</cite></span> By the Hon. <span class='sc'>Emily Lawless</span>, author -of “Grania,” “Hurrish,” etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“A paradox of literary genius. It is not a history, and yet has more of the stuff of -history in it, more of the true national character and fate, than any historical monograph -we know. It is not a novel, and yet fascinates us more than any novel.”—<cite>London -Spectator.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Abounds in thrilling incidents.... Above and beyond all, the book charms by -reason of the breadth of view, the magnanimity, and the tenderness which animate the -author.”—<cite>London Athenæum.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A piece of work of the first order, which we do not hesitate to describe as one of -the most remarkable literary achievements of this generation.”—<cite>Manchester Guardian.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>SLEEPING FIRES.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>George Gissing</span>, author of -“In the Year of Jubilee,” “Eve’s Ransom,” etc. 16mo. Cloth, -75 cents.</p> - -<p class='c028'>In this striking story the author has treated an original motive with rare self-command -and skill. His book is most interesting as a story, and remarkable as a literary -performance.</p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>STONEPASTURES.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>Eleanor Stuart</span>. 16mo. -Cloth, 75 cents.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“This is a strong bit of good literary workmanship.... The book has the value -of being a real sketch of our own mining regions, and of showing how, even in the apparently -dull round of work, there is still material for a good bit of literature.”—<cite>Philadelphia -Ledger.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>COURTSHIP BY COMMAND.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>M. M. Blake</span>. -16mo. Cloth, 75 cents.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“A bright, moving study of an unusually interesting period in the life of Napoleon, -... deliciously told; the characters are clearly, strongly, and very delicately modeled, -and the touches of color most artistically done. ‘Courtship by Command’ is the -most satisfactory Napoleon bonne-bouche we have had.”—<cite>New York Commercial -Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE WATTER’S MOU’.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>Bram Stoker</span>. -l6mo. Cloth, 75 cents.</p> -<p class='c028'>“Here is a tale to stir the most sluggish nature.... It is like standing on the -deck of a wave-tossed ship; you feel the soul of the storm go into your blood.”—<cite>N. Y. -Home Journal.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The characters are strongly drawn, the descriptions are intensely dramatic, and the -situations are portrayed with rare vividness of language. It is a thrilling story, told -with great power.”—<cite>Boston Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>MASTER AND MAN.</cite></span> By Count <span class='sc'>Leo Tolstoy</span>. -With an Introduction by <span class='sc'>W. D. Howells</span>. 16mo. Cloth, 75 -cents.</p> -<p class='c028'>“Crowded with these characteristic touches which mark his literary work.”—<cite>Public -Opinion.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Reveals a wonderful knowledge of the workings of the human mind, and it tells a -tale that not only stirs the emotions, but gives us a better insight into our own hearts.”—<cite>San -Francisco Argonaut.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><span class='large'><cite>THE ZEIT-GEIST.</cite></span> By <span class='sc'>L. Dougall</span>, author of -“The Mermaid,” “Beggars All,” etc. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents.</p> -<p class='c028'>“One of the best of the short stories of the day.”—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the most remarkable novels of the year.”—<cite>New York Commercial -Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Powerful in conception, treatment, and influence.”—<cite>Boston Globe.</cite></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TWO REMARKABLE AMERICAN NOVELS.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c027'><cite><span class='large'>THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE.</span> An Episode -of the American Civil War.</cite> By <span class='sc'>Stephen Crane</span>. 12mo. -Cloth, $1.00.</p> -<p class='c028'>“Mr. Stephen Crane is a great artist, with something new to say, and consequently -with a new way of saying it.... In ‘The Red Badge of Courage’ Mr. -Crane has surely contrived a masterpiece.... He has painted a picture that challenges -comparisons with the most vivid scenes of Tolstoy’s <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">‘La Guerre et la Paix’</span> or -of Zola’s ‘La Débâcle.’”—<cite>London New Review.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“In its whole range of literature we can call to mind nothing so searching in its -analysis, so manifestly impressed with the stamp of truth, as ‘The Red Badge of -Courage.’... A remarkable study of the average mind under stress of battle.... -We repeat, a really fine achievement.”—<cite>London Daily Chronicle.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Not merely a remarkable book; it is a revelation.... One feels that, with perhaps -one or two exceptions, all previous descriptions of modern warfare have been the -merest abstractions.”—<cite>St. James Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Holds one irrevocably. There is no possibility of resistance when once you are -in its grip, from the first of the march of the troops to the closing scenes.... Mr. -Crane, we repeat, has written a remarkable book. His insight and his power of realization -amount to genius.”—<cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it in the vivid, uncompromising, -almost aggressive vigor with which it depicts the strangely mingled conditions -that go to make up what men call war.... Mr. Crane has added to American -literature something that has never been done before, and that is, in its own peculiar -way, inimitable.”—<cite>Boston Beacon.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well depicted.... -The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all aglow with color, movement, -and vim. The style is as keen and bright as a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done -nothing better in this line.”—<cite>Chicago Evening Post.</cite></p> - -<p class='drop-capa0_1_0_4 c029'><cite><span class='large'>IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING.</span> A Romance of -the American Revolution.</cite> By <span class='sc'>Chauncey C. Hotchkiss</span>. -12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.</p> - -<p class='c028'>“The whole story is so completely absorbing that you will sit far into the night to -finish it. You lay it aside with the feeling that you have seen a gloriously true picture -of the Revolution.”—<cite>Boston Herald.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The story is a strong one—a thrilling one. It causes the true American to flush -with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter until the eyes smart; and it fairly -smokes with patriotism.”—<cite>New York Mail and Express.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“The heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking part in the scenes described.... -Altogether the book is an addition to American literature.”—<cite>Chicago Evening -Post.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“One of the most readable novels of the year.... As a love romance it is charming, -while it is filled with thrilling adventure and deeds of patriotic daring.”—<cite>Boston -Advertiser.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“This romance seems to come the nearest to a satisfactory treatment in fiction of -the Revolutionary period that we have yet had.”—<cite>Buffalo Courier.</cite></p> - -<p class='c020'>“A clean, wholesome story, full of romance and interesting adventure.... Holds -the interest alike by the thread of the story and by the incidents.... A remarkably -well-balanced and absorbing novel.”—<cite>Milwaukee Journal.</cite></p> - -<p class='c016'><a id='endnote'></a></p> -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'>Transcriber’s Note</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.</p> - -<table class='table1' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='12%' /> -<col width='69%' /> -<col width='18%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c012'><a id='c_76.21'></a><a href='#corr76.21'>76.21</a></td> - <td class='c012'>she [give] that young lady</td> - <td class='c033'><em>sic</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'><a id='c_116.1'></a><a href='#corr116.1'>116.1</a></td> - <td class='c012'>the <cite>Free Press</cite>[,] the <cite>Hindu Patriot</cite>, the <cite>Bengalee</cite></td> - <td class='c033'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'><a id='c_160.20'></a><a href='#corr160.20'>160.20</a></td> - <td class='c012'>afternoo[o]n still hung mellow in mid air</td> - <td class='c033'>Removed.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'><a id='c_207.3'></a><a href='#corr207.3'>207.3</a></td> - <td class='c012'>as lovely, a[s] embarrassing as divine.</td> - <td class='c033'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c012'><a id='c_281.9'></a><a href='#corr281.9'>281.9</a></td> - <td class='c012'>and occupied herself with the[n/m]</td> - <td class='c033'>Replaced.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's His Honour, and a Lady, by Mrs. Everard Cotes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY *** - -***** This file should be named 53036-h.htm or 53036-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/3/53036/ - -Produced by KD Weeks, Larry B. 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