In Old Madras

By B. M. Croker

"When you've 'eard the East a-calling
You never 'eed nought else."
KIPLING.

LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

WHAT SHE OVERHEARD
THE SERPENT'S TOOTH
A RASH EXPERIMENT
THE YOUNGEST MISS MOWBRAY

IN OLD MADRAS

CHAPTER I

A heavy tropical surf boomed on the shingle, with the precision and monotony of minute guns, and a fierce clammy breeze raged from the sea, where Massulah boats and small shipping rocked uneasily. The same wind, circulating inland, drove whirling clouds of brick-red dust through Madras City, and vigorously swept the long Mount Road,—ere it died with a whisper, among distant paddy fields.

By ten o'clock on this detestable morning, all troops had returned to barracks, signallers and golfers deserted the Island, riding-parties were no longer abroad, but under languid punkahs, or tireless electric fans, the military, civil, and mercantile element were still actively engaged.

Among the latter, the wealthy house of Brown, Brown and Co. stood prominent as one of the oldest firms in India.

Established in the humble early days of John Company, it had acquired name and fame, expanded and flourished. Undisturbed by wars, unshaken by mutinies, or famine, its grim, hard-featured offices continued to frown upon the first line of beach. Possibly those storm-beaten walls, and gloomy flagged passages, had echoed to the voice and footsteps of a visitor from "Writer's Buildings"—the future hero of Arcot and Plassy, a junior clerk, named Robert Clive. Who knows?

At present, within the inhospitable waiting-room (a lofty slate-coloured apartment, with heavily barred windows), a well set-up young Englishman was unnecessarily pacing the worn cocoanut matting. His thin cashmere suit, and Panama hat, indicated the recent efforts of a London tailor to cope with a warm climate. The white-covered umbrella which he carried in his hand was also new—indeed, its owner himself was new to the country, having arrived the previous evening.

At the moment, the stranger was impatiently awaiting an interview with the acting representatives of Brown and Brown—but apparently these were in no hurry to receive him.

Meanwhile, in a spacious inner office, Mr. Fleming, a stout, sleek personage with a bald head and heavy face, had been handed a visiting-card by his partner Mr. Parr—a shrivelled little gentleman, known indifferently as "Monkey Parr," or "Old Nick," for Anglo-India delights in nicknames.

"Captain Mallender, Army and Navy Club," he read aloud, then staring hard at his companion, gave a low and distinctly unofficial whistle.

"Oh, yes," responded Mr. Parr, removing his pince-nez with a decisive click. "Same name, same club. I can tell you, that it gave me a nasty shock; but, of course, here is the heir, now his father is dead, come out to nose about, and make enquiries."

"He may enquire till he's blue—he will find that he has undertaken a fool's errand. Why can't the young ass leave well alone?" demanded Mr. Fleming testily.

"Because he doesn't believe things are well," sharply rejoined his partner.

"And intends to better them, eh? If he is not mighty careful, he will lose his half-loaf; and anyway it's a deuced nuisance; a very awkward business—we shall have the fellow in and out all day, bothering for information."

"Well, he won't get it!" declared Mr. Fleming. "Let's send for him, and see what he is like? Here, Parsons!" he shouted to a pallid clerk; "just ask the gentleman to step this way."

In less than two minutes, the said gentleman, alert, well-groomed, and self-possessed, was bowing to the firm.

"Very glad to see you, Captain Mallender," lied Mr. Parr, the more prominent of the partners. "Just arrived, find it rather sultry, eh?"

"Yes," agreed the caller in a pleasant manly voice, "it's a bit of a change from an English winter—can't say much for your climate!"

"Won't you take a chair?" suavely suggested Mr. Fleming. "I suppose you have come out with the usual battery of rifles, to shoot big game?"

"Shoot big game! No," replied Mallender, as he seated himself, placed his hat carefully beside him on the dusty matting, and then in a clear decided tone, promptly announced his mission. "The fact is, I'm here to make enquiries about my Uncle and namesake, an officer in the Blue Hussars, who disappeared mysteriously about thirty years ago, when camping up in Coorg."

Mr. Parr nodded gravely, and considered the speaker with a sharp appraising eye—a veritable rat's eye. His partner merely exhibited a detached and judicial attitude, as he twisted the visitor's card between his bleached, fat fingers.

"He was supposed to have been drowned in the Cauvery, or carried off by a tiger," continued the young man, "and after the family had put on mourning, and the step had gone in the regiment, he wrote to my father, to say that although dead to the world, he was still in the land of the living—I have this letter in my possession."

Here the speaker hesitated for a moment, and looked expectantly at his audience; but the representatives of the house of Brown and Brown maintained an unsympathetic and professional silence, only broken by the ticking of a typewriter, and the creaking of a punkah.

"The letter," resumed Mallender, "stated that my Uncle would draw half his income through your firm, the other half would be paid to my father, as the price of his silence; and on condition that he made no attempt to trace his brother, or allowed it to be known that he was still alive. After considerable reluctance and delay, my father agreed. You follow me?"

"Oh, yes—we follow you," assented Mr. Fleming, with a bland calmness, almost feline in its composure.

"My father died two months ago; before the end, he told me of the existence of his brother and the source of the greater part of his income; he also spoke of his promise—a promise he deeply regretted. However, a pledge given before I was born has no hold on me. If my Uncle is alive, I am determined to find him, and speak to him face to face."

Having made this declaration, Captain Mallender paused, and leaning on the knob of his umbrella, gravely contemplated his companions.

"Ah, so that's your plan!" exclaimed Mr. Fleming, as he dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief—he suffered severely from heat.

"Have you seen my Uncle since he wrote that letter?" inquired Mallender.

"No. We have never seen him, and we cannot tell you anything about him," was the brusque and unsatisfactory reply.

"But I presume you know where he is to be found? You must have some address?"

"Which we are bound never to divulge; and in your case, my dear sir, is it not imprudent to risk the loss of four thousand a year—in fact, most of your income?"

Mr. Parr broke off dramatically, in order to allow the fact to soak into the mind of this good-looking lunatic.

"Possibly you may not be disturbed in the house or park," supplemented his partner, "but it is from sound investments that the bulk of the money comes. Formerly, interest was higher, but securities fluctuate. We have done our best—yes, we have done our best."

Here Mr. Fleming folded his hands across his capacious cummerbund, and assumed an expression of benign satisfaction.

"Oh, your best, of course," quickly assented Mallender. "I did not come out here with an eye to money. What brought me to India was to find my Uncle," and his umbrella struck the matting with such a vigorous thump, that it raised a little puff of dust. "I have my own ideas. I've given this business a great deal of—er—consideration, and I don't mind telling you, I firmly believe my Uncle to be dead, and that some infernal scoundrel is impersonating him, and living on half his fortune. Our share was just a bribe to shut our mouths and stifle inquiries. Now," suddenly appealing to Mr. Parr, "what do you say?"

"Well, Captain Mallender," and he gave a laugh of ironical amusement, "if I must give an opinion, I say, that your idea would make a valuable plot for a sixpenny shocker, but that is all there is in it."

"There is everything in it," replied the young man forcibly. "By all accounts my Uncle was remarkable for his high spirits and energy, a keen soldier—but not attached to the East. He heard the West a-calling, and was always looking forward to returning home; his letters were full of it. I've read them myself. So I ask you why—if alive—he should cut adrift from all he cared for, and bury himself in a country that he loathed?"

"Yes, yes, I must admit there is something in what you say," conceded Mr. Parr. "He was a handsome, headstrong, young officer. I saw him once, in this very office, when I was a junior—but—but——" and he pursed up his thin purple lips, "things happen, changes take place in people's characters, as well as in their constitutions. We have all to reckon with the unexpected; at any rate, we have Captain Mallender's instructions, and in his handwriting."

"Ah, probably a forgery! By all accounts, a highly cultivated native art."

"There is no question of imposture," rejoined Mr. Parr emphatically.

"I am afraid I must differ with you. I believe there has been foul play, and I am determined to remain in India, till I have got to the bottom of this affair."

As the man of business listened to this announcement, his whole expression changed oddly, his withered face seemed to tighten—but in another second the look had faded.

"Can you give me any particulars?" resumed Mallender.

"Oh, yes, I can certainly do that," acquiesced Mr. Parr now, clearing his throat, and crossing a pair of startlingly thin legs. "The simple facts were these. Captain Mallender and two brother officers went on a shooting trip from Bangalore in the beginning of the hot weather, 1881. They worked up through Mysore, into Coorg; one morning shortly before their leave expired, Captain Mallender's tent was found to be empty—the bed had not been slept in, his belongings were scattered about, a novel and a half-written letter lay open beside his cigar-case. Apparently, he had gone for a stroll before turning in. They said he was a restless young fellow, always eager to be doing something: fishing, bathing, shooting, exploring, and twice as active as his comrades; it looked as if he had wandered out, on one of his erratic rambles, and come to an untimely end. Some thought, he had been drowned in the Cauvery, but his body was not recovered—and dead or alive, he was never seen again."

"No, of course not!" assented his nephew with significant emphasis.

"Such disappearances are not altogether unknown," supplemented Mr. Fleming, with an air of imparting instruction to juvenile ignorance. "Oriental life has an irresistible fascination for some natures; the glamour, the relief from convention and the tyranny of the starched collar, the lure of attractive and voluptuous women, idleness, ease, luxury, drugs! I could tell you of an officer who went crazy about a beautiful Kashmeri, and actually abandoned his regiment and his nationality, in order to live as a native! Twice his friends came from England to fetch him home, and each time he escaped—even at the eleventh hour in Bombay, plunged into the bazaars, hid his identity, and was lost, in every sense!"

"I'll swear my Uncle wasn't that sort," protested Mallender. "He was a sportsman, and as hard as nails; a soft sleepy existence among divans and hukas, would never appeal to him. I am absolutely convinced, that he was decoyed out of his tent, and murdered; and as I've already told you, I do not intend to return home, till I have unravelled the mystery, and run the impostor to ground—to this I stick!" and once more he thumped his umbrella, and disturbed the dust of weeks.

"Then in that case, I'm afraid you will make a lifelong stay in India," rejoined Mr. Parr—smiling as one smiles at the absurd pretensions of a child.

"Perhaps so," assented the young man shortly; "I intend to see this affair through—and my time is now my own. I conclude that you feel bound not to assist me, or give me the name of the town where the letters are posted?"

"Oh, no objection, Captain Mallender, no objection whatever," Mr. Fleming responded with effusion; "the letters are posted in different places all over the country, within, say, a radius of four hundred miles. For instance, we may receive one communication from Georgetown here in Madras, the next from Bangalore, from an obscure post office in the hills, or a remote village in the plains. Let me think: the last was from a railway station called Erode—so you see, my dear sir, that your Uncle's movements are erratic, and his address is vague. Accept a piece of absolutely disinterested advice," and here the speaker tendered a soft, empty hand. "You will do no good out here, you will only waste time and money, without results. Give up the quest, and return home!"

"No," and Mallender's eyes flashed. "What you say more than ever convinces me that the man who writes to you is a criminal, who goes in abject fear of his life, and is hiding from justice."

"Oh, very well, Captain Mallender, very well!" gobbled Mr. Fleming, and his tone was throaty and offended, "there is no more to be said—it is not our business to argue; we merely state facts. You say, you have no doubt that your relative is dead. You may also rest assured, that from the day it is made known to our client that you are determined to trace him—the allowance, as paid through our firm, will cease."

"Well, I'll take all risks," declared this rash adventurer. "And there is one thing I can promise you. I intend to put the fear of death into your—er—correspondent! Some fellows come out to India for what they call 'Shikar'; this business is my shikar—instead of bison, tiger, or elephants—and mind you, it's not Uncle I am bent on tracking, but your unseen client, the murderous ruffian who impersonates him!" Then, rising after a somewhat prolonged and hostile silence:

"Gentlemen, I see you are not disposed to wish me luck, so I must do my best to worry through alone. I shall call on you before I leave the country, and I'll let you know if I have any success. All letters to the Bank of Madras will be forwarded."

An extraordinary snorting noise, and the waving of a fin-like hand, was the only adieu vouchsafed by Mr. Fleming, but his partner jerked himself out of his seat, and said:

"All right, Captain Mallender, and I make no doubt that if you persist in your 'shikar,' we shall be communicating with you at an early date."

"Oh, you mean about the money? So be it," and with a hasty farewell, the visitor effected a rapid exit, ran down the worn stone stairs, flung himself into his gharry, and commanded the driver to take him to the Brigade Office in St. George's Fort.

Meanwhile Mr. Fleming lay back in his office chair, mopping his glistening pink face, and gasped out:

"That young fellow is going to give trouble!"

To which unpleasant suggestion, his companion calmly replied:

"Trouble for himself—yes! He will burn his fingers badly, without money he is tethered, and cannot move far. I bet you what you like," rapping his glasses on the desk, "that we shall have him here before the rains borrowing the coin to take him to England."

CHAPTER II

Colonel Frederick Tallboys, Mallender Tallboys, to give him his complete name, held a high official appointment, and occupied suitable quarters in St. George's Fort. He belonged to a distant branch of the Mallender family, was head of a department, and the husband of a wealthy and worshipping wife. All his life—now numbering over fifty years—"Freddy" had been steady, hard-working, and far-seeing; passed his examinations creditably,—if without distinction,—and from an English regiment entered the good old Madras Staff Corps, and worked his way up from adjutant to wing officer, till he had at last succeeded in climbing into a comfortable berth in the secretariat.

His climb was possibly accelerated by an attractive personality, a buoyant manner, and a remarkable skill in horsemanship. For years "Freddy T." had been the most notable gentleman rider in the Presidency; indeed, such was his fame, that it extended to Lucknow, the Punjab, and had even oozed into far Cashmere; but now, this wise little man had discarded his racing colours, and was resting on well-earned laurels.

"Freddy T." was short, well-made, and remarkably dapper, with a pair of twinkling grey eyes—eyes quick to notice a misplaced badge, a woman's dress, or a breach of etiquette. He had a handsome nose, an imposing moustache, was always admirably turned-out, and carried his well-groomed upright person with considerable dignity. In spite of certain insignificant foibles—a hot temper, and a vein of dogged obstinacy, he was popular all over the Presidency. Most people had a cordial word for "Freddy T.," who was known to be a smart officer, and as influential and good-natured as he was straight, and safe! During his years of expatriation, Tallboys had never lost his interest in Mallender of Mallender—the head of his house; unfortunately, like other old families, the race was now almost extinct. Geoffrey was the last of the direct line, and failing him, and an aged and decrepit cousin, this high official in Madras Fort was the next heir! But it was not on this account that Colonel Tallboys' interest in the family had been kept alight. As a raw youth from Bedford and Sandhurst, he had visited at Mallender, and never forgotten the charm and kindness of his lovely hostess; or how she had talked to, drawn out, and encouraged, a callow, awkward boy; the wise and witty things she said to him in those far-off days were still green in his memory; for her he had broken the ice of his reserve, and imparted to Mollie Mallender many opinions and aspirations that were withheld from his own widowed mother,—a helpless, faded lady, who spent half her days in bed, reading novelettes—the other half in bemoaning her health, her fate, and her servants. But this exquisite Irish cousin with her brilliant complexion, irresistible charm, eloquent dark eyes, and impulsive manner, was a divinity to whom the stiff shy youth immediately surrendered his heart and confidence. Cousin Mollie gave him self-respect, wise advice, courage, and an everlasting reverence for all womenkind—her sisters. In a secret pocket in his battered dressing-case (known only to his bearer) there still reposed a little gold pencil-case, her gift, and several old and well-worn letters. Mrs. Mallender's influence was far-reaching, and radiated over two parishes; her generosity, energy, and high spirits were infectious. The prim old-fashioned "Court" became the centre of activity and gaiety. Edgar Mallender himself,—inclined to be misanthropic and morose,—expanded in such domestic sunshine, and took a prominent part in county business, and the affairs of his tenants and property; ably maintaining the family traditions, until the sudden death of his adorable wife. After this crushing loss, he became a changed man, declaring that a light had gone out, and left him for the rest of his life in outer darkness. Gradually, he sank from the sight of his neighbours, neglected his estates and his duties, and lived among his books, his memories, and his servants, the life of an eccentric, and recluse.

The most ardent flatterer could not pretend that Colonel Tallboys looked "good-natured" this morning, as he sat before his big office table, gold spectacles on nose, reading a private letter; it was one which Geoffrey Mallender had despatched the week before he left for India, and as his relative perused it, his eyebrows knit, till they almost met over the bridge of his well-shaped nose; obviously he became every moment more and more astonished and annoyed. This missive said:

"I have decided to take up the question of my Uncle's disappearance, and to thoroughly investigate the case."

"The boy's mad!" muttered Colonel Tallboys, as he hastily whirled over a page.

"I am starting for Madras by the next mail, and hope to arrive a week after you receive this."

"Why," glancing at the date, "it missed the mail. He may be here to-day—Good Lord!"

"I will look you up at once," continued the writer, "and trust you will give me a helping hand, as you know the Presidency so well."

"Stark staring mad!" exclaimed Colonel Tallboys, pushing away the letter with a gesture of irritation. "Never heard of such an idea, never. Help!" The words seemed to choke him. "Well, I must put all this bother out of my head, and set to work," and he reached for a large bundle of official documents, in which he became speedily absorbed.

For an hour, he sat intent on his correspondence, glancing through papers, and making pencil notes; suddenly there was a sound of steps, and talking, he heard the door open, and a young and cheerful voice saying:

"All right, thanks, give Colonel Tallboys my card."

It was Geoffrey. He sprang to his feet, tore off his glasses, and turned to receive him.

"Hullo, Geoff!" shaking him warmly by the hand, "I'm glad to see you. Do you know, I only got your letter an hour ago—and so you have come out!"

"Yes, here I am."

Colonel Tallboys surveyed his kinsman with critical appraisement—in his opinion, appearance ranked high. A well-bred, well set-up young fellow, with the clear-cut Mallender nose, and his mother's dark eyes. Yes. An excellent specimen of the average good-looking Englishman!

"I've not seen you for years. How long ago is it?"

"Not since you came down to Eton on the 4th of June, and gave me a jolly good tip."

"Did I?—ha! ha! You have a long memory. Well, where are you staying? Or did you come straight from the station?"

"No; I arrived last night. I'm at a pot-house that calls itself 'Hotel St. George,' and reeks of rancid cocoanut oil. My driver introduced me."

"Good Lord, it's in Blacktown! I beg its pardon—Georgetown! Of course, you come to us at once. I'll send over a fellow to pack, and bring your kit. We are pretty full, as this is the season, but Fanny will find you a corner."

"Oh, don't you bother about me," protested his cousin, "I'm only going to stop in Madras for two or three days, just to see you, get the hang of the country, and benefit of your experience—I expect you can give me lots of tips, and I want to arrange about money and letters, before I go off on my travels!"

"But, my dear boy," said Colonel Tallboys, sitting down as he spoke, and pointing to a chair, "you don't mean to tell me, that you are really serious about this business? You are not in earnest, in starting on such a wild-goose chase?"

"But of course I am, and in deadly earnest; that is what brought me out here, in the middle of the hunting season."

The young fellow with his mother's eyes, and her impulsive and warm-hearted nature, had also inherited his father's square jaw, and (cold thought) possibly been cursed with Edgar's stubborn will,—and curious strain of eccentricity!

For a few seconds Colonel Tallboys surveyed his visitor in grave speculative silence. At last he said:

"Well, look here, Geoffrey; you may as well spend two or three weeks with us, and see how the poor benighted Presidency enjoys itself? There are a couple of balls, a big gymkhana, and the polo tournament coming off. This is our cold weather."

"Is it?" and he laughed ironically. "Well, I'm glad you mentioned it!"

"Of course this is a particularly nasty day! Don't sample us by a beastly long-shore wind. By the by, you play polo—your regiment had a strong team. I used to see your name in matches. I'll find you ponies."

"It's most awfully good of you, Cousin Fred; polo and dances are all right—but you know what I'm out for, and they are not my job."

"No, but after a lapse of thirty years, a few weeks one way or the other can't possibly matter, and Fanny and I would be mortally hurt if you start off without paying us a visit. We want to get to know you—and you want to get to know something of this blessed old country."

As the young man looked half persuaded he continued:

"Anyway, my dear fellow, you will never find your Uncle, and you may take my word for it. I've not lived out here for twenty-nine years without knowing what I am talking about. Now tell me something about yourself, and Mallender, and your poor father."

"Oh, yes! Well, you see, he had been ailing the last five years—the result of a bad fall from his horse—and he was greatly changed latterly. He could not bear to see anyone, would lie all day staring before him, and took no interest in any mortal thing!"

"No, not since your mother died, that I can well understand. You remember her, of course?"

The next moment Colonel Tallboys, who was proud of his tact, could have kicked himself. Why, the boy was fifteen when she died! Geoffrey made no reply, but he suddenly looked down, and his face seemed to quiver, and go white.

"What a lovely face! yes, and a lovely soul! There never was anyone like her." The speaker's voice sounded a little husky.

From the moment this sentence fell from his lips, Geoffrey entertained another feeling,—a sudden warm glow of personal affection,—for his dapper little kinsman, and instantly made up his mind to accept the invitation to spend some weeks in his company.

"And what does the old place look like now?" resumed Colonel Tallboys in a livelier key.

"It looks frightfully dilapidated. You see, the pater let things slide—the grounds, and the gardens, and the shooting. He only occupied a few rooms, and the rest of the house was given up to rats and damp; the paper was peeling off the walls, the roof leaked like a sieve, and drains required to be overhauled. I'm getting the house done up."

"That will cost you a pretty penny!"

"Yes, I'm afraid so—it will mop up all my bit of capital."

"And so you chucked the service at seven-and-twenty! How was that?"

"Well, you see, my father made a point of it; the regiment was ordered to Egypt, and I could not get much leave, and anyway, I was all he had; but I don't mind telling you, Cousin Fred, that it was a wrench—I was most desperately sorry to go. Those bugles this morning in the Fort gave me—er—a horrible lump in my throat. Now I want to talk to you, if I am not taking up too much of your time."

"My time is my own," rejoined the little man rather grandly, "and anyway, it's not every day I have a call from you, Geoff."

"Then look here," tilting his chair nearer, "it's about this business—I want to know your opinion about Uncle Geoffrey."

"My opinion is, that he is dead—dead as a door-nail this thirty years," replied Colonel Tallboys with prompt decision.

"He certainly was not dead twenty-nine years ago, and supposing for the sake of argument he was still alive—I ask you just to look at the case from that point of view?"

"Possibly, but improbably, he got into some big scrape—and found it necessary to disappear."

"But by all accounts, he was straight as a die—no debts—no scandals," argued the young man.

"He is most certainly dead this many a day—or——" and the little Colonel pursed up his lips, and stonily contemplated the opposite wall.

"Or?" repeated Mallender eagerly.

"Oh, I could tell you queer stories. If Geoffrey is alive, I can solve the puzzle in six letters—'a woman.'"

"What—a black woman! Oh, rats! you're not serious? though I've been to Brown and Co., and they hinted at the same thing."

"You did not get much change out of them, did you?"

"No, but I gathered that the man who impersonates my Uncle moves about within a radius of three hundred miles, more or less—and if he is to be found, I mean to have a good try. I told the old boys quite plainly, and they did not like it, no, not a little bit. I left them with their hackles up." He paused abruptly, for Colonel Tallboys—who had been lounging in his chair, nursing a remarkably neat foot and ankle—now sat erect, stiff as a ramrod; his face had assumed an entirely different aspect, it wore the expression of the President of a district court martial, who listens to some vital and unexpected evidence.

"I give you my solemn word of honour, Geoffrey, that I have not the vaguest idea of what you are talking about—a man who impersonates your Uncle—did you say?"

"Oh, of course I forgot that you had not heard anything. My father never told me, till a few weeks before he died."

"Yes, yes, yes, go on," urged his listener impatiently.

"You will see all about it in this," now producing a pocket-book, from which he carefully extracted a thin flimsy letter. "Our lawyers at home know of this, so do Brown and Co., but no one else."

Colonel Tallboys resumed his spectacles, and slowly read and re-read the contents of a single sheet of paper. Here was the second startling episode, which had come before him that morning. As he studied the faded lines, he was thinking hard, and swiftly making up his mind. So Geoffrey the elder was alive, and Geoffrey the younger, in spite of his mandate, had come out to search for him—and thereby risk the loss of the whole of his income. Of course, such madness must be put a stop to: he would look after Mollie Mallender's boy, and save him from himself. With the alertness of a mental gymnast, his active and well-trained brain was already weaving schemes, and like a character in ancient melodrama he promptly decided to "dissemble."

"By Jove! so your Uncle is actually alive, and in India! I am completely bowled out—what an amazing thing!" As he tenderly refolded the frail letter he added: "Bazaar paper, and bazaar ink. I say! if you hunt him down, you forfeit four thousand a year, eh? It's rather a wild enterprise!"

"It would be if my Uncle were alive, but I believe this travelling criminal is the man who has made away with him."

"So you are determined to run your head against a brick wall—obstinacy is a family trait."

"If you call my father's last wish a brick wall, I am here to deal with it," and he sat back, as if to study the effect of his announcement.

"Oh, well, well, poor fellow," mumbled Colonel Tallboys, "no doubt he was in a weak state."

"Bodily, yes; but his mind was stronger than it had been for a long time. He had a vivid dream about his brother." Geoffrey paused and coloured, noticing his listener's expression of amused, but tolerant, disdain. "I say! you are not laughing, are you?"

"No, my dear boy—go on, go on."

"He said he saw him beckoning to him with one hand, whilst he held the other over his eyes—it was always the same dream—he dreamt it many times, and he felt, when he was helpless and dying, that he had made a mistake in not setting this letter aside, and coming straight out here; but, you see, he was in love with my mother, and there was the money, and other things, and so he stayed at home; but the affair preyed on his conscience more and more every year; till at last it became an obsession. Latterly, he could talk of nothing else; he said he was a miserable coward, who had deserted his only brother, and that my mother's death was his punishment; he worked himself up into a fearful state of excitement, and made me swear to undertake a duty in which he had failed."

"But God bless me, Geoffrey! there is this letter in black and white, forbidding any search—as plain as plain can be."

"Yes, but my father thought the letter was a forgery."

"What do Brown and Brown say?"

"They declare the letter to be genuine."

"Ah, and I agree with them! Your father's mind was undoubtedly unhinged by a long illness."

"But mine is not, Cousin Fred. At first, I must confess, I was rather reluctant to come out,—though, of course, I intended to keep my word; but by degrees, when I was all alone at Mallender, the idea grew upon me; I had no dreams, but I had the picture of Uncle Geoffrey always facing me in the dining-room—an oil-painting in uniform, done before he left England—and it seemed to me that he not only took his meals with me, but rode, and walked, and sat with me as well; and I knew I'd never shake off the delusion—if it was a delusion—till I had left no stone unturned out here—and here I am! I see you think I'm crazy? Stark mad. Eh?"

"And have you any plans?" asked his cousin abruptly.

"Not anything very definite. I know that my Uncle or his double is in this Presidency—within about three hundred miles of Madras City."

"Then what is your scheme? your proposed campaign? Surely you won't advertise in the press, and have every filthy European loafer claiming a beloved nephew, and howling on his neck?"

"Certainly not," replied Mallender, who looked a little nettled; "I consulted a firm of smart lawyers, as our own old stick-in-the-muds were dead against my trip, and they put me on to a private enquiry firm of the name of Jaffer, who live in the City of Hyderabad in the Deccan."

"By George, they must do a great business! The city is full of the bad characters of every nation, people, and tongue. Well, go on."

"And Jaffer and Co. believe they can help me; and say that a good many men disappear in India much in the same way; but, of course, they don't know it is not my Uncle I expect to find—I'm afraid you look upon me as a lunatic?"

"No, no. I see that you feel the claims of kinship as keenly as I do myself; but you are wrong in starting on this crazy quest. If your Uncle is alive—I believe he has gone native. Take my advice," and he looked full into Mallender's grave face, "let sleeping dogs lie."

"Not this sleeping dog!" rejoined the young man, with unexpected energy. "The clever brute who murdered my Uncle draws his money and forges his name!"

"Well, well, Geoffrey, the weather is far too muggy for argument, we must agree to differ. One thing is certain; you cannot go up-country as ignorant as a new-born Europe babe; you must give us a couple of months at least—till we start for the Neilgherries."

"It's most awfully kind of you; and I'd like to stay with you for a few weeks and learn a little experience."

"Then that's settled," said Colonel Tallboys aloud. To himself: "Fan will easily keep this headstrong fellow amused, perhaps entangle him in a matrimonial engagement, and drive this lunacy out of his head."

"Just one word more, my dear boy. For God's sake, don't let a soul know of your real reason for your trip to this country. If it ever got out, you'd be the laughing-stock of all Madras!"

At this painful announcement Geoffrey coloured up to his crisp brown hair.

"Come now," he continued, "put it before yourself impartially. What would you think of a fellow coming to India to hunt for a lost relative, when he had been expressly warned that if he made a search he would lose four thousand a year?"

"Yes, I admit that it sounds fairly mad; so I'll keep all particulars dark; but mad or not, nothing shall stop me—or choke me off!" declared Mallender with vehement sincerity.

"All right, all right, meanwhile we will give out that you are interested in coffee in Mysore, or gold mines—yes, that is best—it's more vague," added Colonel Tallboys, with a grin. "And now, the first thing to do is to find you a first-class boy."

"Boy?"

"A servant—a full-grown man; anything up to eighty years of age is a boy here. I know of one, Anthony, he speaks Telagu, Canarese, Tamil, English, and at a pinch French! He will cook for you, valet you, wait on you, and generally run you, and do for you—he is just out of a place—his master went home last mail."

"But I only want a smart, honest chap that can rough it a bit," protested the new-comer.

"Oh, Anthony has often been in camp, and on shooting trips; he is a capital servant. My bearer will get hold of him at once, and now I'll 'phone for the car, and take you to the Club for tiffin—there you shall taste for the first time in your life the real, true, and only prawn curry."

CHAPTER III

With a quick, assured step Colonel Tallboys led the way along matted corridors, past salaaming peons, to a fine Napier car, in which he and his guest seated themselves; and escorted by a roaring wind, and clouds of thick red dust, thundered through the Wallajah gate, and sped past the Island towards the hub of Madras—its far-famed Club.

"We are rather full just now, with a crowd down from Bangalore, and one or two of Fan's English friends; Sir William Bream, a distant cousin, and Mrs. Villars, a smart lady, doing India," explained Colonel Tallboys; "you won't mind if we stick you in a tent for a day or two, will you?"

"On the contrary, I shall enjoy it of all things—I like camp life."

"You mean the manœuvres at home, all rain and mud, galloping and shouting—my little camp is another sort of show. Well, here we are," as they glided into a vast compound and drew up at the Club entrance. "Come along," said Colonel Tallboys briskly, "this way to the dining-room."

As they went upstairs, and moved forward, Mallender's popular pioneer scattered friendly greetings here and there among his acquaintances, who did not fail to notice the good-looking stranger in his wake—undoubtedly a soldier, with an easy cavalry lounge. En route to a favourite table Colonel Tallboys encountered a particular chum, to whom he introduced his cousin, murmuring in a low aside:

"Just out from home—place under repair—come to have a look round before he settles."

When repeating this information to a neighbour the friend supplemented:

"He need not trouble himself; Mrs. Tallboys will undertake his settling, and marry him off out here!"

The prospect amused them, and they laughed heartily.

Tiffin was excellent, the prawn curry maintained its high reputation; Mallender, who had breakfasted on sour grey bread, buffalo butter, and bad coffee, was ravenously hungry, and thoroughly appreciated this his first genuine meal in India, served, too, in a cool, lofty dining-room, with tempered sea-breezes, and deft, white-clad waiters.

"A fine Club, is it not?" said Colonel Tallboys with the air of a proud proprietor. "The oldest in India; we can dine three hundred, the reading-room is the same size, now we have an annexe—a ladies' club—'The Morghi Khana'—where they assemble for tea, and bridge."

"You don't allow them in here! Eh?"

"No, these premises are sacred—we are uncommonly strict and exclusive. Do you notice the servants' quaint dress? Real old Madras fashion, and the quantities of chutney offered—another speciality—but soon you will know your way about, and become acquainted with our bar trick, and Saturday's prunes and cream."

When cheese and fruit had been despatched, a move was made to the great lounge; here, reclining in a long chair, they discovered a disconsolate young man, whose bowed head and limp attitude proclaimed some recent affliction.

"Hullo, Byng, you seem a bit off colour, what's up?" demanded Colonel Tallboys; "all the ponies gone lame, or dead?"

"Nearly as bad," answered Captain Byng—A.D.C. to His Excellency the Governor—as he rose and unfolded a tall, slim figure; "Grafton has broken his arm playing some fool's trick over the mess table, and he was our mainstay."

"By Jove, that's a calamity! But"—looking round—"here is a substitute for you; my cousin, Captain Mallender, who arrived yesterday, plays polo. Geoffrey, this is Captain Byng, captain of the Chaffinches."

"Mallender! You are Mallender of the Warlocks, I'm sure," said the A.D.C. eagerly. "You played back in the team; I've seen you at Barnes and Hurlingham,—this is a piece of luck!"

"But I'm quite out of practice," Mallender declared; "haven't had a stick in my hand for months! Besides, I've no ponies. You are very kind, but I'm no use."

Long before he had ceased to speak his protest was drowned in an animated duet between two voices, discussing ways and means.

Colonel Tallboys was anxious to secure a congenial occupation for his elusive guest, and Captain Byng, in this hard-hitting player, saw visions of victory instead of defeat. At least he was now assured of making a strong fight against the Chokras from Ooty and the famous Marauders from Bangalore.

Within three minutes the matter had been decided; Mallender's objections were offered to deaf ears; the question of ponies, practice, and, if it came to that, kit, was disposed of with almost contemptible ease!

"I'll expect you out at Guindy to practice to-morrow at six-thirty sharp," was Byng's authoritative announcement; "you shall try some jolly good ponies, Malabar and Chutney and Cossack—eh, Colonel? What's your weight?"

"Eleven stone—I'm afraid I put up something on board ship."

"Oh, you'll be all right; we have a nice ground in topping order, and our men are as keen as mustard. I," drawing a long breath, "breathe again."

Byng's enthusiasm proved infectious; Mallender, a lover of the game, soon threw himself into the subject with the zest and simplicity of a schoolboy, and listened with the profoundest interest to all particulars concerning the five competing teams.

"With a week's hard practice I might be useful," he admitted, "anyway, I'll do my very best. I suppose you play eight minutes a chukker?"

Colonel Tallboys, who had been a silent and attentive looker-on, now interposed.

"I say, Byng, I'll leave Mallender in your hands for racquets, billiards, and talk. I've got a heap of work to do, very important letters, and must get back to the office at once. Geoffrey, I'll call here for you at half-past five—or six. Keep your eye on him, Byng!" he added with a laugh as he hurried out of the smoking-room.

"Your cousin?" said Byng, as he offered a box of Trichis.

"Yes, one of my few relations—I've not seen him for fourteen years."

"Ah! I wish to goodness I could say the same of some of mine!" rejoined the A.D.C., throwing himself back in his luxurious club chair, and striking a match. "Let me tell you that your kinsman is a rare good sort—one of the real, sporting, open-handed lot that, I'm sorry to say, are getting a bit scarce. He does you rattling well, likes to have his house full—sometimes the guests overflow into tents! He's awfully popular, too, and it's not cupboard love! Latterly he has given up riding races, and his Missus bars polo; but he is a capital racquet player, and as for dancing, there isn't a girl in the place who wouldn't throw me over for a turn with him. You are staying there—Hooper's Gardens."

"Is that what it's called?"

"Yes, but mind you, it's not like our Grosvenor Gardens, or Chesterfield Gardens, at home; these houses—sort of nabobs' palaces—built by merchants in the Fort, were where they took refuge during the long-shore winds, such as we have to-day. There is a big dinner on to-night. By the way, you have seen Mrs. Tallboys?"

"No, not yet."

"One of the best! Awfully rich, but, bar the hospitality, you'd swear she had not a sou; keeps a sort of Home of Rest for Invalids, and a Matrimonial Agency for girls; what she gives to charity on the quiet would pay for a polo club—or run a racing stable."

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Mallender.

"Well, to-morrow I'll expect you out at Guindy, A.D.C.'s quarters. We will have a practice, you can write your name in the book, and in the cool of the evening I'll drive you in—how's that?"

"All right, you're very kind."

"Not a bit of it, you are going to get me out of a big hole. The season is in full swing, you are just in the nick of time."

"But I'm not here for society; I'm going up-country on—er—business."

"Not you!" with a derisive laugh. "Mrs. Tallboys will freeze on to you, you'll be one of her boys, she loves boys and girls, and is a shameless matchmaker, married off two of her own plain nieces—and both into the Civil Service! You'll find a wonderful atmosphere of joy and gladness about the house, such go, and good fellowship. By Jove, it flies to your head, and you have a near shave of losing it!"

"Then it's a risky place?"

"Rather; it ought to be marked with a red triangle, 'Dangerous to Bachelors.' Mrs. Tallboys has a knack of assembling original and amusing people, not to speak of the poor, and friendless. I believe she has a large assortment this week from Bangalore and Trichy. Among the collection is Mrs. Villars; she is jolly good-looking, one of the prettiest women I've ever set eyes on. I hope I shall take her in to dinner to-night."

"I hope you may," was the generous reply.

"Well, we can't sit here all day; it's too hot for racquets," said Byng, laying down the stump of his cigar; "shall we go and have a game of billiards?—I'll play you a hundred up."

CHAPTER IV

On his way to his office—and important correspondence—Colonel Tallboys made a long détour to Egmore, in order to advise, and take council with, Fanny his wife. Arrived at Hooper's Gardens, he ran up the marble stairs with enviable activity, and dashed into the boudoir, calling:

"Fan—Fan—I say, where are you, Fan?"

In immediate response, a door opened, and Mrs. Tallboys appeared; a stately figure, clad in a flowing white dressing-gown; yet, in spite of her deshabille, this lady must be accorded a formal, and particular introduction.

Ten years previously, when at home on leave, Major Tallboys elected to take the waters at Harrogate—more as a precaution than otherwise. Here, an idle stranger in the smoking-room of a great hotel, he foregathered with a good-looking, genial neighbour; he liked his face, approved his clothes, and admired his boots. They discussed the weather, racing, and forthcoming meetings, and finally drifted into that absorbing and dangerous mäelstrom—politics. Luckily they were of the same mind, and the unanimity of their opinions, the warmth of their convictions, and mutual detestations, firmly cemented the acquaintance. The agreeable stranger turned out to be Mr. Joseph Bond, a cotton broker from Liverpool, who subsequently presented Major Tallboys to his party. The party was composed of his wife, her sister, Mrs. Tubbs, and a cousin; the latter a pale, lank, dejected lady in mourning. Mrs. Bond and Mrs. Tubbs were of a different type; fine big women, boisterous, and loud of voice, who dressed in the last shriek of fashion, and smoked cigarettes at all hours of the day. When her hilarious companions departed for long motor trips, Miss Bond, abandoned to her own resources, sat reading or sewing in the lounge—or sedately paced the grounds in an unbecoming hat, heavily swathed in crêpe. Major Tallboys, confined to the town by the exigencies of a strict cure,—being naturally sociable and talkative,—made civil overtures to this neglected, and solitary damsel. His manner was attractive, his appearance prepossessing, and as the pair strolled about, he gathered that she had recently experienced a bereavement, and was now alone in the world.

For his part, the dapper little officer volunteered copious information respecting India, and his experiences; he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, whether on parade or otherwise, and in Fanny Bond found an eager, and enraptured listener. As her companion described the glories of the East, its dawns and sunsets, people and pleasures, and drew vivid pictures of marches up-country, and the racing triumphs and hair-breadth adventures of his youth, the lady's interest was gratifying and profound.

In an irresponsible burst of confidence she confided to him, that it had ever been the dream of her life to see the world, and, above all, India.

Day after day, these walks and monologues were prolonged. Her cousins, who had not failed to notice the said walks and talks, tormented their helpless victim with winks, nudges, and vulgar and incessant chaff, that made poor Fanny blush to tears.

When discussing family matters in the privacy of her bedroom, Mrs. Bond had said to her sister: "If the dandy little officer has taken a fancy to Fan—it will be a very good business!"

"Too good to be true," interjected Mrs. Tubbs. "No such luck."

"It's rather a puzzle to know what to do with her; she can't go back to that awful little house in Tranmere, and, besides, she's too young to live alone, and set up a cat and a parrot."

"Yes, poor thing, she's had a starved life, and is as timid as a mouse."

"No wonder, after her awful time with Uncle James," declared Mrs. Bond; "such pinching and screwing, and scolding, and badgering, as was never known. You leave the business to me, and I'll have a little talk with her friend, and let him know that Fan has a bit of money—and no near relations!"

In order to carry out her project, that same evening, after dinner, Major Tallboys' particular horror—the loudest and showiest of the sisters—invited him to come into the conservatory for a smoke, and tell her something about India.

He obeyed with prompt gallantry,—though secretly alarmed. This bold-eyed matron with a voice of brass had, undoubtedly, something up her sleeve.

After a few vague enquiries respecting heat, and snakes, Mrs. Bond, assuming a more confidential attitude, took the plunge.

"Do you know, Major Tallboys, you have made Cousin Fanny just crazy about India. Poor dear, she has seen so little of the world."

"So I gather from what she told me."

"I'll bet you a pair of gloves she never told you the reason," the lady went on impressively, "or that she has been a slave and a martyr to a terrible old father for ten years! Poor Fan was his drudge and nurse, and yet she never complained—though it was a dog's life."

"Some dogs haven't half a bad time," argued her companion (who was thinking of his own happy pack and their assiduous "dog boy").

"Not those that are chained in back yards," declared the matchmaker. "Fan was always on the chain."

"Did no one interfere?"

"What can you do, between a father and a daughter?—though he was a Pharaoh—not a father. Besides, we were all mortally afraid of Uncle James, and never went near him. His temper was something frightful—just like a tiger with the toothache!"

"How exceedingly unpleasant! Was he always in this deplorable condition?" enquired Major Tallboys.

"No, he lost a lot of money in some shipping firm, and that soured him for life. He dropped all his friends, and gave up a fine house in Prince's Park, Liverpool, and went over to a dingy little terrace in Tranmere. We never could make out, if he was very poor, or just a miser. I know, he only took a weekly paper, and gave Fan ten pounds a year to dress on. Now she is free, and her own mistress, she does not know what to do with her liberty, and believes she is grieving for the old man."

Here Mrs. Bond paused for breath, and to dab the stump of her cigarette in the ash-tray.

"His affairs were in a shocking state," she resumed, "one would think a monkey had kept his books; but my Joe says there will be a good bit of money, and that Fan will have between four and five hundred a year!"

Major Tallboys liked Fan for herself, and had hitherto believed her to be of the genus "poor relation." He noticed that she was the Cinderella of the family, who ran messages, was left out of expeditions, and evidently held of no account. Four or five hundred a year would be an agreeable addition to a major's pay and allowances. He chucked the end of his cigar into a shrub, and looked Mrs. Bond squarely in the face.

"And I tell you this," she continued eagerly, "Fan is the kindest, simplest, and most unselfish of women; whoever gets her"—patting his sleeve with a hateful significance—"will have the best of wives!"

"I am sure of that," he agreed in a studiously bland voice, but his air was cold and detached, his eyes gleamed frostily, under his somewhat heavy brows. He was fond of Fanny, but he had no intention of being managed and rushed by this great, blowsy woman, and abruptly turned the conversation by remarking:

"I see by the evening paper they have a heat wave in Berlin; how fortunate we are in our weather!"

"It was no go," the disconcerted matron whispered to her sister; "I did my big best, but he wouldn't rise—no, not even when I mentioned her income! He got quite lofty, and shut me up by talking of the weather. So now I can see Fan in our spare back, at Waterloo, for life; I shall charge her four guineas a week, and laundry. After all, she will be useful! Since Nan has her hair up she is a regular handful, and must have some sort of keeper or chaperone to take her to her classes in Liverpool."

"Nan is as clever as they make 'em, and no fool," remarked her aunt. "Pity she's so ugly," she added with that unaffected candour habitual among near relatives; "I'm afraid you'll never get her off—no more than Fan—she's so cocksey, and so blunt."

Meanwhile, behind a newspaper in the smoking-room, Major Tallboys was holding a serious mental debate. Of late, as he made his leisured and fastidious toilet, and preened himself before a glass, he noticed with grief and pain the deeper furrows in his forehead, and the whitening of his brown hair. Yes, he was getting on, and if he ever meant to marry, there was no time to be lost! His mind's eye cast a nervous glance towards the army of elderly and old men who rented rooms near the Club—their only home; men, without family ties or affection, their whole interest bounded by the daily press; desolate poor fellows, who were tended in sickness by a landlady, or a professional nurse, and passed out of life, unsped, and unwept.

Fanny Bond was amiable and sympathetic; amazingly well read too!—a free library had been her only solace and joy. Children and dogs adored her; her appreciation of himself was unquestionable! She had a slim, graceful figure, a certain amount of good looks—masses of dark hair, a pair of confiding brown eyes, slightly prominent, but otherwise perfect teeth. Her relatives however were a serious drawback;—in fact, Mrs. Bond's impudent interference had gone near to shattering her cousin's prospects—but down in his little battered heart there was a warm corner for Fanny; and a nice-looking, unselfish woman, with five hundred a year, was by no means to be despised.

Night brings wisdom, and the morning after his interview with Mrs. Joe, arrayed in a creaseless suit and wearing his most becoming tie, Major Tallboys invited Miss Bond "to come for a turn in the garden?" By degrees, he conducted the conversation to her favourite subject, travel.

"I believe we are going to Switzerland this winter," she announced, "and I cannot tell you how much I look forward to my first trip abroad."

The pair were now pacing a retired walk, overshadowed by a rustic pergola veiled in masses of pink roses,—one of the glories of the hotel garden. Major Tallboys, casting a searching glance over his surroundings, came to an abrupt halt. Although a ladies' man, and the hero of countless flirtations, the good-looking, agreeable little soldier was about to make his first serious proposal!

This resolution had been hardening in his mind ever since he had swallowed his early morning cup of tea.

"How would you like to go to India?" he enquired of his companion.

Colouring vividly, she exclaimed, "Oh, I should like it better than anything in the world, but I shall never get the chance!"

She looked surprisingly handsome, with her glowing cheeks, and soft dark eyes; the plain, ill-made alpaca entirely failed to conceal her slender grace.

"Well, Miss Bond," clearing his throat and looking at her steadily, "I offer you the chance here and now. Fanny, I am greatly attached to you—will you be my wife?" and he tendered a thin, sun-dried hand.

For a moment Fanny felt stunned; she stared at her suitor with stupefied incredulity, then burst into tears.

This sudden opening of the gates of the world and life, so far transcended her humble hopes. In spite of her cousins' crude and brutal chaff, Fanny had never thought of the Major's attentions as otherwise than the good-nature of an idle man, who noticed that she was forlorn, and a little out of it—the word "neglected" never occurred to her simple heart.

Tears such as Miss Bond's are quickly dried—on this occasion they were dealt with by the Major's own delicate silk handkerchief. For some time, she and her companion remained talking very earnestly to one another under the pergola, but what they said was known only to eavesdropping "Dorothy Perkins" and her pretty sisters.

Within half an hour, an engaged couple—each decorated with a pink rose—turned their happy faces towards the hotel. As they approached with lagging steps, they were "spotted" by Mrs. Joe, who happened to be extended in a verandah chair, smoking the inevitable cigarette, and mentally selecting her autumn toilette. In a second, she had realised the situation, and springing to her feet, upsetting an ink-bottle and ash-tray, she clapped her hands in noisy acclamation.

It was arranged that the wedding was to take place within a month—since there was really nothing to wait for, and the bridegroom wished the bride to see something of her own country, before sailing for India.

Bond himself was a good fellow, but his wife, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law—no. To Major Tallboys it was unbearable that he should be called "Freddy," in season and out of season, and publicly chaffed and kissed, by the overwhelming Mrs. Joe. The trousseau was selected in Liverpool—that city of fine shops—and Major Tallboys gave his fiancée a diamond ring, an unpretentious pendant, and much valuable advice. The honeymoon was spent in London, with excursions to Devon, Oxford, and Warwickshire; the newly married pair also made a round of the theatres, picture galleries, and museums. Great indeed are the marvels that dress, and a good conceit of oneself, can achieve. Joe Bond, meeting his cousin in a shop, actually failed to recognise in this elegant lady, with rustling skirts, a black-feathered hat, white gloves, and beautifully dressed hair, the dowdy and deprecating Fan!

Shortly before they sailed, the happy couple received intelligence calculated to still further increase their bliss.

The affairs of the late James Bond, merchant and shipmaster, had been wound up, and proved that he had been a miser, and, like his kind, had died a wealthy man. "Frances Ann," his only child, was heiress to something over five thousand a year.

Mrs. Tallboys' relatives received these tidings with unaffected consternation, and annoyance. Here was Fanny, a rich woman, married to a stuck-up little dandy who was carrying her and her fine fortune out of the country. The capital of this fortune would have made a noble bulwark to the house of "Bond, Tubbs, and Co." cotton brokers, and enabled them to extend their business into hitherto undreamt of regions. Had the Major any inkling of this hidden treasure when he proposed to Fan? The base suspicion was unfounded—nevertheless it rankled. Freddy Tallboys was equally thunderstruck by this amazing windfall; as for his wife—recalling long years of grey poverty—she could not realise her tens of thousands, and felt as if the whole world had been turned upside down! However, her clever and practical husband promptly grasped the change in their circumstances, interviewed lawyers, bankers, stockbrokers, purchased for Fan a string of pearls, a superb landau, and a supply of plate and china,—suitable for entertaining on a generous scale.

Arriving from furlough with a bride whose fortune had been magnified to millions, his many friends welcomed and applauded clever Freddy. He had waited to some purpose! At one time it had been feared that he was about to be snapped up by a girl from Bellary, a hard-riding, red-haired spin, without a pice!

The return to India, a familiar environment, and a full and busy life, had worked a transformation in Fanny's husband, and placed him before her in a still more dazzling light.

On furlough, this naturally keen and busy officer found himself a nobody!—idle, bored, unrecognised, and consequently inclined to be irritable, super-critical, and dyspeptic. Once more in harness (a nice staff appointment) and surrounded by familiar scenes and old associates, he was a different person full of high spirits, buoyant energy, and bonhomie.

His bride recognised his importance in his own circle, his popularity among men, and looked with awe upon orderlies, brass-bound chuprassies, long official envelopes, and the ever-arriving telegram. A Freddy, wearing a clanking sword and gold spurs, was new to her, and indeed Major Tallboys in full-dress uniform (a pattern to his rank) presented a remarkably dignified, and soldier-like, appearance.

After a short stay in Madras, a bungalow in the Neilgherries was Fanny's first home. It was at Ooty that she engaged her Indian retinue, unpacked her glass and china, and set up her own dog. Her husband's friends, so well known by name, had unanimously offered her a hearty welcome; these were mostly military people, with easy, agreeable manners. Her garden was fragrant with roses and violets, the view from the verandah of Cranford Hall was unsurpassed, and how the sun shone! Caught into a whirl of congenial society, Frances Ann found herself in another world.

She realised that she owed this translation from suburbia and gloom to sunshine and happiness, to Freddy, and worshipped him accordingly. To behold him of a hunting morning, red-coated, admirably mounted, "witching the field with matchless horsemanship," was a sight that filled his wife with a pride and admiration, she was at no pains to conceal.

Under her husband's guidance and encouragement, Fanny cast away her shyness, and learnt to play tennis, to drive a pair of hard-mouthed ponies, and to entertain with self-confidence and grace. So adaptable was she, that by the end of a year, there was no more popular hostess than Mrs. Tallboys.

Her kind heart, the memory of her dreary youth, and gratitude for present good fortune, combined to make her tenderly sympathetic,—especially towards forlorn, friendless girls, and all sorts, and conditions, of her own sex.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Tallboys is figuratively waiting in the doorway, her long dark hair hanging in two thick plaits, her eyes fixed interrogatively upon her lord and master.

"I've had such a morning!" she began, "going through the rooms, arranging for people, sending the new-comers into dinner according to precedence, doing the flowers and menus, that I'm dead, and am taking forty winks before they all arrive. Is there anything you want altered, Freddy?"

"No, no, my love; I've just rushed in for a second to tell you about young Mallender. I couldn't say much on the telephone," and in a couple of pithy sentences, he had laid before her Geoffrey's extraordinary enterprise.

"Of course, it must be stopped! He is mad to start off at once. I've handed him over to Byng at the Club, and stuck him to play in the tournament; this will give us breathing-time."

"Breathing-time," repeated his wife, whose astonishment had carried her into an arm-chair.

"Here, read this," handing her the precious letter, "and you will understand the whole position. I know you are safe, Fan, and can be trusted with a family secret."

For a moment he stood watching her closely as she sat engrossed in the sheet of thin yellow paper; then he fidgetted restlessly round the room, straightening a book here, an ornament there.

"What astounding news!" she exclaimed at last; "can you believe it? Do you think it's pucka? or a practical joke?"

"I believe the letter to be genuine," he answered decisively, "and if the boy—a very nice young fellow—persists in his folly, he will be made to pay for it! Four thousand a year is no blind nut, and I intend to put every possible obstacle in his way; not merely because I am heir, but because I like him."

"What sort of obstacles do you suggest, Freddy?"

"Amusements, distractions, polo, balls, pretty faces. We will knock this nonsense out of his head, and take him to the Hills when we move; there he can shoot and hunt, and you might marry him off to some nice girl; by the time the roof is on, they can return and live at Mallender!"

"Ah, so that's your programme!" exclaimed his wife. "Well, of course, I shall be only too delighted to help; but perhaps your cousin is not so easily managed, and married off, as you suppose!"

"Oh, he'll be all right. I fancy he got a bit hipped, living all alone. I leave you to tackle him, Fan; this sort of job is your speciality. Keep the boy incessantly occupied and entertained, and, whatever you do, my dear girl, don't let him slip through your fingers!"

And with this emphatic injunction Colonel Tallboys waved a valedictory hand, and disappeared.

CHAPTER V

Surrounded by a group to whom Byng had introduced him, Mallender was enjoying himself thoroughly, listening and talking to keen young men of the same upbringing and service—his contemporaries.

Six months at Mallender had undoubtedly depressed his spirits. After the death of his father, lawyers, surveyors, and contractors were his sole associates; for of late years the Court had fallen into oblivion; old friends had died or removed to other neighbourhoods, and a new generation arisen which knew not the heir. It was out of the question to invite guests to his shabby dilapidated home, where the water streamed through the roof, and there was no shooting. This unexpected change to a bright glimpse of his former life, proved inexpressibly welcome to Geoffrey: here were men well known to him by name, and actually an old school-fellow, who was quartered in the Fort. As they sat smoking, and discussing shop, racing, polo, and mutual friends, in such congenial atmosphere, the new-comer had for the moment completely lost sight of what he mentally called "his job." Colonel Tallboys, when he arrived, instantly grasped the situation. Here was Geoffrey full of animation and enthusiasm, debating and criticising the entries for Punchestown. This was as it should be—the lure was already working!

To tell the truth, although Mallender had spent five happy hours within the Club, these hours had passed so rapidly, that it seemed incredible when his cousin announced that "it was after six o'clock, and time to make a start."

The transformation of the outward scene appeared equally surprising. The wind had died away, the breakers merely sobbed softly on the beach; a clear Eastern night was full of stars, and the light of electric lamps penetrated into every corner. Numbers of motors were parked in the vast compound; in some sat various gay and smart ladies, sipping iced drinks, eating devilled biscuits, and holding informal meetings with their men friends. Now and then a car would slip out of the crowd, and take the Mem Sahib and her cavalier for a turn up the Guindy Road, or along the marine front,—whilst the lady's husband was finishing an interminable rubber of auction bridge. It had been one o'clock when Mallender left the Fort—at an hour when all Madras was under the spell of noonday quiet; servants were "eating rice," animals resting, the very crows and hawks temporarily suppressed—but now the city was awake; the Gorah bazaar, and Georgetown, were humming like bee-hives, heavily-laden trams, crammed with passengers, clanged and rumbled up and down the Mount Road, the old established "Europe" shops, such as Orr's, Spencer's, and Oak's, were brilliantly alight and filled with customers; motors and bicycles skimmed hither and thither—luxurious carriages drawn by steppers rolled by, whilst picturesque foot-passengers, Jutkas, and leisurely bullock-carts gave a touch of local colour to the scene.

Such was the traffic, that it was a considerable time before Colonel Tallboys' Napier could extricate itself and thread its smooth way by Royàpetta towards Egmore. As the car turned sharply through an entrance gate and up the long drive to Hooper's Gardens, Mallender was both impressed and surprised. Here was no mere bungalow, but the lofty stately dwelling of a one-time merchant prince—reared in an age when space, and rupees, were amply available.

"Hooper's Gardens" stood surrounded by fifty acres of short, coarse grass, a white, two-storied mansion with pillared verandahs, a flat roof, and imposing portico. Against a dense background of palms and shrubberies were pitched a group of tents.

"We are a bit on the outside skirts of fashion," explained Colonel Tallboys, "but it's a noble, spacious old house—built in spacious times. One or two wealthy natives live hereabouts in others of the same class. My neighbour is a Prince of the family of Gulberga. His premises are a jungle, the whole place is disgracefully kept, full of horses, mountebanks, and squalid retainers. The fellow is a terrible drawback, I must confess. Well, here we are," he added as the car stopped; "I expect we shall find Fanny in the drawing-room."

In another moment he had ushered his relative into a lofty apartment, lit by carefully shaded electric lights. As Mallender advanced, he was aware of a number of people standing in a group. One of these, a tall lady, now came sweeping towards him, with an outstretched hand, and said:

"I am sure you are Fred's cousin. I am so pleased to see you."

Mallender felt instinctively attracted—few could resist Fanny Tallboys, and her kindly, warm-hearted smile.

After they had exchanged a few words, Colonel Tallboys broke in fussily:

"Come along, Geoffrey, and I'll show you your quarters. Fan," to his wife, "you'd better look sharp and dress; you know the General, like the Duke of Wellington, is always a quarter of an hour before his time."

Mallender's quarters were in the encampment, and in his host's wake he stumbled his way among ropes and lanterns into a large comfortable "Hill" tent. Here he discovered that all his belongings had already been unpacked. On the bed, lay his evening clothes, shirt, socks, and handkerchief; on a little table beside it, were piously arranged his Prayer Book, and the photographs of his father and mother.

A rather undersized native, with an intelligent, smiling face, wearing a tweed coat, cord breeches, and leggings, had hastily risen to his feet and salaamed.

"Here is Anthony," said Colonel Tallboys, with a wave of the hand. "Hullo, what's this? What tom-fool clothes are these?" he sternly demanded.

"Major Morant, saar, that very kind gentleman going England, giving me polo kit, and one cricket suit, one fancy dress, and one mess jacket," replied Anthony with voluble respect.

"And you are showing off your new duds! Mind, in service you've got to wear your white coat and trousers—no fancy costume. Geoffrey, you will have to keep an eye on this fellow. Well, I must be off, it's uniform night, on account of the General, but you'll be all right in black."

Mallender felt inclined to declare that "he felt all wrong in black," but already his host was out of earshot, and Anthony and his new employer were alone.

"Master liking to see my characters?" he asked, producing what looked like a silk hussif, from which he unrolled and offered a variety of sheets of crested paper.

Mallender took them and, sitting on the side of his cot, glanced over the bundle. These "chits" were as a whole favourable; some were serious, and even grateful; two were humorous, one was in rhyme, and another conveyed the information that "Anthony, i.e. 'Smiler,' was capable and trustworthy, very inquisitive, vain, and a great talker, and that the writer would not be willing to buy him at his own price, and sell him at market value."

"All right, Anthony," said Mallender, as he returned the precious documents, "Colonel Tallboys knows you, and that is the main thing."

"Oh, yes, saar, and I know the Colonel, since I was a chokra, and can speak plenty well of him. That very good gentlemans, all servants liking him; though very quick, quick, quick, and particular; getting always all shirts washed in England—three dozen going, three dozen coming, three dozen wearing!"

"That will do, that will do," sternly interrupted his new master. "Don't talk. I am going to Guindy to-morrow early, call me at five sharp, and order the car for half-past," and Anthony was temporarily silenced, and suppressed.

The hint of the General's premature arrival accelerated Mallender's movements. He was the very first to appear in the vast drawing-room, and had now an opportunity of making a leisurely survey of its contents. He did not fail to notice the great chunam pillars—gleaming like white marble—the polished teak floors, Eastern rugs, carefully placed screens, and profusion of delicately scented flowers; the whole atmosphere exhaled a cultivated taste, and subdued magnificence. What particularly struck the stranger was the accumulation of old furniture; objects he recognised from seeing their counterparts in great houses—or indeed in a lesser degree, his own. Here were chairs, mirrors, settees, and cabinets—enclosing curiosities and old china. Mallender was no judge, but realised that he was surrounded by many rare and valuable treasures, and was in the act of examining a cabinet, when he caught the sound of soft rustling, a light footstep, and turning about saw his hostess approaching. She carried herself well, and wore a pale yellow gown, with diamonds shining in her dark hair. Who would recognise in this dignified matron, the Fanny Bond of Martello Terrace, Tranmere?

"Oh, so you are the first!" she exclaimed. "This is nice—I'm so glad, for now we can have a little talk before the crowd arrive."

Mrs. Tallboys was sincerely pleased with Fred's cousin—a handsome young fellow with easy manners, and a pleasant manly voice. There was something chivalrous in his air, as well as his amazing enterprise; how well he looked in admirably cut evening clothes!

"Come and sit by me on this sofa," indicating a place, "and let us get to know one another better."

As he accepted her invitation, she added with a significant smile:

"Fred has told me all about you: I am quite what is called 'in the know,' and I can keep a secret."

"What do you think of my venture?" he enquired.

"It's the most generous and romantic I've ever known, resembling, though in a different spirit, the impulse that carried the flower of England to the Crusades; but I'm afraid you will have the same ending—failure."

"Ah, I'm sorry to see you won't encourage me, Mrs. Tallboys."

"You are to call me Fanny; you and Fred are cousins, and cousins hold on to one another out here. Now I want to tell you, that as long as you are in India you are to look upon our house as your head-quarters—and home."

"Oh, thank you—you are most awfully kind, but I must not settle down to enjoy myself, until I've accomplished what you call my crusade."

"At any rate, you need not embark yet awhile! Surely you can spare us a few weeks?" Then diplomatically changing the subject, "I saw you looking at my china and curios!"

"Yes, I'm no judge, but you seem to have a wonderful collection."

"You will call it more wonderful still, when you hear that every object you see—they are all dear to me—has been picked up in the Madras Presidency! Oh, yes, you may well stare; and now I'll tell you all about it. Once upon a time—say a hundred and fifty years ago, and even before then—furniture and household goods were imported from England, France, and Holland, by merchants, nabobs, or military adventurers—all more or less rich. As time advanced, those palmy days passed, and the Victorian Age dawned; old, so-called 'rubbish' went out of fashion and fell into disgrace. The new craze had not set in thirty years ago, and you could pick up treasures that it makes my mouth water to think of, in the thieving bazaar, or at Franck's auction rooms in the Mount Road."

"Yes, but you were not here thirty years ago—you were in a perambulator," objected her listener.

"No," she corrected, "a pigtail! I am forty-two. However, Fred was on the spot; even as a young sub. he had a taste for old things. He was well laughed at and called a muff, and an old woman, but he had quite a nice little collection, when I came on the scene. That lovely Empire couch, he rescued from being chopped up for firewood—the poor thing had only two legs. The Chippendale chairs, he routed out of a mouldy old bungalow on the top of Palaveram Hill. I discovered that charming satinwood table, in a dirzee's shop of Blacktown; some of the furniture has made journeys all over the Presidency on bullock-carts when regiments were on the move, and has been battered and cracked and auctioned over and over again, for nearly two centuries!"

"Then I wonder there is a stick left!" exclaimed Mallender.

"Well, yes; of course, some invaluable treasures have gone to boil cooltie, or gram, but many fine seasoned travellers still survive. My collection is my craze, my chief weakness, and my tongue once started cannot stop; every bit has its own history. Those Sèvres vases I bought from a Toda in the Hills; that ugly gilt jar in the same cabinet, I purchased as an act of charity from a beggar, a poor Eurasian woman, and gave her twenty rupees—believing it was brass. Long afterwards it turned out to be solid gold—a bit of loot from Seringapatam. I tried to trace the woman, but she had disappeared. That priceless vase of 'Sang de Bœuf' held pipe-clay in my back verandah! The exquisite dessert service you will eat off to-night, I unearthed at the back of Hadji Kareem's shop in Bangalore, smothered under years of dust, and I'd be ashamed to tell you what I paid for it! I have also a marvellous talisman—oh! I think I hear a motor! Would you mind turning on the light in the big chandelier—another find—tell you about it afterwards. I only have it lit at the last moment, as I cannot endure the glare."

Mallender rose to obey, and the splendid old French piece instantly burst into a blaze that flooded the entire room, and seemed to appropriately herald the approach of a dark-eyed lady, wearing a shimmering gown of blue and silver, and a long rope of pearls—who thus made an involuntary, but impressive stage entrance.

For a moment she halted, and put her hand to her eyes, then murmured with a plaintive smile:

"I declare I am quite dazzled!"

"So are we!" responded Mrs. Tallboys with flattering significance. "Lena, let me introduce Captain Mallender; Geoffrey, this is my old friend Mrs. Villars, who is spending the cold weather with us. You are to take her in to dinner—your seats are on the left."

Here the arrival of the General, his wife and his A.D.C., cut short further explanation. The remainder of the company rapidly poured in, and as Mallender stood by his partner watching the crowd, he was struck by the elegance of the ladies' frocks, their fashionable air, and their diamonds; among men, the military element predominated; from the General's scarlet and bemedalled coat, to uniforms of sombre rifle green or gorgeous Indian cavalry—altogether a gay and goodly gathering.

When the very last couple had overwhelmed their hostess with apologies, a tall turbaned butler, picturesque in white and gold, entered, and with a profound salaam announced:

"Dinner is served!"

CHAPTER VI

Captain Mallender and his partner formed up into the Noah's Ark procession—headed by Colonel Tallboys and the General's wife—and presently found themselves in a room corresponding in height and size to the one they had just quitted, and steered successfully into their respective places at an oval table, glittering with crystal and silver and embellished by exquisite flowers and fruit. In the background stood a row of well-drilled attendants, commanded and marshalled by the gold and white butler.

The new-comer noted the dainty appointments and careful details, painted menus, crested Venetian glass, and three superb epergnes—surely these had not been rescued from some filthy go-down? As he withdrew his gaze, he encountered the glorious eyes of his companion.

"Rather nice, isn't it?" she murmured; "you see, we are quite up-to-date out here."

"Quite," he agreed.

"By the way, when did you arrive?"

"Last night—from Bombay."

"And how are all the dear old folks at home?"

"More or less cold and coughing—it's been a hard winter."

"And you came out to escape from it?" she questioned.

"Well—not exactly," he answered, after a momentary hesitation.

"Would it be too, too rude, to enquire what did bring you?"

Mallender found it impossible to impart to this charming lady, with the soft voice and alluring eyes, the real, true, and only reason, for his presence in the country. As he looked back at her, he realised how ridiculous and preposterous his errand would appear.

"My house is under repair"—sudden happy thought—"and I really am without a roof!"

"Then you are a wanderer like myself," she exclaimed. "I have spent eight months in India, and I must soon be thinking of 'Home, sweet Home.'"

"And no doubt your husband—but, of course, he is with you——" Mallender stopped short; in an illuminating flash he recognised his blunder. The lady's face had suddenly stiffened, her expression undergone a curious change. She looked away for a moment, and then, still looking away, let fall the deliberate words:

"I am a widow."

"Oh, I say! I do beg your pardon," he pleaded impetuously. "I'm most frightfully sorry—I—er—I did not know——"

"Oh, how could you?" she interrupted; "in a country where grass widows abound, a real widow is almost unknown. I suppose you are out for the usual thing—to shoot big game?"

"No, I'm only out—er—just to have a look round."

Here, alas, was another lie!

"Ah, a looker-on, something like myself; since my loss, I have just looked on—and envied happier people."

Mallender glanced at the fair speaker; she wore no outward sign of woe, not even a mourning ring; he noticed her expressive hands, blazing with diamonds, the studied perfection of her toilet; at the moment she was thoughtfully scanning the menu, and he had an excellent opportunity of critically observing her extraordinary good looks; the long black lashes, resting on a delicate cheek, smooth as ivory; the chiselled nose, clean-cut lips, and masses of dark auburn hair—which exhaled a faint, and exquisite perfume.

"I've been up north, and to Simla and Calcutta," she resumed, when she had replaced the menu with a little contented sigh, "and then I came down to Madras to see dear old Fanny. I arrived three months ago—and feel rooted!"

Mallender's raised brows indicated his amazement.

"Yes, I like this poor despised old city and its ways," here she cast a glance round the circle of guests, the band of well-trained servants, the delicacies that were being offered, and the champagne that, like a popular novel, was enjoying a brisk circulation.

"I do love it; it's all so leisurely and so comfortable. Give me comfort, and I ask no more!"

"Comfort!" thought her listener; "if this is merely comfort, what can be her idea of luxury?"

"I appreciate the large houses," she continued, "the food, the servants, who all speak English; though, of course, no stretch of imagination can give Madras a cold weather!"

"No, I understand that this is their winter," rejoined Mallender, "and to-day, you could have fried an egg on the roof of my gharry."

"Yes, I daresay, and yet I like Madras. My father was born out here, and his father served most of his life in the Presidency—there must be something in heredity."

"I believe there is no doubt of that. Do you happen to know the old man opposite, who is staring so fixedly?"

"Oh, yes, Sir William Bream, a connection of Fanny's; enormously rich, and immensely interested in cotton."

"I thought for a moment that he was immensely interested in us—or rather, I should say, in you."

"Oh," spreading out her hand with a gesture of sudden confidence, "he generally sits beside me—we are rather pals."

"The young lady next to him looks ill," observed Mallender, as he glanced at a pale, thin girl with sunken eyes, and a frock that had seen its best days.

"You mean Miss Sim; I don't think she is ill—only miserable." Mrs. Villars helped herself to a salted almond, nibbled it daintily, and then added unconcernedly, "You see, she has no belongings—and no home."

"How does she happen to be out here?"

"I fancy she had a pretty dull time in England, and they do say, snatched at an invitation to Bombay, you know, one of those vague things, that mean nothing! She contrived to get a passage, and presented herself before the horrified people as a staying—not paying—guest! Naturally, they passed her on, and she has been passing on ever since, like the Queen in Old Maid," and unfeeling Mrs. Villars gave a low amused laugh.

"But why doesn't she go home?" enquired Mallender.

"For the simple reason that she has no money."

"Poor girl!" he muttered. "What an awful situation!"

"Yes, isn't it?" the lady assented. "I'm afraid she's a dreadful sponge, and not particularly interesting—let us talk of something else. Do you notice the man near the end, with the fine head and beard? He is Rolf, the celebrated artist, who has come out to paint the Rajah of Gondalcond, and various other native nobles."

"Yes, I think I've seen his pictures in the Academy."

"I wonder if you saw my picture there last year—painted by Le Grande?"

"No, I'm sure I did not," and he smiled significantly.

"Because you would remember it—oh, yes!" and she showed her pretty teeth.

"Was it a great success?"

"Yes, absolutely; not merely as a work of art, and a marvellous likeness, but you know they say Le Grande has some mysterious psychical power, and can discover and expose startling deficiencies, or unsuspected traits, in the characters of his sitters," then, leaning a little nearer, and looking up into Mallender's eyes, she dropped her voice to a whisper, and breathed, "as for myself—he has painted my soul!"

"What! You don't say so, how extraordinary!" stammered her companion, not a little amazed. "I should like to see the picture—where is it?"

"Oh, Sir William bought it; it was a commission of his. I believe the price was fabulous"; then, in quite a different key, "do have some of this delicious iced asparagus!"

As Mrs. Villars conversed on various subjects, Mallender gathered that his beautiful neighbour was a woman of wide travel and experience, well-versed in all the social jargon of the day. Scotch moors, Norwegian fishings, foreign spas, had in turn been illuminated by her presence—and it was evident from her talk that she was as rich and extravagant as she was lovely and fascinating. There was a temporary silence as she helped herself to a dish, and a gay voice on his left addressed him.

The voice belonged to a lady who had preceded him to the dining-room; he had noticed her slim, graceful figure, and well-set-on head, with its coils of dark hair; the countenance now turned to him, though full of force and life, was disappointingly plain; it displayed a large mouth, a too retroussé nose, and a pair of wide-open grey eyes.

"I've been longing to get in a word edgeways," she began; "but now that Major de Lacey has captured the ear of a woman who usually obliterates the rest of the company, here is my chance! Let me introduce myself; I am Mrs. Brander, née Nancy Bond. Mrs. Tallboys is my aunt, and since Freddy is your relative, we are some sort of connection—shall we say twenty-first cousins?" and she looked at him persuasively.

"I shall be only too delighted, and proud," he answered with a bow.

"I was exported to Fan years ago, and she married me off—wasn't she clever?" As Mrs. Brander asked the question, her grey eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Clever?" repeated Mallender; "I don't quite know what you mean?"

"Clever because I'm so ugly!" was the brisk rejoinder. "Do you realise that your lot has been cast between a celebrated beauty, and the opposite extreme?"

"Come, I can't allow you to say that!" he protested uncomfortably.

"Well, of course; some of us must be plain, as foils to show off the others; if everyone were handsome, think how dull it would be! Tom, that is my husband, is accustomed to me, and my nose has always been a source of amusement to my family."

Mallender, who was at a complete loss for words, merely stared, as she rattled on.

"I am spending a holiday with Aunt Fan—I've come for a bit of the season."

"I hope you will enjoy it," he said lamely.

"Thank you, I'm blessed with the enjoying temperament, and have an infinite capacity for taking pleasure—in short, a very frivolous inferior sort of person, you are not married I believe?"

"No."

"You said that No, as if you were most truly thankful, but wait, Aunt Fanny loves match-making, and if you are not very clever and cunning, she will soon dispose of you!"

"She won't have a chance," he answered, "I'm off, the moment the polo tournament is over."

"Are you really?" and she gazed at him interrogatively. "Well, Aunt Fan can do great things in a week. Of course this is your first visit to India?"

"No, I was up in the North-west, eight years ago."

"At school?"

"I am older than you suppose. I joined the Warlocks at Lucknow, and after a couple of months had a bad go of typhoid, and was sent home. However, the regiment followed next reliefs."

"They must have been attached to you!" she exclaimed with an air of grave conviction.

Mallender burst into a spontaneous laugh, then he said:

"And now here I am, in the benighted Presidency!"

"May I give you one little hint?" she whispered.

"A dozen—twenty dozen."

"Never say a word against Madras to Freddy, or he will boil over! He is an infatuated Madrassi; talks very big of Clive, Charnock, Warren Hastings—and his lady friend, Mrs. Anna Maria Imhoff, who lived in his house at the Mount; also of Yale in the Fort, and others, precisely as if they were all here to-day! He is so jealous, for the old, old, original Presidency, and loves every temple, and toddy tree, between this and Ceylon. I won't ask what you think of us yet."

"No, you must give me a longer start than one day; however, I have experienced your wind and dust—both horrible!"

"Admitted," she answered with a nod, "but we Britons need not give ourselves airs, for it is a well-known historical fact, that the Romans fled out of our country, because they couldn't stand the climate!"

"Mrs. Brander, you are the latest from school, so I dare not presume to argue, but hitherto I have been under the impression, that an incursion of the Huns, recalled the legions."

"Well, don't let us quarrel over such a trifle," she rejoined with a shrug. "This is your first dinner in Madras—I wonder what strikes you particularly?"

"I'm afraid you'll be shocked, and think I'm frightfully greedy, when I answer, the dinner itself! We might be at the 'Ritz,' or Buckingham Palace."

"Oh, I see you are not aware that this old city is celebrated for its cuisine, and Sunday tiffins. The native is a born cook, and our French predecessors instilled into him some very sound ideas, with respect to sauces, soups, soufflés, and omelettes. No doubt, formerly, the nabob who lived here, regaled himself and friends on rich food, mountainous pilaws, and molten curries. Those days are gone; also the times when the very boldest woman dared not enter that chamber of horrors,—her cook-house."

"Why?"

"For fear of what she might discover! I pass over the story of 'master's sock,' and other well-authenticated details. The hand of the butler no longer inscribes a startling menu, and you are spared the alarming promise of 'Cold Roast Lion, and D——d Turkey'!"

"Oh, come, I say!" ejaculated Mallender.

"I could tell you of still worse items, but nous avons changé tout cela. Now, the menu is in French, and the food is of the daintiest description. To me, the best of it all is, that the sudden incursion of half a dozen unexpected guests at a moment's notice has no appreciable effect on the chef's temper! Everything comes up to time, and there is neither fuss nor skimping. I may whisper to you, that it is a good thing to encourage your cook, put him on his mettle, and, so to speak, lard him with flattery! So much for cooks, and for their employers! I suppose you know scarcely any of the present company?"

"No, but I'll be most grateful for information. I've made one awful blunder already."

"Oh, have you! Do tell me all about it?" she asked eagerly.

Seldom had Mallender seen a face of such gay animation; for all its snub nose, it was more piquante, attractive, and vivid, than that of many a placid beauty. As he merely smiled, and shook his head, she continued: "Then I'll be generous, and tell you what happened to me, at my first Indian dinner-party. I was sent in with a young man—fairer than either of us. He was just out from home, and made himself agreeable, and when I enquired if he knew any of the guests? and he said 'yes,' I immediately indicated two women opposite, and said, 'they are as black as my ayah, who are they?' and he promptly replied, 'The stout lady is my grandmother—the thin one, my mother.'

"I shrieked with laughter, at what I took to be a joke; but when at the end of the evening I saw him march away, arm in arm with the fat dark lady, I nearly fainted."

"I don't wonder," said Mallender. "Thanks to you, I am now warned, and shall ask no questions."

"Then shall I take your questions for granted, and point out some of the company? The man opposite is Sir William Bream—isn't he like an old sea-lion? So large and inflated, with great dull eyes, and a beard."

"Yes, and since you bring the Zoo to dinner, may I ask you to tell me about the long-necked, long-nosed man, whose self-contained air recalls my dear friend the King Penguin?"

"That is Mr. Arnfield, a prominent member of the Bar, and the local dramatic society. His elocution is marvellous, and on Sundays, he always reads the lessons; one morning, he upset the whole congregation, when at the end of the second lesson, he slammed the Bible, and announced in a stentorian voice, 'Now Borrobas was—a rabbit!' I do hope, you are not shocked, are you? I am too thankful I did not happen to be in church, for I know I should have disgraced myself, and been ignominiously removed by the verger."

"And I should have joined you!—kindly continue your valuable information."

"Well, the little elderly lady with a face like a piece of wash-leather, lemon-coloured hair, and diamonds, is Mrs. Fiske, widely known as 'The Acidulated Drop.' Her chief talent is fiction."

"Oh, yes, I understand—a novelist."

"Not exactly—though she achieves distinction by the number and variety of her stories. Her late husband had a fine appointment, and she has a fine pension; her daughters are satisfactorily settled out here, she infests the Hills, and knows everything that goes on—on Hills or plains; can do a kind action, or the reverse; and is always prepared to get you a servant, or give you a character!"

"A useful acquaintance!" observed Mallender, glancing at the lady; "and rich—judging by her diamonds."

"Yes, she has heaps of money, and eggs in many baskets; shares in shops, and mines, and coffee estates. I see that she has noticed you and soon your history, prospects, and reputation, will be at her mercy."

"I don't mind, I have no prospects now," he replied; "and as for my reputation, reputations are cheap! I can easily get another."

"Easier said than done—mud always sticks! To go on with my little serial, the handsome lady in pink is the Hon. Mrs. Cliffe. She is ruffled, because she has just discovered that rank has no precedence in India. I go in before her, as a consort of a Heaven-born; and she is told off, according to Cocker, as the wife of a Captain in the Line. How I should love to read her letters by the next mail! The matron with the beautiful white hair, and emeralds, is Mrs. Damer, who has come out to see her two sons; one is in the Army—the other is in Tea. The stern man on her right, is said to be our future great General—mark his cold, relentless eye!"

"Well, he looks a hard-bitten chap, and every inch a soldier; and the pretty, fair girl lower down—why is she sent in with that old buffer whose collar is choking him? That cannot be according to Cocker!"

"No, but it happens to be a very special case," rejoined Mrs. Brander with impressive gravity; "Miss Miller has been paired off with Colonel Harris, because she is going to be married to him."

"Marry him!" repeated Mallender, setting down his untasted glass. "Why, he might be her grandfather!"

"No doubt," agreed Mrs. Brander, "but there are reasons for the match; if you will bend forward, and look along this side, you may notice a sharp powdered nose, poked well to the front—it belongs to the chief reason—the girl's mother, I will show her to you later."

"Thank you," he answered dryly, "your description is sufficient."

"At any rate, you will recognise Mrs. Miller by a glaring mass of dyed hair, topped by a jaunty green feather. Colonel Miller's time is up, and he will soon be retired, and go home. He and his wife have led a merry life for years, they are heavily in debt—so Mrs. Miller says—and they have barely enough for two people to live on, much less three. She is therefore determined to get rid of Barbie, her daughter; I am sure she longed to put her in her auction list, 'One charming and amiable girl, aged nineteen; hair and complexion guaranteed; no reasonable offer refused.' You see how spiteful I can be!"

"But what does the young lady say?" enquired Mallender, as he glanced at a pretty young thing, with a small wistful face, and clouds of light brown hair.

"The young lady dare not have any opinion; she only came out a year ago, and has not had much of a time. Barbie is popular, and rather a dear, but her mother scares everyone by her almost bloodthirsty hunt for a son-in-law. The poor child is terribly handicapped by her parents; a rackety mother, and a gambling father; I must say, I am sorry for poor little Barbie."

"So am I," echoed Mallender; "is there no escape?"

"No, though she has a staunch friend in Aunt Fan, whose two manias are, young girls, and old furniture. Aunt Fan has done her level best, but I'm afraid that nothing short of the end of the world, can save Barbie from becoming Mrs. Harris."

"Miserable victim!"

"Well, yes—and no. Colonel Harris is a kind old thing, except at bridge, when he is like a dissatisfied turkey-cock. Of course, there will be no 'love's young dream!'"

Mallender gave a loud involuntary laugh.

"Don't laugh so scornfully," expostulated Mrs. Brander. "The girl will have a good home, no money cares, possibly a motor—and certainly a comfortable widow's pension."

"Oh, ye gods!" ejaculated her listener. "Fancy a girl marrying for a widow's pension. Twenty-first cousin, how can you suggest such a thing?"

"You may well ask! I have a darling little daughter of my own, asleep in her cot upstairs; sooner than she should make such a match, I'd—well, I adore Babs, and Mrs. Miller has never attempted to conceal her aversion to Barbie!"

At this moment Mrs. Villars turned to claim her partner.

"I do hope you play bridge?" she murmured in her sweet contralto.

"Oh, yes, rather; but I'm a bit out of practice."

"We are sure to have bridge to-night, and if so, do come to my table, and if you are very rusty, I won't scold you—much." As she gazed at him, with an expression at once cajoling and caressing, Mallender, stirred by the enchantment of her plaintive voice and marvellous eyes, promptly answered:

"All right, Mrs. Villars, I'll play at your table—even if to reach it I have to trample on the slain."

"Ah, I see that we shall be great friends," she continued, "we are both fond of travelling, and devotees of bridge and golf. Don't you think when people like the same things—they like one another?"

"I am sure of it," he answered with emphasis.

"I see Fan has collected eyes," exclaimed Mrs. Villars, rising as she spoke. "Au revoir, and mind you don't forget about the bridge," she added with a confidential smile.

Mrs. Villars wore a marvellous shimmering gown, an air of easy and assured self-confidence, and as she swept away with a dragging grace of movement, Mallender realised that there went a lady habitually accustomed to admiration, homage, and wealth.

CHAPTER VII

The ladies—sixteen in number—streamed forlornly into the drawing-room, where they broke up into groups—like gravitating to like. The General's wife and Mrs. Tallboys embarked on congenial topics, local charities, and an imminent bazaar; the wearer of the jaunty green feather was captured by Mrs. Fiske, eager to hear the latest news of Barbie's prospects. Barbie and Miss Sim, drawn to one another by mutual sympathy, left the room together, to seek a secluded corner of the verandah, and popular Nancy Brander on her way to a beckoning friend was waylaid by her recent neighbour.

"Do stop and talk to me for a moment!" urged Mrs. Villars, leading her aside. "I want to ask your opinion of my new frock?"

"Ravissante! Ravissante!" pronounced Nancy, throwing up her hands. After a pause she added: "I must confess that my chief sentiment is envy!"

"It arrived to-day from Mervéille—there is nothing," complacently viewing herself in a long mirror, "like a well-cut new gown for giving a woman an air of superiority—is there?"

"Do you feel so superior?" enquired Mrs. Brander in a bantering voice. "No doubt there is something in what you say. I certainly feel twice as important in a pair of Morkoph's smart shoes as I do in my wobbly goloshes!"

"Good gracious, fancy wearing them!"

"Fancy not wearing them in the rains," rejoined Nancy. "I expect your superior gown cost a pretty penny."

"No; they let me have two for ninety."

"Rupees or guineas?"

"Nan, you are really too bad! I call this cheap for fifty—look at the embroidery, all hand-made—real Mechlin lace—and then the cut!"

"It is not my idea of economy. I never give more than fifteen—and times are so bad."

"But if people only buy frumpish gowns that cost a few pounds—what is to become of the poor tradespeople?"

"Perhaps they may be better off—and have less bad debts," suggested Nancy.

Mrs. Villars coloured guiltily, but instantly recovering her aplomb, said: "I declare your black gown has quite a French effect—where did it come from?"

"My verandah."

"Dirzee made! Never! I simply refuse to believe you. Nan, this is one of your jokes?"

"A joke I cut out with my own hands. I'm full of ideas, and my man is an artist. I have good models, too—Fanny's best; and now and then I get a box out from home."

"But why this miserable economy? your husband's pay, your own fortune——"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mrs. Brander, "but there are plenty of calls on one's purse, besides spending money on chiffons."

"Are there? I don't think a woman can invest her coin to better advantage than in making herself a pleasure to behold."

"And you would still be that, even if you wore nothing but a blanket and a string of beads."

This verdict was all the more flattering because unwillingly bestowed.

"Really, Nancy," and the beauty laughed, "I hope I may not be reduced to a single garment!—but one never can tell. I am over head and ears in debt."

"And yet you spend ninety guineas at one swoop!"

"Yes, my dear,—debt is like drink. You go on, and on, and on. The more you spend—the more you drink—the tighter the thing takes hold of you! By the way, I was really forgetting something I wanted to ask. What do you think of him?"

"Him?" repeated Mrs. Brander, "which him? We have so many hims this evening, hims ancient and modern!"

"Don't be silly. I mean the nice boy that sat between us at dinner, and by the way, darling, you poached shamelessly!"

"Oh, you mean Captain Mallender. I like him."

"What were you so busy talking about?"

"Let me see," putting her hand to her forehead, "the climate, the ancient Britons, and the Zoo."

"You are always so blue and cultured," declared Mrs. Villars. "I think Captain Mallender very good-looking: such a cheery manner, such gay dark eyes, and a boyish smile; he parts his hair just as I like it! Fan asked me to take charge of him, and be extra nice."

"And so you were! You are always nice—to men," corrected Nancy, with a disarming smile. "You know he is Fred's cousin, out from home."

"And where is his home? What is it like?"

"The photo is in Fred's sanctum, a lovely old Jacobean place standing in a great park."

"So this good-looking boy is rich!"

Nancy nodded.

"And how long is he going to stay?"

"Oh, the usual time—as long as ever he likes."

"I wonder what has brought him out? Says he does not shoot, what can it be?"

"Perhaps to search for a wife?" gaily suggested Mrs. Brander.

"As if a man in his position would look at an Indian spin!" rejoined Mrs. Villars with withering scorn.

"He might do worse," argued the other briskly. "We have a large assortment of really pretty girls, quite fresh and dainty—nothing shop soiled!"

"Really, Nancy, what dreadful things you do say! and if you call any girl in Madras pretty—I don't." As Mrs. Villars concluded, she turned and surveyed herself in the glass, and Nancy Brander thus released effected her escape.

Lena Villars was a shallow, more or less amiable woman, endowed by nature with a lovely face, perfect health, and perennial youth—but stinted in the matter of heart and brain, and with a moral outlook that was somewhat oblique.

She appreciated luxury, had a consuming passion for clothes, and was absolutely devoid of the money sense. Her chief interest in life was the attitude of men towards herself, and she cherished an inexorable resolution to be first, or nowhere.

After gazing exhaustively at her own charming reflection, the beauty stole away to her room, there to repair some little flaws in her toilet previous to the great business of the evening.

Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the verandah, the two girl friends were exchanging miserable confidences in low voices.

"Mother has taken two passages in the Bibby Line for the first week in April," said Barbie Miller. "There is no money to pay for mine—if there were, it would make no difference. She says it's providential that Colonel Harris wishes to marry me, and considers me extraordinarily lucky."

"And what do you say, Barbie?"

"You know very well, Ada. I am still holding out, though the announcement of my engagement has been sent home. I'm afraid Colonel Harris has offered to pay for my trousseau, and I know that he has 'settled' quite a lot of things, including one or two big bills, and given mother a lovely diamond ring. Really, he is most generous; and if he did not want to marry me, I'd like him well enough! I overheard mother telling Mrs. Fiske that the wedding is to take place in the Cathedral early one morning, and we are to start immediately afterwards for the Shevaroy Hills. Honestly, I could not feel more wretched if I were going to be hanged—indeed, I don't think I'd mind!"

"I only wish I had your chance," declared her companion with energy, "I'd marry Colonel Harris like a shot!"

"Oh, Ada!" and Barbie stared incredulously.

"Yes, you don't know what it is to be alone in the world, and penniless," declared her friend forcibly; "he, at least, could give me a roof over my head, and a home. Your case is nothing as compared to mine; I am really in despair. I've not enough money to pay the dhoby, or put in the collection plate, or buy stamps. My clothes are so mended and so shabby I am ashamed to be seen. All the same, I don't think anyone but Mrs. Brander guesses that I am so absolutely destitute. Last time she was here she insisted on lending me a hundred rupees—such a boon!—she said she knew what little odds and ends a girl on her own wanted, and I was to pay her any time; and she gave me a lovely hat, because it did not suit her, and several pairs of gloves, because they were too small, and an evening-gown, because her husband could not bear it! For all her funny talk, she is a darling—just like Mrs. Tallboys."

"Does she not know that you are so hard up, Ada?"

"No, and I try to keep it from her. She has been only too kind; she paid my railway ticket down to Calicut, and sent an ayah with me. This is my second visit here, she invited me for a month, and I've stayed two. I feel such a worm, and so deadly ashamed. Mrs. Fiske enquired if I was living here altogether, and said 'this house should be called Hooper's Hotel.'"

"How horrid—and how like her!"

"I know that my room is wanted for Captain Mallender," continued Ada, "the ayah told me so. I've asked the Bells at Coimbatore to take me in, but they made an excuse. Now I've written to the Carsons at Trichy—they are my very last hope. I've no money, and nothing to sell. I sold the pretty frock Nancy Brander gave me—a sergeant's wife offered twenty-five rupees for it; the ayah took ten for commission, and I've told such stories about the gown to Nancy! But poor people have to lie! All I have left are three rupees. I'm so unhappy, so worn out with anxiety and shame, that I wish I were dead! I'd drown myself, only there is no place to do it in—the Cooum is filthy, and off the pier there are sharks!"

"Dear, dear, old Ada," said her companion, stroking her arm, "if I could only bring myself to marry Colonel Harris, you should come and live with me. I am as poor as a church mouse, but I can easily let you have ten rupees—and you must, and shall take it! It will at least pay for wires, and stamps, and be a little help in putting you in communication with friends, who might invite you."

"Friends," echoed Ada, "I've none; those I had are thoroughly sick of me, and no wonder. I'm not pretty, or amusing, or accomplished, I don't play bridge for money, I'm not even good-tempered. Just a plain, stupid bore. They say that the poor always help the poor—and it's true—but I won't take your ten rupees, Barbie."

Seeing that Barbie was about to protest, she hurried on:

"Do explain one thing, which puzzles me. Why is Colonel Harris so anxious to marry you, when he, and all the world, must see how you hang back?"

"Why?—because of the hanging back! Mother tells him I'm so shy and timid, such a mere shrinking child, afraid to show my real feelings—and he believes her. I won't call him James, and I won't allow kissing, nor will I accept presents. I beg him to give them to me—afterwards."

"Do you think there will be an afterwards?"

"Ada," she drew a long sigh, "I hope not, but you know I am no match for mother; she is so fiercely determined, so cruel, and so strong. Now listen to me, I'm going to say something dreadful—I almost wish I had been born an orphan, and if mother does go home, and leaves me behind, I hope I may never, never, see her again. Oh," springing up, "she is calling me—the men have come in, and I must fly!"

Presently there were sounds of music in the drawing-room, and if Ada Sim had accompanied her companion—instead of sitting sobbing in a corner of the verandah—she would have heard Mrs. Brander give a superb rendering of Chopin. Subsequently poor Barbie was driven to the Grand Schiedmayer, where with cold and trembling fingers she proceeded to murder Schumann—fortunately not a soul was listening; almost everyone's attention was riveted on the bridge tables so seductively set forth; with their adequate complement of chairs and cards they seemed to summon the company to "come and play."

Mrs. Villars beckoned airily to her new friend, and said:

"I hear from Captain Byng that he has roped you in for polo, he is so pleased."

"I am afraid his pleasure is a bit premature!" rejoined Mallender. "I am out of practice, and I believe some of the competing teams are first-rate."

"You mean the Marauders. Colonel Molyneux's lot?"

"Yes, and the Motagherry Planters; though only two or three pony men play a very hot game, so do the Bluebottles."

"I shall come and look on at the practice, and wave my sunshade and scream 'Shabash!' only they don't say that down here. Ah, they are moving at last! Do let us cut in, with the General and Nancy Brander."

The General's weather-beaten countenance was a study in satisfaction, when Mrs. Brander fell to his lot as a partner, for her play was famous. Here was a lady who made no mistakes, never lost her head, and knew the history of every card. Their opponents were Captain Mallender, and Mrs. Villars,—who made a delightful picture, as she dealt out the pack with flying jewelled fingers. At first, all the best of the red suits seemed to fall to her and her partner. By and by, the luck turned, the fortunate couple were slammed once and again; the lady made reckless declarations in the true gambler's spirit, ever hoping to retrieve her luck—and lost the rubber, and fifty rupees.

Occasionally Mallender, when "dummy," rose and strolled about the room, exchanging remarks and experiences with his fellow-dummies, and glancing at various other tables. At one of these sat Mrs. Fiske, grumbling incessantly, and bewailing her ill-luck in a manner that was maddening to her companions.

"Never had such luck—this isn't a hand—it's a foot! Don't know what it is to hold a card—nothing but Yarboughs, and Chicane—perfectly sickening!"

The serious, stern, and business-like bridgers, such as the future great General, Freddy Tallboys, and Mrs. Damer, played "auction" with grim concentration; here was no whining, no court-martial on indifferent partners. Nothing, nothing, but what Sarah Battle loved, "the rigour of the game." At another table sat Sir William Bream, Mrs. Tallboys, Colonel Harris and Miss Miller. Unhappy girl! her present (and future) partner, found it impossible to conceal his emotion when she trumped his best diamond, and led straight away into the enemy's suit! It is conceded that cards develop one's real disposition, and expose our worst failings; such as envy, jealousy, tyranny, ingratitude, meanness, avarice, and cowardice. Mallender glanced over at Colonel Harris. His face was a deep plum—quite dangerously inflamed; how his great thick neck seemed to swell and bulge over the stiff staff collar! Then the looker-on moved round and stood behind Miss Barbie; he noted her flickering colour, and tremulous lips, as she fumbled with her cards—uncertain what to play. He longed to give her a quiet hint, as she hesitated between a king and a nine; meanwhile her vis-à-vis shuffled his feet impatiently, and her adversaries exchanged significant smiles. As Mallender watched the irresolute girl, he noticed her wealth of beautiful hair, her slender, graceful neck, cheap white frock, and thin silver bangles. Her small childish hands were ringless—apparently, as yet, there was no engagement. He moved away to his own place, just in time to escape the explosion of wrath which burst over the head of little Miss Miller. Of course, as he anticipated, she had played the wrong card, and lost both game and rubber. Bridge continued with unabated zeal till nearly one o'clock, when the General, remembering an early inspection, rose a well-pleased guest—and winner. Mallender and Mrs. Villars had lost ninety rupees, and as the latter gathered up her wisp of a lace handkerchief and little chain purse she said with a smile:

"Let us hope for better luck to-morrow, Captain Mallender! If you will pay the General,—I will settle with Mrs. Brander."

He noticed Mrs. Brander's amused and somewhat inscrutable expression as she collected her gloves and nodded a careless assent.

When the last guest had departed, the last motor hummed away, Mallender, as he followed Anthony and a lantern to his outdoor quarters, realised that this had indeed been an evening of many impressions! A little later, when Colonel Tallboys had locked up the cigars, he came bustling into his wife's room, and found her locking up her diamonds.

"Your usual success, Fan! The dinner was A1, the mutton hung to a second, and that new champagne is very sound."

"That is your department, my dear. Yes, I think everything went off well, and people enjoyed themselves."

"All except that unfortunate Miss Sim, who looked like a death's head—but then, she doesn't play bridge. I say, what about Geoffrey, eh? He got along all right. I'm glad to see that shyness is not one of his difficulties. Molyneux was much taken with him, but these Cavalry chaps always hang on to one another. After you left, he was a help, talking away to the General, and that shikari man; by the way, you've not said a word to anyone about the reason of his trip?"

"My dear Fred, need you ask?" and Mrs. Tallboys confronted him gravely. "I don't want people to suppose that there is insanity in your family!—not that Geoffrey is insane—he is merely obsessed with an idea. The poor romantic boy was too long alone at Mallender; his father's illness and death got on his nerves. He is naturally cheery, and the change out here, with lots of lively company, will effect a cure; he is a dear fellow, with such nice unaffected, courteous manners, and a bright open face."

"Oh!—I see he has been admiring your china!" declared Colonel Tallboys with a grin of comprehension.

"No; but I may tell you that I, like Colonel Molyneux, am 'much taken with him.'"

"And he with Mrs. Villars?"

"Yes, you noticed that, in spite of William's smothered wrath, I sent him in to dinner with Lena."

"A capital move. Though I thought William looked pretty sick! So you are bent upon strong measures?"

"I don't know what you call strong measures, but I had a little talk with Geoffrey. I realise that he is completely overmastered by one idea, and I am determined to do all I can to prevent his risking his whole fortune on a wild-goose chase."

"I understand. Between polo, and the beauty, you hope to get the better of this obsession, and to head him off from his crazy enterprise. Well, Fan, you and I will do our best; and as, of course, you have allowed Mary Ayah to retire to her go-down, I suppose I must put on my spectacles, and unlace your dress?"

CHAPTER VIII

The following morning a sonorous "Five o'clock, saar," awoke Mallender from his too brief slumbers; his first struggling thought was "Where am I?" The cool crisp atmosphere felt strange, so did the sounds of an unknown tongue, and a stamping of impatient hoofs, in his immediate vicinity; then, in a second, he recalled his wits; he was in a tent in India, and pledged to play polo within an hour. A strong cup of Neilgherry tea, and a cold tub dispersed his drowsiness, and with the car's swift passage through the invigorating air his spirits and energies awoke. Lumbering water-carts were already allaying the red dust, and evoking a curious and unfamiliar smell of wet and pungent earth. From all directions people were sallying out for the morning ride or drive; portly cooks, attended by obsequious coolies (carrying empty baskets), flocked towards the bazaar, pallid Europe children were being herded forth on ponies, or in prams, in order to "eat the air," which, at this hour, was deliciously fresh, the sky incredibly clear and radiant, quivering with brightness and life. At six o'clock, all Madras was astir, and everywhere was activity, and bustle. As the smooth-running Napier sped noiselessly onward, Mallender looked about him, and realised that he was now in the tropics! Dense masses of purple Bourgainvillia draped and veiled the roadside bungalows; above their low brick walls, luxuriant bananas waved graceful, if somewhat dusty, leaves; "Sally Bidon" creeper and the scarlet gold mohur flung out their blazing signals. Vivid flocks of green paroquets—"the pretty dear" of barracks—flashed across from the banyans to the tulip trees, and tall toddy palms seemed to nod their heavy heads in languid greeting to the stranger, as he skimmed onwards, across the Marmelong Bridge, and away into the expanse of Guindy Park—where on the polo-ground Captain Byng and three smart polo ponies were awaiting him.

A subsequent practice proved fairly successful; the fourteen one waler ponies were well trained and handy. As Mallender galloped, and shouted, and wheeled, and hit, he was once more experiencing the joie de vivre, and feeling the sap of youth in his veins! Mallender Court and its melancholy memories were forgotten—as was also the great quest; that he had no other reason for coming to India than to play this uncommonly fast game, was 'number one's' firm (if momentary) conviction, as he rode off the Governor's Private Secretary, and scored the winning goal. This polo match at Guindy seemed to be a social spring-board, from which the new arrival took a headlong dive into the mäelstrom of Madras society. He now appeared to live amid the whirl of engagements: golf, boating on the Adyar, hunting, paper-chasing, bridge or dinner-parties, and a dance almost every other night. Also he found friends in the regiment quartered in the Fort and among the artillery at the Mount, and was almost "snowed under" with invitations. As the Tallboys' relative, a popular and presentable young fellow, who played polo, bridge and golf, his company was in continual, and even anxious request. However, his cousin Fan had always the first claim, and a quiet evening at home, with music and bridge, with Mrs. Villars for his partner, was always an attraction. Mallender and the lady became, as she predicted, great friends; unfortunately it was a friendship that aroused Sir William Bream's ill-concealed jealousy, and wrath.

"What Mrs. Villars could see in that grinning young whipper-snapper?" was beyond the range of his intelligence! The substantial self-made man of sixty was insatiable in his demands for the lady's society, for her insidious and delicious flatteries, her company to play golf, or to motor about the neighbourhood.—He liked to be seen with the handsomest woman in Madras.—Sir William owned a magnificent car; also, it was whispered, thirty thousand a year.

Colonel Tallboys kept a first-class stable, riding was still his passion; every morning at an early hour he fared forth, accompanied by Nan on a fine black waler, and as many of his guests as he could induce to follow his example. If not hunting, or paper-chasing, they scoured the Island, rode on the Marina, or the old race-course, returning a gay and happy pack, to an elaborate chota-hazri awaiting them in the open verandah.

Mrs. Villars did not care for early rising—nor yet riding—although she liked to sit about in her becoming habit; occasionally she rode down to the Island of an evening on a well-exercised pony, proceeding at no greater pace than a hurried walk, as anything more rapid gave her a pain in the side; but to state the plain truth, the graceful widow was a trembling coward.

Every evening the beauty appeared in a different toilet—each outshining the last. Mallender never could decide which suited her the best? The black, the rose-colour, the smoke-grey, the white, or the primrose—Mrs. Villars looked lovely in them all! She consulted him frankly and artlessly on the subject of her wardrobe, discussed her frocks, hats, and wraps, with the fervour of an enthusiast. The lady also confided to him that she was too shockingly extravagant, and simply adored her clothes!

"Do tell me, which of all my gowns you prefer?" she enquired, looking at him with the gaze of an ingénue.

"The one you are wearing," was his gallant reply.

"You mean that as a compliment, but you must have a choice," she answered impatiently—the pair were sitting in the verandah after dinner, enjoying coffee and cigarettes.

"Oh, well, if I must say, I choose the blue."

"The blue!" she repeated, "but why? Men always prefer black, or white."

"I like the blue, because you wore it the first time I saw you."

"Oh, you dear sentimental boy!" and Mrs. Villars extended a taper white hand, and patted his arm with playful commendation.

Nancy Brander, who happened to be in their neighbourhood, subsequently remarked to her aunt:

"I say, Fan, Lena Villars is making tremendous running with Geoffrey—he has given her a lovely gold bag for her birthday."

"Her birthday!" echoed Mrs. Tallboys, "rubbish—why, it's in October!"

"Yes, but perhaps to some it is convenient to have three or four a year; and when I was sitting out last evening, I declare I felt quite de trop—I expected every minute to see Geoffrey flop down on his knees, on the cold marble flags."

"Nonsense! How you talk, Nan!"

"Oh, yes, I can both talk and see. Tell me, dear, do you intend this case to develop? to go on to the end—I won't say bitter end—and marry Geoffrey to your old friend?"

"Of course I don't, you tiresome girl, and Lena would not think of him."

"You mean that she has other fish to fry—a big fish too! Well, I wish them both joy when he is landed in the frying-pan."

The easy manner in which his cousin's great establishment was maintained was marvellous to Mallender. Three or four, or half a dozen extra guests appeared to make no difference in the perfect domestic arrangements; everything went on wheels, everyone was looked after, everyone was free to do precisely what they pleased. Undoubtedly the head of the household was a born organiser and manager; a woman of amazing tact, kindness, and self-control.

Geoffrey was still "an outsider" under canvas, and much preferred his tent to a bedroom indoors. He enjoyed the complete novelty, the fresh feel of the morning air as it crept into the tent; he liked as he lay on his camp cot to watch the dull yellowed grass, tinted pink by the rising sun, and to hear the birds beginning to stir in the bushes. Other guests had departed and arrived, and these latter included a civilian and his sister from Mysore, a cultured American traveller, and a sprightly married couple, Captain and Mrs. Harcourt Wylie, acquaintances of Sir William, who knew them at home, and having casually encountered them on an Indian platform, offered them a warm invitation to Hooper's Gardens. This they accepted with effusive thanks—their plans being at the time a little vague and undecided.

"My cousins," announced Sir William, in his broad-chested pompous style, "are the most hospitable people in a hospitable country; they keep open house, have a first-class cook, entertain enormously, and do you royally!"

The Wylies, clever, business-like partners, still in the early thirties, were capable of making themselves welcome and at home in most places; they danced admirably, and indefatigably, played bridge extraordinarily well, and talked and dressed in the latest fashion.

Captain Wylie—who never alluded to his regiment—was a tall thin man, with a hearty manner, and a cordial voice,—always admirably groomed, and enviably self-possessed.

His wife was slim, smart and very erect; her features were small and regular, her eyes small and intent. She wore pearls and diamonds—that were magnificent imitations—and a fixed, agreeable smile.

Beyond the fact, that Sir William had met them at Monte Carlo, and that they had come out in someone's suite, no one knew much about them; but they were always lively and enthusiastic, ready to do anything, or go anywhere at a moment's notice. The Wylies referred to well-known people as their friends, and by their Christian names, and had evidently stayed about, and enjoyed themselves vastly; but whether they had a home of their own, or any belongings, was never positively disclosed. Nancy Brander did not like "the Prince and Princess Charming"—she thought the lady sharp and pushing, the man a well-mannered inquisitive snob—but as Nancy was in the minority, she wisely held her peace. A grand ball at the Banqueting Hall, given by His Excellency the Governor, was the first that Mallender attended. Everything was admirably done; the great room was crowded with everyone who was on "Government House List." He danced with Mrs. Villars, and sat out with her; noting with secret pride how much she was sought after, and how she was followed by the admiring eyes of men and women. She looked lovely in a Princess gown of gold satin, with a gold butterfly spreading its wings across her Empire bodice—butterflies caught up the graceful gold net draperies of her narrow skirt, and a golden band crowned her classic head. Yet the beauty of the night had honoured him with two waltzes and a supper dance! The beauty of the night danced divinely, as did Mallender; numerous wallflowers, and others, found it a real pleasure to contemplate them. Besides Mrs. Villars, Mallender waltzed with Mrs. Wylie,—whose style was perfection itself,—with Nancy and Fan, and several charming girls, among the latter Miss Miller.

She was pretty and girlish, and coloured up when he accosted her, and asked for a dance; subsequently when resting between two turns, they attempted the usual spasmodic conversation, he noticed for the first time how very blue her eyes were!

In answer to his question, Miss Miller informed him that the only other part of India she knew was Cannanore on the west coast.

"Not many balls there, I take it?" he said.

"No, there were few ladies, the place is like a sponge, so terribly damp and wet. We had one or two small dances,—but on a chunam floor, and a drugget."

"And the going pretty bad! I think I saw you riding in the paper-chase the other day."

"Yes, on an old Artillery 'caster,' with a mouth like iron. I am looking forward to the next gymkana, for Colonel Tallboys has offered me Naughty Mary."

"Has he, indeed!" exclaimed her partner, "she's a bit of a handful, you know."

"Yes, but I like her, and I am accustomed to what you call 'handsful.'"

"What, at Cannanore?"

"No; there we had bullocks; but I rode a great deal before I came out. I spent all my holidays, since I was about two years old, on a farm with my father's old nurse. Her family bred, and broke, hunters, they had quite a reputation."

"And so you learnt to ride, before you cut your second teeth?"

"Yes, I think so," and as she smiled she displayed two dazzling rows of these.

"And what else did you learn?"

"To milk and make butter, and rear fowl, and all sorts of unusual accomplishments."

"What sort, for instance?"

"Well, to drive a mowing machine," and she laughed gaily. "Shall we take another turn, before the music stops?"

As they launched into the vortex, Mallender felt sincerely sorry to think that this remarkably pretty bright girl, with all her inborn country tastes, was about to be delivered over to Colonel Harris, her father's contemporary!

"Won't you have some refreshment?" he suggested as they moved towards the buffet, "iced coffee, lemonade, champagne?"

"Lemonade, please. I never take wine. Once I drank a large glass of champagne, thinking it was ginger-beer; and afterwards——"

"Yes, I know; the floor came up, and hit you in the face!"

"Not quite so bad, but I felt rather dizzy, and very, very miserable."

"Champagne is generally supposed to have the opposite effect, and to make you very, very happy! Will you give me another dance?"

As Miss Miller studied her programme, her mother appeared, decorated with the waving green feather, and leaning on the arm of Colonel Harris. They were both looking alarmingly glum, and the latter said:

"Barbie, this is our dance. Where have you hidden yourself? I've been searching for you all over the place, I've got a vis-à-vis, so come along," and with a scowl at Mallender, he carried her off. Her mother however still lingered, and before he was aware, had "puckaroed" (i.e. captured) her daughter's late partner.

"Oh, Captain Mallender," she simpered, bowing, and coquettishly waving the green feather, "you are related to my dearest friends—the Tallboys. I've known Colonel Tallboys for twenty years, and more, and I feel that I know you. I remember Freddy, a smart handsome young man too," she paused expressively, "and such a flirt! Will you be a dear good Samaritan and get me a glass of champagne?—I feel ready to faint!"

Startled by the threat, Mallender hastened to supply the lady's wants, but as the buffet was crowded, he had, what seemed to him, a long time to wait, and meanwhile she chattered continually; airing the now somewhat faded graces, that had once made her the belle of an up-country station. As Mallender listened to her remarks upon the other guests—chiefly critical and destructive—looked into her face, observed her close-set, reddish-brown eyes, and straight thin-lipped mouth, he felt moved with a sense of profound compassion for her daughter. When at last they re-entered the ball-room after this tedious and wearisome delay, a waltz was being played, and the sprightly matron said:

"I know you are not dancing this, Captain Mallender, so do take a little turn with me?" and before her victim had time to remonstrate, or to realise the situation, he was swimming round the room with the future mother-in-law of Colonel Harris.

Mrs. Miller danced,—as do many Anglo-Indian ladies,—remarkably well. She was slight and supple, and had the advantage of a score of years of incessant practice. The face now resting on her partner's shoulder, wore an indescribable expression of ecstatic triumph, for here was she, a woman with a grown-up daughter (and having to take what she could get, among the rubbish-heap of partners), waltzing "Mon Rêve" with one of the smartest, and most popular young men in Madras! However, her ecstasy proved short-lived; when the music had wailed out the last bars, she gasped:

"Oh, that was a treat. Now do find us a cosy corner!"

But instead of complying with this alluring request, her cavalier conducted the lady to a prominent chair, and with a formal bow, withdrew, sternly determined that he would not—as she had broadly hinted—be her companion in a "Kàla Jaga" and at supper.

The next grand ball took place within the ancient walls of Fort St. George; and Mallender, who was now on his guard, hastened to fill his programme at the earliest opportunity. He secured dances with Nancy, Mrs. Villars, Mrs. Wylie, and various pretty girls, but gave Mrs. Miller a cautiously wide berth, steadily ignoring her smiles, signals, and even wafted kisses!

However, she danced all night, as if for very life; but he noticed that little Miss Barbie—looking rather white and woebegone—sat out the greater part of the evening with her burly Colonel.

CHAPTER IX

After two postponements, the polo tournament at last came off, and provided the community with an exciting entertainment. Colonel and Mrs. Tallboys never missed a single match; he being umpire, and a much respected authority on the polo ground, here this former brilliant performer was in his element. The little man knew most of the players well, and was acquainted with the personal character, merits or delinquencies, of every competing pony. The final, between the Chaffinches and the Marauders, brought all Madras to the Island, on a certain Thursday afternoon. Both teams were in magnificent form, and after a severely contested match, the Chaffinches won by six goals to five, amidst shouts and yells of applause.

Subsequently, Captain Byng received the cup at the gracious hands of Her Excellency, and when Mallender joined the party from Hooper's Gardens, he was accorded an ample share of praise; for his hard straight hitting, and fine driving power, had more than once saved the game. Colonel Tallboys rode about from group to group on his smart pony, a proud and happy man, and Mrs. Villars, looking lovely in a great feathered hat, gazed at the hero with her inspiring eyes, and whispered "Shabash!"

The syren had undoubtedly caught Geoffrey in her toils; he was acutely sensible of the glamour of her personality. With Lena Villars, appearances were not altogether deceitful, nor beauty vain. She had a soft low voice, a sympathetic, profoundly interested manner. Lena was not clever—and candidly admitted the fact—but professed that nothing gave her so much pleasure as to be with and listen to clever people—subtly insinuating that such were her companions. The charming widow was gentle, and timid—except at bridge, where her courage was more or less foolhardy—and always lovely to behold. Her white gowns, and tussore suits, appeared different to those of other women; so fresh, so creaseless, so eminently becoming. Her hats, and Panamas, exactly suited her. Of an evening in the verandah, with a chiffon scarf twisted about her head, it seemed to Mallender that he was contemplating a Madonna—or an angel. The fascinated young man was ready to do whatever the lady willed, and was almost as one who is hypnotised, or drugged—and yet, he was not in love with her; merely her servant, her anxious attendant, one of her many slaves.

The season began to wane, and the guests at Hooper's Gardens to dwindle in numbers. Mrs. Villars, Nancy, Sir William, the Wylies, and Geoffrey, were all that remained. People were now preparing to ship themselves to England, or to make engagements, and arrangements for the Hills.

"You come with us, of course, Geoffrey," said his cousin as they sat in the smoking-room after tiffin. "You will get hunting, I'm taking up the horses, and my friends the planters will give you capital shooting in the sholahs. I hope, by this time, you have forgotten your crazy nonsense—eh?"

"No, frankly, I have not," rejoined Mallender with unexpected decision. "I am still holding on to it. I should like to go to Ootacamund with you and Fan; you have been most awfully kind, and made me feel absolutely at home—but I want to drive a bargain."

"Oh, bargain away!" rejoined his relative, but his tone was apprehensive, his air ungracious.

"If I hear of some news I am expecting, I'll have to leave you, probably at an hour's notice, for I've promised to hold myself in readiness; and so if I go off rather abruptly, you will excuse me, won't you?"

Colonel Tallboys, who was walking about the room, made no reply, but pulled down his waistcoat, with an angry jerk.

"After all, you will remember that I came out here with a certain object," urged the young man.

"Oh, yes, I'm aware of that, and if the object were known, you'd find yourself an object of derision." Having delivered himself of this opinion he sat down, and regarded his cousin with a fixed glare.

"I can't help it, I must stick to my job," rejoined Mallender doggedly. "I may not be summoned; but if I am, and should be detained, letters to the Bank of Madras will find me; of course I shall write. I know you dislike this subject, so we will make it clear now, and once for all!"

"'Pon my soul, I think you are mad!" burst out Colonel Tallboys. "This mania of yours is—serious. Here are Fan and I, both attached to you, and looking on you more as—a—a—a son than anything, and you want to bolt off after some will-o'-the-wisp. As for a clue, swindlers may, and will fool you, but mark my words, you'll never get hold of one!"

"But I have got hold of a slight one."

"Let's hear it!" he said sharply.

"I had a line from Brown and Co. to say, that my allowance ceased, from the day I came to Madras."

Colonel Tallboys almost leapt out of his chair, his face was crimson.

"You call that a clue!" he shouted, "why, man alive, I call it ruin!"

"No, not altogether," replied his companion in a steady voice, "I have a good balance in hand, and before that is exhausted, I hope to have solved the problem."

"'Pon my soul, I have no patience with you, Geoffrey," declared his cousin fiercely; then standing over him, like a little bristling terrier, he added, "Your father was undoubtedly eccentric of late years, no doubt of that—and on one subject, I honestly believe you are not sane!"

"Well, well, Fred, let us leave it at that," replied Mallender with an uneasy laugh, "don't let us talk about it any more."

"I may not talk, but I shall think," retorted Colonel Tallboys in a loud, tremulous voice, and with this parting speech he hurried from the room, overturning as he went an indignant dog, and a couple of golf-sticks.

During all these weeks, though temporarily carried away by continuous amusements, and the irresistible fascinations of Mrs. Villars, Mallender had figuratively clung to, and corresponded with Jaffer and Co.—in spite of the fact, that their answers were indefinite, and letters few and far between. As he sat in the smoking-room, the afternoon after this scene with his relative, a butler entered, salaamed, and said:

"Someone come on business to see your Honour."

"All right," he answered, "show him in."

Almost treading on the servant's heels, there entered a thin, flat-chested native, heavily pock-marked, with a cast in one of his eyes—not an attractive personality. He wore a long tight black velvet coat, patent leather boots displaying a surprising eruption of mother-of-pearl buttons, an embroidered skull cap, and gold spectacles. With a profound salutation, he presented a visiting-card, on which was neatly inscribed:

"From A. D. Shumilal and Co., Agents, 805 Pophams Broadway."

"Captain Mallender, I think?" he enquired.

"Yes, that's right."

"I have come as representative of this firm—who are acting for Jaffer and Co., Hyderabad."

"I hope you bring me some news at last?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then glibly replied:

"Well, sir, you understand, that this is a very ticklish business and difficult. So much time has passed. So much bridge under water as you—say——"

"Yes, yes, yes. I know all that," returned Mallender impatiently.

"But we have now good hopes, that the case will end in success."

"Then you have some information?"

"That is so; but the affair is most awfully expensive, and I am sent here to request one small advance for outlay, only fifty pounds."

"But you have already had a hundred!"

"That is correct, and placed to credit," returned the clerk imperturbably, now producing a book from a pocket in his Noah's Ark coat, "and when you settle, I will hand you receipt."

"Yes, I dare say you will! You are rather premature, my friend. So far, I've seen no results for my money."

"Very soon, you shall. You understand, that we have to pay our staff through the nose. You will be ready, when summoned, to start at once."

"Why, of course; that's what I'm here for," rejoined Mallender impatiently.

"You may go far, you may go near. The man we are following fluctuates; sometimes he is close at hand, and sometimes out of reach for years!"

"By Jove, this sounds promising!"

"He is now in the country, and we may corner him any day; but he is very slip about and clever."

"You are sure that he is the right person?"

"Oh, yes, why not?" rejoined the clerk with easy confidence; and then, deliberately ticking off each finger, he continued, "Army man, retired; age between fifty and sixty,—always hiding identity, coming and going, many, many years. No letters from England, no English friends, no real home."

"Yes, it seems all right," said Mallender turning to open his dispatch-box, and extract a cheque-book. "Here," having scribbled for a moment, "is the money. As soon as you have any 'pucka' news, let me know at once."

The clerk received the slip of green paper, and having examined it carefully, laid down a receipt, and was about to depart when Mrs. Brander appeared, just back from golf.

"Ah, I'm interrupting a business interview!" she exclaimed, backing to the door.

"No, we have quite finished," replied Mallender, nodding to the baboo, who immediately salaamed, and glided forth.

"I am certain that man has something to do with your mystery," announced the lady, now coming forward, and seating herself squarely in an arm-chair.

"What do you mean?—what mystery?"

"Oh, you need not pretend! As a child, I was notorious for ferreting out secrets; and I've always known that you had one."

"But what makes you think so?"

"Uncle Fred told me you had come to India, about a gold mine; you assured me, that you had no interest whatever in an ounce of India! It is a pity you did not agree in your story! Do tell the true tale to me; I really think I ought to share it too! I extracted from Fanny the fact, that there was something; but beyond that, I could not pierce—no, not if I took a tin-opener! Perhaps I could help you? At least I'd be straight and honest, if not so sharp as your friend with the cock-eye, and the wreath of forget-me-nots round his cap."

"All right, then I'll tell you what there is to know," said Mallender impulsively, "but first, let me put away your sticks and golf-balls."

"Thank you; I've just done the nine-hole course, and beaten Fanny to smithereens. Uncle Fred says I now walk with the golf stride!—isn't he rude? Let us go into the verandah, where we cannot be overheard," and as she spoke, Mrs. Brander led the way out of the room, through the long French window.

When they were seated side by side in two luxurious cane chairs, Mallender imparted the outline of his enterprise without, remarkable to relate, one interruption.

"Now what do you think of it?" he enquired, as he concluded.

"Give me time to consider. My head is reeling," declared Nancy, then looking at him with her clever grey eyes, she went on: "Tom has been about in this country; he was born here, and both his father and grandfather were in the Indian Civil; he has heard of, and seen strange things, so I am not rudely incredulous. I believe that your Uncle is still in the land—but why? A jig-saw puzzle is nothing to this! I also believe that he will never allow you to find him. He has thirty years' start, and knows every hole, and corner, in the Presidency."

"But I don't believe that this man is my Uncle," argued Mallender with hasty emphasis, "so there is where we differ! He pretends he is, to Brown and Brown, and is a clever and unscrupulous forger; but I shall find his lair yet, and run the ruffian to earth, like any other vermin."

"It's an enormous task," said Nancy; "especially for you, an utter stranger, who cannot speak the language, and do not know our little ways. What does your Baboo propose to do in exchange for the cheque?"

"Put me on to my man," was the prompt answer; "he has a clue."

"Ah, yes, so he says," she replied, with a glance of derision, "that sort of creature would promise you the moon."

"Oh, he has not much to do with the business, merely a messenger, from the agents of Jaffer and Co. As soon as they give me the office, I'm off."

"Are you?" she exclaimed rather blankly, "and what about Fan, and Uncle Fred?"

"He knows my object in coming out. I told him at once—in fact, within the first five minutes."

"And?" now leaning forward, her chin on her hands.

"And—he won't help me. He is dead against me in this; in fact, he can't bear it spoken of; we had a bit of a breeze to-day, and the subject is barred!"

"Uncle Fred has a commonplace imagination, tied up in red tape, and fastened with a sealed pattern knot, but a very long head on his square little shoulders. I pin my faith to his opinion. Still, I feel conscious of the magnetism that belongs to a man of purpose, and I must confess, that your romantic enterprise appeals to me; I will do all I can to help you to find one, or the other. I'll be your mouse; your Uncle—or the impostor—the lion!"

"Thank you awfully, my kind mouse."

"The woman who could assist you substantially, is Mrs. Fiske; unfortunately, she is not a mouse but a cat!"

"I can't bear the sight of her!"

"Yes, I know, because she is so maddening at bridge; and always adds up wrong, and argues; but she knows the Presidency, and every seamy tale for the last thirty years is at her finger-ends. Talk, including evil speaking, lying, and slandering—is her strong point. If you want to dig up an old divorce case, a racing scandal, a bankruptcy, go to Mrs. Fiske."

"I'm blessed if I do! Why do people stand her, and her tongue?"

"Because we are all afraid of her, shameful, miserable cowards! Of course, she ought to have been prosecuted for libel over and over again—but no one dares. On the contrary, we are all obsequiously civil and tremble before her, never knowing whose turn it may be next. And the awful part of it is, that her lies have always some foundation! For instance, if she were to see us sitting here together, talking secrets——"

"Well, what then?" demanded her companion brusquely.

"She might send an anonymous wire to Tom. How he would laugh! Ha! ha! ha!"

"I'm not going to laugh," declared Mallender with a flash in his eye, "that sort of woman, is like an infectious disease. She ought to be stuffed in a sack, and flung off the pier."

"Do please restrain your feelings," and Nancy lifted an appealing hand, "and I will say something wise. As your friend and confidante, I may assure you, that here in Madras, you will never get near your object—no, nor in Ooty. For you, it's nothing but play, play, play. I can see through Uncle's little plan; it is to keep you captive in Capua, ensnared by polo, golf—and other fascinations."

There was so much insinuation in the last three words, that Mallender coloured to his ears.

"You will find no opportunity to prosecute your search; so like Bacon's wise man, when you can't find opportunity—you must make it!"

"You are right," he answered with conviction, "I've agreed to this trip to Ooty, but when I've seen the place, I shall take a pull, and start on my own."

"Incognito, of course," she added impressively, "not as a young swell, with guns and servants, searching for a lost relation. That would bring you scores of bogus uncles; a keen stealthy tracking in an humble fashion, travelling intermediate class, and pretending to work for your daily bread, is your best line."

"Yes," he agreed, "as soon as I see a glimmer I'll start in rags, if necessary."

Nancy Brander critically considered her companion, from his glossy dark hair, to his neat brown boots, and softly repeated the words:

"Rags! You don't even know what they are! It's lucky you're searching for a man! to find a woman out here, would be absolutely hopeless."

"Oh—a woman—I dare say!"

"I see," she nodded her head, "in her case, you would not bother! You are not really a ladies' man!"

"Depends on the lady," he answered with a laugh.

"Well, Cousin Geoffrey, whatever you do, don't go and marry your grandmother!" was her somewhat enigmatic advice. "I shall write to Tom to-night, and tell him to dredge his memory, and try if he can recall any eccentric Englishmen, who live out here, and lie low; not loafers, but others who have a little money, and their own very particular reasons for not returning home; or who simply worship the East, for being the East, and cannot tear themselves away from the sun. Remember," she continued impressively, "that you must have some excuse for your rambling. Suppose you give out that you are writing a good popular book on the common, or garden, insects of India—including white ants, and other pouchees, how would that be?"

"Do I look like a man who could write a book?" cried Mallender, jumping to his feet, and standing before her.

"No, I cannot say you do; you look more like somebody musical. How would you like to go round with a gramophone, on a little cart?"

"Since you gave me an option, I say, not at all!"

"I have it!" clapping her hands, "photography,—that will take you anywhere and everywhere—short of a zenana."

"By Jove, a splendid idea! and I can photograph a bit. I'll buy a camera to-morrow, and if this clue pans out all right, I'll take to the road, as a travelling photographer."

"Beware, that the road does not take you," she answered gravely. "We shall soon have the hot weather upon us, and you little know, what that means—yet! You will keep Anthony, of course?"

"Yes, and I suppose I'll have to give him a peep behind the scenes, eh?"

"Quite unnecessary! He knows all your secrets, perhaps not every detail, but I'm sure he suspects that you have some mysterious business out here. No doubt your affairs are exhaustively discussed in the cook-house, and the bazaar. Natives are so vitally interested in us, and our concerns. We are always on the stage—they are the audience. I dare say Anthony has met, and exchanged confidences with your baboo—or baboon! Anthony has an inquisitive eye, but you can trust him. I advise you to tell him your plans, put him on his honour, swear him to secrecy—with a promise of rupees. He will enjoy the enterprise enormously! since secrecy and intrigue are naturally in his bones, in fact, he ought to accept half wages. Anyway, I believe you will find him quite a useful Sherlock Holmes. Ah, here they all come, back from the golf links. Mrs. Villars and Sir William leading the van, the Wylies with Fan—so I will leave you to listen to the tale of their triumphs, their scores, their drives, and how someone 'foozled,' and someone swore! Good-bye!" and with a gay nod, Nancy Brander carried her slim well-tailored figure, and smiling face, out of the verandah.

That same evening as he was dressing for dinner, Mallender took Anthony into his confidence.

"I understand that you are trustworthy," he began abruptly, "and so I am going to tell you something that you are to keep strictly to yourself."

"Oh, yes, saar, certainly, saar," he answered with unexpected fervour, "Master going to be married."

"No—you fool! See if the door is shut."

(Mallender had now been promoted to the house). Then in a few short sentences he disclosed his plans. As the particulars were gradually unfolded, Anthony's attitude and expression changed; his eyes dilated, as for his mouth, it was wide open, and from its action, appeared to be swallowing whole sentences, with unctuous avidity.

"So now you know," concluded Mallender, as tie in hand, he turned to the glass.

"Saar, saar," stuttered a choking voice, "I hearing all this tale, when I was small chokra—true I telling. My Uncle Fernandez, now very old, no teeth, no belly, was thirty years ago head waiter in Cavalry Mess, Bangalore, and that business making much talk, when two officers come back from shoot, all 'Tulla Bulla,' and the other Captain nowhere! Regiment all upside down, great bobbery making, and plenty sorry, because there was nothing—no funeral—no corpse body!"

"That missing officer was my Uncle," announced his master, "and I've come to India to find out what became of him; and by and by I shall start as a man who travels round, looking for employment."

"I beg your pardon, saar! Employment, a situation, you, saar!" Anthony gasped out these words, and then stood breathless. From the style of Mallender's belongings, clothes, and kit, he had formed a high estimate of his status in life. Here was no poor Captain, with a mere two hundred and sixteen rupees four annas a month, but a master who wore the best silk underclothing, and socks, had dozens of shirts, a silver mounted suit-case, and gave presents to ladies that cost hundreds of rupees; in fact, he had been making up his mind to ask for a rise of wages, and this projected playing at poverty descended like a thunderbolt.

"I shall travel about as a photographer," resumed Mallender, as he pulled on his coat, "and take groups and families, in out-of-the-way places, and you shall accompany me as my assistant and carry the camera."

This was not an alluring prospect. Anthony was naturally gregarious, he liked the society of smart fellow-servants, he enjoyed bragging, and cock-fighting, listening to piquant news, playing cards, and smoking good cigars. Nevertheless, the prospect of a manhunt was exciting; yes, he would gladly take part in that.

"You can get me some cheap bazaar suits in kharki and drill," continued his master, "like what clerks wear; and a big common pith hat, and lots of soap and insect powder, and some towels. All my Europe kit, portmanteau, and guns, I'll leave behind me."

"I beg your pardon, saar, that bad sense. Better take one gun, plenty budmash up-country."

"Oh, a revolver will do. We must travel light."

"And how soon going, saar?"

"As soon as I hear some news I am expecting."

"Saar, beg your Honour's pardon, but I know one very clever man in Gora Bazaar. He is wise as a snake, has his ear to the ground, and finds lost things. Why not find lost gentlemans? Also, I knowing by your Honour's favour, one very good magic wallah."

"No, no, no," said Mallender impatiently, "none of that rot, Anthony! You get things ready for a start, here are fifty rupees, and bring a dirzee to-morrow, to make me some clothes for roughing it up-country."

At the same hour the next evening, Anthony as usual awaited his master, and with him was a companion.

"Who's this?" enquired Mallender, "the dirzee?"

"No, saar, my assistant, saar. If we go up-country, plenty work for two. I can cook and shoot game; this boy will do boots, wash dishes, and carry camera. He is a heathen, and very cheap, only six rupees. His name is Chinna-Sawmy, which by your favour means 'Little God.'"

"I hope he won't turn out a little devil!" responded Mallender. "Here, let me have a look at him."

Chinna-Sawmy, who now stood forward, showing two rows of beautiful teeth, was very dark, with inky black eyes, and black shades in his cheerful countenance. His age might be ten, or it might be fifteen. He wore a white coat, which almost swept the ground, an enormous turban—both obviously borrowed—and two silver toe-rings.

"Well, Anthony, remember that you are responsible for him. Does he speak English?"

"Oh, yes, saar," promptly responded Chinna-Sawmy, "I speak very well English, and I have a good chit—I dog boy to General Pringle, and five dogs; and Mrs. General, she liking me too much."

Here Anthony broke in. "Chinna-Sawmy is lucky, always finding things, once find gold watch, and that for why I catching Chinna-Sawmy; better than magic wallah," and he seized upon and exhibited the boy's hands, on each of which were two thumbs—small, perfectly formed, and growing from the same joint. "This bringing master plenty luck!" announced Anthony with an air of overwhelming conviction. But his master recoiled a step, and said:

"Oh, yes, all right; but I won't have the fellow to wait on me. I dare say, out here, a double growth may be a fine thing, but I draw the line at two thumbs on one plate," and having made this declaration, Captain Mallender went to dinner, and Chinna-Sawmy gave expression to his joy by standing on his head.

CHAPTER X

The most popular Meet was at the Marmelong Bridge, and here on a certain Thursday morning half Madras society was assembled on horseback, wheels, or, the lazy folks, in motors, awaiting the arrival of the hounds.

Colonel Tallboys, admirably turned-out and mounted to correspond, was engaged in an animated conversation with little Miss Miller—admittedly the best of horsewomen, and keenest of followers. Unfortunately her steeds were rarely worthy of their rider; to-day, for instance, she was reduced to a bony old waler, who looked as if he had been knocking about the world for many years, and had lately fallen into low estate. As Mallender joined the party the girl was saying:

"Yes, this is the Nizam. I knew he had been raced; and so you remember him winning the Gold Cup ten years ago! What a change! I always feel so sorry for animals when they grow old; Father bought him at auction at the Stable Company for a mere song, and rides him as a charger; after father, I must seem a mere feather! The Nizam loves jumping, and galloping, and finds it much more to his taste than dull morning parades."

"For all his age he has a wild and eager eye," observed Mallender, "if you will allow me I will take up his curb, it's pretty loose."

"No, no, thanks very much," said Barbie, "if we have any jumping, I must give him his head."

"It's a pity you can't give him a new pair of forelegs," remarked Colonel Tallboys, "he is not a safe mount now, poor old boy. You should have had Naughty Mary to-day, only the farrier pricked her in shoeing, and she's a bit lame. I'll send her over to you every morning."

"Thank you a million times! I do love her, naughty as she is, but chestnuts always have hot tempers."

"They say the same of red-haired people, and it's not true," declared Colonel Tallboys—whose own youthful locks had been distinctly carroty—"Ah, here come the hounds, and now we are off. I expect he will draw towards the Mount," and as he spoke the little man wheeled about, to jog beside the Master.

A Jack was speedily on foot; a fine, stout-hearted fellow, who immediately headed for his home in Palaveram Hills, seven miles away. It was a fast thing, and after a time, between the heat, the pace, and the rough going, a number of the hunt tailed away. Miss Miller and the Nizam were, however, still well to the fore; she had an eye for country, and made for a certain stiff mud wall, which cut off a considerable amount of paddy fields. Here Mallender was her sole companion, and as they galloped side by side, he noticed her face, girlishly alight, her colour brilliant with excitement.

"I'll give you a lead," he shouted, and putting on the pace raced up to the obstacle, cleared it in beautiful style, and had galloped about twenty lengths, when it occurred to him to look back; then he pulled up sharply, and turned his horse.

The Nizam was struggling on the ground, Miss Miller was lying near him in a heap. She sat up, then scrambled to her feet as Mallender approached; she looked white, and dazed, as she tottered over to a tree, and leant heavily against it.

"I'm afraid you are hurt?" he asked as he dismounted.

"No, only a little stupid,"—she gazed at him vaguely, as if she had never seen him before, and he noticed that her temple was bruised.

Meanwhile the Nizam had found his legs, and instead of waiting on the good pleasure of his rider, shook himself violently, and wheeling about, tore away in pursuit of the vanishing hunt. As the young lady seemed about to faint, Mallender hastily produced and proffered his flask, which, however, she dismissed with an impatient hand.

"Where am I? and who are you?" she asked in a tone of bewilderment.

"I'm Mallender, Miss Miller—don't you know me?"

"No, where am I, tell me?"

"You've been hunting—and you've just had a pip off the old horse," he explained, with patient slowness.

"Where?"

"At the wall; where you took it was a foot too high for the Nizam, and he landed on his head."

"I remember—now."

"I think you are only a bit shaken—he might have broken your neck."

"How I wish he had!" was her disconcerting rejoinder.

"Come, come, Miss Miller, I see you are knocked out of time," said Mallender cheerfully, "I know what it's like myself."

"No, no, you don't know," she contradicted hysterically, "you—you don't understand—how could you?" Something in her voice moved him unspeakably.

As Mallender looked at his companion, the expression of her quivering white face was pitiful beyond words. And he did know, he did understand. The momentary shock had evidently brought the girl's real feelings to the surface; he had caught a glimpse of the inmost heart, and secret misery, of little fair-haired, hard-riding, Barbie. Undoubtedly he had no right to this involuntary confidence. He, a mere passer-by, who had chanced on a glimpse of an impending tragedy. Could he not avert it? Barbie, so pale, pretty, and helpless, would be driven by the whip of tongues, by the cruelty of moral force, to throw away her priceless youth, her whole future—and no one could save her but herself! All these strange and disturbing thoughts flashed through the young man's mind, as he stood holding his impatient horse, and the girl leaned against a tree with strained gaze fixed upon the flat horizon. She seemed to be lost in a sort of day-dream, and to have completely forgotten his very existence; it was almost as if he and she had a whole empty world to themselves.

The hunt had disappeared, there was not a soul to be seen, and scarcely a sound to be heard, save the faint creaking of a water-wheel, and the scream of a kite, from the hard blue sky above them. As Mallender contemplated his silent companion, wondering how long the situation would last? and what he was to do? she suddenly recovered herself.

"I feel better," said she in her natural voice, "I'm all right now, I see that rude old horse has deserted me, how am I to get home?"

"You shall ride Rocket," replied Mallender, "he will carry you all right—I'll walk beside you, and lead him."

"No, indeed," she protested, "you have lost the run of the season, I'm so sorry, but I think, if you rode towards the Mount, you might still see something of them, and if you come across it—send a gharry for me,—I'll get to the road somehow!"

"We will both get to the road somehow," he answered; "let me put you up."

"I've twisted my foot," she explained with a wry smile, "please don't touch it."

"Then in that case I must lift you," and he raised her bodily in his arms, and placed her on the saddle.

Leading the horse carefully along the narrow bunds dividing paddy fields, or over bare and rocky tracts, among bushes of castor-oil plants, across sandy, dry water-courses, the pair at last reached the road. Their progress towards the outskirts of the city and the lines of the native regiment commanded by Colonel Miller was necessarily slow, and more than an hour elapsed before the pair arrived at their destination. A surprising amount of talk can be accomplished in an hour, and the young people thus thrown so unexpectedly together found plenty to say to one another. Mallender spoke of his home, his regiment, and his dogs, and Barbie realised that her "syce" (as he called himself) was a man who owned hunters and a "place." Yet he was as simple and unassuming and exhibited no more "side" than if he were a clerk like Reggie Scott, who had nothing beyond a miserable hundred and fifty rupees a month. That Reggie adored her Barbie was well aware; he was a nice boy, but she did not care for him—except as a partner at tennis. One day in a towering rage he had taunted her with having no more heart, or romance, than a cold potato! Was this true? she wondered; had she really no heart? Was she incapable of deep love for any living mortal?

Wearing a pair of brand-new riding-boots, leading a disappointed and unwilling horse over rough broken ground, through grey-green cactus and castor-oil plants—finally along dusty by-roads, would have seemed a hateful task to most men; but Mallender was unconscious of any disagreeables, he neither felt the sun beating on his back, the dust, or the distance; he was only sensible of the unexpected charm of his present companion.

As for Barbie, miles on a slippery saddle,—the uncomfortable attitude, and aching foot,—were agreeably discounted by a subtle sympathy which had arisen between her escort and herself.

As the same escort tramped through the soft red dust, he found himself unexpectedly confiding various matters to his charge. He gave her no evasive answers when she asked what had brought him to India; but frankly informed her that his visit was connected with a curious family business he was obliged to see through. "It has," he added, "to do with something that happened thirty years ago."

"It sounds romantic!"

"I suppose some would call it so," he answered, lamely.

"What does Colonel Freddy call it?"

"Madness!" was the curt reply.

"Madness!" echoed the girl, and she looked down at her companion with startled eyes.

"Yes," he replied doggedly. "If I were to tell you about it, you'd probably say the same! I confess that it sounds extraordinarily silly, yet I mean to stick to it."

"Then I wish you well through your task, and every success," she said gravely.

For a moment Mallender was conscious of an acute temptation to tell this little girl all about his quest—he assured himself that in her he would surely find a sympathetic confidante,—but on second thoughts he changed his mind, and merely said:

"It's a stiffer job than I expected, and out here it's so confoundedly hard to get things moving."

Confidences are contagious, and the two young people exchanged many ideas and opinions as they drew nearer, and yet nearer, to the suburbs of Madras. They did not touch on any deep or vital subjects, but agreed in their love of dogs, and of most animals; in a liking for country life,—raspberry and currant tart, Lehar's waltzes, and Rudyard Kipling. Barbie talked frankly, yet shyly, of the farm,—her school-fellows, and school-days, but on the subject of her career as a grown-up young lady she was dumb.

"You will be returning to England this spring, won't you?" asked her companion. The question was in the nature of a discreet feeler.

"My father's time is up," she replied, "and he and my mother go home in April—as for me——" she came to an abrupt stop.

"As for you?" he repeated, looking up at her shadowed blue eyes, and noticing the wistful misery of her face.

"Nothing is decided," she answered with a gulp; and a spasm, half of laughing, half sobbing, caught her breath.

Mallender was suddenly seized by an irresistible desire to speak. His mother's warm impulsive blood was beating in his veins. Why should he not urge upon this girl, that she had her own life to live; that she must not sacrifice her youth, and future, to the selfish demands of three elderly people, who had enjoyed their day?

As he struggled between a temptation to deliver his soul, and a conviction that he would be guilty of "beastly cheek," his thoughts were put to flight by Miss Miller, who exclaimed:

"Here we are in Vepery, close to our lines, and your dreadful dusty walk is nearly ended!"

In another moment, they had come within sight of a bungalow, and on its gate was a board, bearing the name, "Colonel Miller, 20th Carnatic Rifles."

"I assure you I've enjoyed what you call my 'dreadful dusty walk,' Miss Miller," said Mallender, "and as far as I'm concerned, I'm sorry it's over; but you must be dead beat, and glad to be home."

And what a squalid home! (An exception, not the rule among military households in India, which as a rule are remarkably neat and trim; even where rupees are scanty, there is taste and refinement; but the Millers had always been an indolent, improvident, and self-indulgent couple, who found their pleasures abroad, whose abode was makeshift, and their motto "A short life, and a merry one." Now, after thirty-two years' service, Colonel Miller was about to retire on his pension—leaving behind him few well-wishers, and many debts.)

The mud garden, which intervened between gate and bungalow, held some sickly crotons, bushes of the shoe plant, and a variety of ragged kitchen rubbers, also not a few energetic hens—who were dusting themselves with commendable energy. The verandah was lined with pots of withered geraniums, and irritable-looking cacti; a green parrot in a bazaar cage hung between two pillars, talking scandal to his own grey claw. Here also were exposed piles of battered packing cases, old bullock trunks, wine cases, saddlery, and sprawling in a long chair, in his sleeping suit, reclined Colonel Miller, who was smoking a "Trichy" with an air of sluggish satisfaction.

"Hullo!" he shouted to someone within, "Barbie has come to grief!"

The announcement brought Mrs. Miller from the dark interior;—Mrs. Miller, in a soiled pink dressing-gown, bare feet in slippers, and hair in curling-pins. She stopped short, as if shot,—here indeed was Barbie, riding a strange animal, and accompanied by a man—young Mallender, of all people. He had seen her! Well, she must just brave it out!

Several lurking slovenly servants who had also witnessed the arrival, came slinking round a corner of the bungalow, in order to stare at the smart gentleman, and his fine horse.

"What has happened?" screamed Mrs. Miller, seizing a solar topee, and thrusting it on her head.

"Miss Miller has had a fall," replied her escort, putting two fingers to his helmet, "but it is nothing serious."

"And where's the horse?" she screamed.

"Oh, he got away,—I expect he is all right!" was the soothing response.

"Please lift me down," murmured Barbie, "and don't wait."

"I thought you could ride anything, my girl," said her father, as she limped up to him.

"The old Nizam was blown, and came down at a wall."

"I hope he hasn't barked his knees, eh, Mallender? Very kind of you to bring my little girl home. You'll excuse this kit—it's a Europe morning, you know, and at this hour you must take us as you find us."

"Of course, sir, of course," assented the visitor, "it's barely nine o'clock."

"Have a peg, and a cheroot?"

"No,—thank you,—it's a bit early!"

"Ah, you young fellows are different to what we were! you're all for tea, and Pérrier water! Hullo, here comes Harris in his war-paint," as Colonel Harris, bestriding a fat charger, and attended by a syce, rode proudly into the compound. He saluted his friend, and contemporary, then stared aggressively at Mallender, who supported his gaze with imperturbable sang-froid.

"Barbie took a toss," explained her parent, "and Captain Mallender has just brought her home."

"Oh, has he, eh! Good morning, Mallender—any the worse, Barbie?" he enquired, descending heavily as he spoke.

"No, only my ankle, nothing much."

"Ah, I see we must put a stopper on to this hunting of yours," declared Colonel Harris as he climbed the steps murmuring condolences, and with clanking sword, waddled over to where his lady-love sat, in a lop-sided cane chair.

"I will say good morning," called out Mallender, now mounting his horse. The sight of Barbie, and the mawkish solicitude of her admirer, was altogether too much for his equanimity. Towards unconscious Colonel Harris there arose in his mind a sudden fierce dislike and enmity, and with a comprehensive farewell he trotted out of the gate. All eyes followed him, including those of Mrs. Miller—who was peeping through the chick. She had hastily retired to take out the curling-pins, and put on her stockings.

A smart, soldier-like figure in his neat riding-kit, on his fine well-groomed New Zealander, a contrast, thought Barbie, to her elderly red-faced lover, who was still panting from the exertion of ascending the verandah.

At this juncture, the appearance of the Nizam created a diversion; the side-saddle was intact, also his knees; he was covered with sweat and foam, but appeared to be in buoyant spirits, as if he had thoroughly enjoyed himself!

Meanwhile Mrs. Miller followed her daughter into her bedroom—a low, bare apartment, overlooking the servants' go-downs, and sparsely furnished with a cot, a press, and a rickety dressing-table.

"Show me your foot?" she commanded. "Well, yes, it's swelled. You must bathe it, and send for arnica, it will be all right in a few days. Now listen to me, Barbie," she went on impressively, "you are not to bring young men here,—James doesn't like it."

"But I did not bring Captain Mallender, mother—he brought me."

"Nonsense, you ought to have got a gharry!"

"Not one to be had, in the paddy fields beyond Sydapet."

"Now, no impertinence! Understand, once for all, I won't have Mallender hanging about, so don't you go making up to him."

Barbie became scarlet, and flung her boot across the room with unnecessary violence.

"Keep your temper, Barbara! I won't allow you to speak to him, or encourage him."—In Mrs. Miller's bosom, there rankled a sharp and spiteful memory of the young man's indifference, and neglect.—"He fancies himself no end, and looks down on all Madras spins, and I hear from good authority he is a regular bad lot; so see that you give him a wide berth, or I'll know the reason why. As long as you are under my roof, you must obey my wishes. When you have a house of your own, you can please yourself. You'd better get the ayah to bandage your foot, and put on one of your father's slippers. You must be quick and change and come out to breakfast, as James is here."

CHAPTER XI

One afternoon, after a couple of hours' severe polo practice, Mallender returned home to bathe, and change; and subsequently feeling considerably refreshed, sauntered out to have a smoke. In the immediate neighbourhood of his tent was an ancient pleasure-ground, which doubtless had been laid out in the days of Jane Austen when ladies took exercise and "walked in the shrubbery." Behold a shrubbery with tropical trees, thick undergrowth, a wild tangle of shrubs and creepers, splashed with blossom; and blazing masses of oleanders, pomegranates and variegated crotons, intersected by overgrown, narrow walks. In an open space was a large half-empty, chunam tank, and one or two stone benches. Here Mallender sat down, and lit a cigar. He seldom now had a moment to himself, his days were a wild rush from one function to another. Undoubtedly he was having a very jolly visit, but he must take a pull. He had been nearly a month at Hooper's Gardens, and it was a case of "As you were." His correspondents Jaffer and Co. seemed to be of the same mind as the French cynic, who remarked that "when making promises to people, it was always wise to be exceedingly vague."

He had engagements for weeks ahead, and if nothing turned up meanwhile, had agreed to accompany his relatives to the Hills. He liked them both immensely, and Nancy too. There were lots of good fellows in the polo teams, and the Fort; he was really having the time of his life! All the same, he had not come out to take part in this giddy round. When he began to talk of his enterprise to his cousin, it was odd how sharply he changed the subject; but whatever happened, he could not allow Fred to stand in his way! These reflections were suddenly interrupted by an audible, half-strangled sob; Mallender looked about him. At first he had an idea that the sound came from the mysterious enclosure over the wall; possibly the Prince had been chastising one of his women-folk. It was rather a weird establishment; generally silent as death. At times, he caught the sound of squealing horses, men's sonorous authoritative voices, and occasionally, at a very late hour, the strains of a zitar were wafted above the intervening neem and pagoda trees. Another loud heart-shaking sob! It proceeded from this side of the boundary, and his own immediate vicinity; Mallender rose quickly, and turning into a narrow walk, half choked by masses of shrubs, discovered a girl sitting on a stone seat, her head bowed, her face buried in her hands—evidently in an agony of grief. Hearing his footsteps, she started and looked up, and he found himself face to face with Miss Sim. And, oh what a haggard, tear-stained, ghastly countenance!

"What is the matter?" he asked brusquely.

She choked, and made no reply, but merely continued to stare at him stupidly. He noticed, that beside her on the seat lay a small suspicious looking bottle, at which following his glance, she made a frantic grab.

"Come, Miss Sim," he resumed, now sitting down beside her, "let me hear all about it,—is it something so very bad?"

A dry shudder was her only answer.

"Can't you tell me?" he urged, "I may be able to pull you through. Anyway, my cousin will. I hate to see you like this." She was still sobbing hysterically. "Don't look at me, but imagine I'm another woman—who just wants to do you a good turn."

Suddenly he remembered her story; here was the so-called "sponge" in desperate trouble, and possibly at the end of her resources. Although they had been nearly a month in the same house, they had but scant acquaintance. Miss Sim did not ride, play bridge, or take any part in social activities; if Mallender ever thought of her, it was as a colourless young woman, with anxious eyes, who seemed only too thankful to be ignored, and overlooked. He had noticed her motoring with Fanny, and helping her with notes, and menu cards. Fred, too, talked, played tennis, and danced with her, but to most of their other guests Miss Sim was as a ghost. Mrs. Villars recognised her existence so far as to make use of her and send her messages; whilst Mrs. Wylie ridiculed her openly, and treated her as if she were a servant.

"In the first place, hand me over that little bottle," he went on authoritatively.

No answer beyond a subdued weeping and choking.

"If you don't, I shall have to take it from you."

Moved by this threat, she slowly unclosed her limp fingers, and he promptly possessed himself of a tiny blue phial, on which was scrawled:

"Poysun—fur dog."

"Now," said Mallender as he crossed his legs, and looked at her sternly, "I insist on your telling me what this means?" He realised, that he must adopt a determined attitude, with this miserable weeping creature. "Come, now."

"Oh, it's a long, long story," she moaned, "and I've been such a fool!"

"We have all been that," he answered cheerily. "Unless I know what your trouble is, how on earth can I help you?"

"Must I really tell you?" and she looked up at him with streaming eyes.

"Why not? But first of all, let us get out of this jungle, and sit in the open by the tank," and he rose, and led the way followed by wretched Miss Sim, whose spasmodic sobs were still audible, though she was now comparatively calm.

"To begin with," she said as she dried her eyes, "I made a fatal mistake in coming out to India. I had no business in this country."

"Precisely my own case, according to Brown and Co.," reflected Mallender.

"But I was so miserable at home; an orphan, living with my aunt, as maid and governess to her four children. I had always longed to see India, and devoured every book relating to the East that I could lay hands on, and a girl I knew, had a married sister in Poona, and read me her delightful letters. Then when I went for a holiday to an old school-fellow, I met a lady who lived out here, and who took a fancy to me"—she paused for a moment, and added hysterically, "I wonder you don't laugh!"

"Why should I laugh?" he asked sharply.

"I was so different then, bright, and gay. I could sing, and tell fortunes, and trim hats, and Mrs. Powell, who was returning to India, said, that if ever I could scrape up the passage money, and make my way out, she would give me a ripping time."

"I see."

"I got this idea firmly fixed in my mind, and worked for it like a slave. I sold some old jewellery, and bought things, and got together my outfit, and at the end of six months, I advertised for, and obtained a passage to Bombay, as nurse to one child. Then I told Aunt Todd; she was furious, and declared that if I went, what she called 'wild-goosing to India,' she would never have anything more to say to me as long as she lived."

"And you came all the same!" commented her companion.

"I did. I had a delightful passage, and made a number of new friends. Of an evening, I sang and acted, and played bridge. I never shirked my work; but once Jacky was in bed, and asleep, I considered myself free. Mrs. Blunt and I had a difference of opinion on the subject—she expected me to sit, mewed up in the cabin, till bedtime. But I did not care what she said. I was reckless, and happy, and greedy of amusement. When we arrived in Bombay I sent Mrs. Powell a wire, 'Here I am—may I come?' the answer was merely 'Yes,' and I confess, I felt a little damped; for in England, she had been so demonstrative, and affectionate. However, when I reached Chotapore, after a long dusty journey, she seemed rather pleased to see me; but somehow, I felt in my bones, that this Mrs. Powell was not the same woman I had known in Ealing. Still, she made me welcome to her spare room, and I trimmed up her hats, and things, and sang, and told fortunes at her little parties. I think Mr. Powell liked me; he took me out riding, and taught me piquet, but his wife soon grew tired of me,—and let me see it. I had supposed that in India, guests stayed for months and months, but I found that times were changed; a few weeks, or even days, is the limit of a visit."

"And what happened next?" enquired Mallender.

"After leaving the Powells, I went on to various ship acquaintances, and more or less enjoyed myself for six months. After that my money began to give out, and also my invitations, and wardrobe. By the end of the year, I was forced to write an abject letter to my aunt, imploring her to pay my passage home."

"And she refused, and said she'd see you further?" threw in Mallender.

"She said nothing; I've sent four letters registered, and no reply,—though she must know that I am absolutely penniless, and destitute."

"But what has brought your troubles to a crisis?"

"Many things. For one, my only girl friend, and confidante, who advises and helps me, has sprained her ankle, and her odious mother will not allow us to meet, when I call I'm told 'Missus can't see.' Perhaps she's afraid I want to borrow money!"

"But why go so far? Why go outside this place? Surely you have friends here—my cousin?"

"That is just another reason. Mrs. Tallboys has done so much for me, her kindness is—oh, you have no idea of it! I came for one month, my second visit, and I'm here three. Mrs. Brander has given me things, and lent me money. If she were my sister, she could not have done more. No, sooner than continue to impose on these kind good people, I'll kill myself!" and as she spoke, she clenched her hands, the expression of her face was fixed and distraught, her pale eyes looked enormous.

"But who says you are sponging?" demanded Mallender.

"Oh, everyone—Mrs. Fiske,—Mrs. Wylie,—Mrs. Wylie makes remarks, that burn and sting. She laughs, and is so scornful, and superior, and talks of sponges from the servants' hall, and asks for the address of my tailor and dressmaker? She drives me nearly frantic,—though I say nothing. I have tried desperately hard to leave Hooper's Gardens; I've written to people, and implored them to take me as unpaid maid, or nurse—no one wants me, and I have no money. I gave my last two rupees to an old woman to buy me that stuff you have in your hand—I said it was for a dog—but of course she guesses—natives are always so sharp. Then I made up my mind to take it out here—as it will make less fuss afterwards—than if I—did it indoors; and long ago a girl did drown herself in this tank. So, you see," suddenly springing to her feet, "there is nothing else for it. We must all go some time! and—I really am not wanted in the world. I feel ever so brave now. Please let me have my little phial again, it will be the truest kindness, and do you go away,—and—and come back in half an hour."

"You know, I shall do nothing of the sort," he rejoined angrily. "Do you think I am mad, too? Listen to me, Miss Sim: how much will it cost you to take you home?"

"Oh, ever so much; even a second-class, would be thirty pounds."

"Well now, look here, I can let you have a hundred. Honestly, I'm pretty well off, and you can pay me back any time—say in twenty years. How will that be?"

Miss Sim's lips were trembling, her eyes never left his face, as he was speaking. At last, she said:

"Oh, Captain Mallender,—how could I accept it?"

"At once, since you ask me, and the sooner you make a start the better. Let me see; the mail comes in on Tuesday—you can pretend your people have written, and asked you to return 'Ek Dum,' as they say out here."

"Well, at any rate I have not much to pack," she exclaimed hysterically, "and thirty pounds will be ample—why, it is the price of my life!"

"Don't talk melodramatic rot!" he rejoined impatiently. "You want a pull up, and I'm here, to lend a hand. You must have a hundred; you say you owe money, your passage will be at least fifty, you will require warm clothes, and cash in hand. You cannot manage on less."

"Once I am in England, I can earn my living; I am a qualified teacher. I will pay you back some day, Captain Mallender—as sure as I stand here," she faltered tremulously.

"Please don't let that worry you. I'll draw out the money, take your ticket, and bring you the balance, shall we say here? the day after to-morrow—early, or late?"

"I cannot come here early, the servants and syces are always about, but I could meet you after dinner,—before they begin bridge."

"All right then—Thursday—no, by Jove! I'm dining out. Shall we fix Friday, on this spot at half-past nine, sharp?"

Miss Sim was about to reply, when a man came suddenly round a turn of the walk, and stood momentarily transfixed. It was Captain Wylie—one of the dwellers in tents.

"Hullo, Mallender!" he began awkwardly, "they are looking for you indoors. Byng wants you. Well, Miss Sim, and so you did not go to the Croquet Tournament after all? How was that? Preferred the garden, eh?"

"Yes," she answered brusquely, and turning her back on him, instantly disappeared among the shrubs. Mallender however stood his ground, and said: "Oh, Byng, yes! By Jove, I forgot him! it's about the polo of course. I'll go in now——" and he walked away whistling "The Jewel of Asia," and thus the interloper was left in sole possession of the field. For some time, he stood with a half smile on his keen clean-shaven face, then he gave a loud harsh laugh, and strolled away.

Naturally the Friday rendezvous fell through. Mallender the conspirator was obliged to take bolder, and more open measures; he sent Miss Sim a note by Anthony, contrived to sit next to her at dinner, and discussed her arrangements; subsequently in the drawing-room he brought her a little packet, which he handed over stealthily—saying as he did so:

"This belongs to you."

The packet contained money, and a first-class ticket to London.

"I hope you will find it all right," he added, with significance.

"Of course I can never thank you," she murmured in a broken voice, "I believe this generous action will bring you good luck. I shall write to you through the Bank, and though we are not likely to meet again—I will never, never, forget you."

The news of Miss Sim's impending departure caused considerable surprise; no one more surprised than Captain Mallender!

"What a liar and hypocrite I am," he said to himself, as he discussed the news with Nancy Brander, whose joy and amazement both were heartfelt, and sincere. Now, that Miss Sim appeared to have friends, Mrs. Villars and Mrs. Wylie vouchsafed an exaggerated display of interest in her proceedings, and overwhelmed her with messages and parcels to take to London; whilst Mrs. Tallboys busied herself in making arrangements for the girl's comfort, and in buying clothes, rugs, and woollies, for the voyage.

Nancy Brander received the return of her loan with undisguised astonishment,—and immediately invested half of it, in a substantial gift. These two kind women accompanied the poor waif and stray to the ship, with many instructions saw her comfortably settled, and left her in charge of the Captain.

No sooner was Miss Sim well away at sea, than a little cloud of scandal arose. Immediately after her departure, Captain Wylie had informed his wife of his awkward adventure in the shrubbery.

"Strolling about there, I came bang upon Mallender, and the Sim girl, in floods of tears; they were fixing up another meeting for Friday night! Don't say a word to anyone; Mallender carried it off wonderfully; not the least disconcerted—evidently an old hand at the game, and as cool as a cucumber!"

"I am astonished," she exclaimed, "I never thought he was that sort. What a young hypocrite, and Mrs. T. thinks him a saint! Fancy having an affair with an ugly abject creature like a third housemaid! I always supposed, he was gone on our lovely widow."

"Well, you see you were wrong! It's a case of still waters—I thought you'd be amused. Mind you keep what I've told you to yourself."

But to Mrs. Wylie this was impossible. She was choking to gossip, and though she did not reveal a name, she informed Mrs. Villars, and Mrs. Fiske, that the Sim girl had a secret, and desperate love affair, and was accustomed to meet her lover of an evening, when all the house-party were playing bridge,—from which they would remember, she had always excused herself. To this, was added yet another piece of news. It transpired, in answer to unkind enquiries, that Miss Sim had not received any letters by the English mail, and therefore the story of the money from home was simply an audacious invention.

CHAPTER XII

The hot weather had arrived, the punctual brain-fever bird made his unwelcome appearance, and a much-diminished company prepared to leave Hooper's Gardens, for the Blue Mountains. Colonel Tallboys, who had obtained sixty days' leave (with power to add to their number), his wife, her niece, and child, Mrs. Villars, her maid, and Geoffrey Mallender. Urgent private business connected with cotton, had summoned unwilling Sir William to Bombay, and the Wylies were reluctantly compelled to bring their long "week-end" to a close.

"Hooper's Hotel" was a hostelry entirely after their own hearts; a gracious easy hostess, an admirably run establishment, capital ponies to ride, gay entertainments, and lots of bridge. They were unaffectedly sorry to part with "the management," and Mrs. Wylie threw out many hints, as to how much she longed to visit the celebrated Neilgherries, and talked wistfully of "the chance of a lifetime!" But for once, Fanny Tallboys did not "rise." Then her guest—a woman of invincible nerve, and resolution—came to her sitting-room one morning, and said, with her most persuasive smile:

"Dearest and kindest of friends! I have a great, great, an enormous favour to ask. Alas! our plans for Ceylon have fallen through. We were going to Newara Eliya to the Gordon Walkers, but I heard to-day, that she is ill, and too indisposed to receive us. So will you, like the angel you are, have us for a little, little, tiny visit in Ooty? Darling Cecil wants a change from this steaming, relaxing place—I've been quite anxious about him the last week, and you know our abhorrence of hotels, with their filthy rooms, and disgusting food."

Poor Mrs. Tallboys, feeling exceedingly guilty and uncomfortable, was obliged to tell the piteous pleading lady, that she was really too sorry, but that every corner in "Woodford" had its allotted tenant.

"Tents?" suggested the petitioner, with ruthless pertinacity. "I should simply adore a tent!"

Unfortunately tents were out of the question at that season in the Hills, and so this pair of clever "sponges" and adventurers were compelled to seek for other quarters, and took their departure, with perfunctory thanks, and an air of unpardonable injury; and it is a regrettable fact, that they subsequently spoke of their hosts of "Hooper's Gardens," with patronage and derision, as "those absurd people, the Tallboys, and their dreadful menagerie!"

The weather had suddenly become several degrees warmer, and the party travelled by night, arriving in the early morning at Mettapollium, not far from the foot of the towering ghâts; here after chotah-hazri they entered the mountain railway, that climbed, and wound, and climbed again, till it dragged itself up to Coonoor—which seemed to be awaiting it, as it lay hanging over the edge of the great plateau—unquestionably one of the most wooded, beflowered, and picturesque, Hill stations in Hindustan, and the home of not a few retired Anglo-Indians. Here, the Tallboys decided to halt for a day or two, whilst "Woodford" was prepared for their reception.

Instead of taking the mountain railway, Mrs. Brander had elected to ride up the old ghât, on her big black waler, Bonny; and Mallender promptly volunteered to be her escort. He liked Nancy, she was the best of company, always so cheerful, good-natured, and ready to enjoy everything that came in her way; one of those rare people, who go through life with a happy and contented heart.

The heat, in the narrow gorge at the foot of the mountains, was stifling; the very bananas and bamboos looked wilted, and faint. As the pair rode between dense masses of acacia, babul trees, Palmyra palms, and thickets of heavy jungle, their horses were bathed in sweat, there seemed scarcely a breath of air; but by gradual degrees, as they mounted the rocky old road with its endless twists, and sudden steep ascents, the dank hot-house atmosphere fell away, and mile by mile they ascended into another, and cooler, climate. The narrow bridle-path lay through a primeval forest, carpeted in places with moss and maiden-hair; here and there, the tree-trunks were hidden by gigantic ferns, the sound of running water was never absent, crystal clear streams splashed and tumbled and made tinkling music in the dim light, as they hurried down the hill-side, through a tangle of rock, twisted roots, and creepers. Meanwhile the riders breasted a precipitous road, that carried them from the tropics to an English summer; heavily laden coolies, donkeys carrying wood, and now and then a portly native on a pony, were all they encountered as they proceeded, and fitfully discussed the recent season, and its most interesting, or remarkable events.

"Talking of events," said Mrs. Brander, "last evening, I saw Barbie Miller driving with Colonel Harris in his Stanhope phaeton; he looked as pleased as Punch, and she, as if she were on her way to execution; I fancy that match is settled, and for once, Aunt Fanny had no finger in the pie!"

"No, of course not," assented Mallender, but he said no more.—There ensued a pause, lit by the memory of a girl, leaning against a tree with a drawn, white face and dazed blue eyes, saying, "Oh, you don't know—you cannot understand!"

"You liked her, didn't you?" questioned his twenty-first cousin.

"Yes,—but I am sorry to say, Miss Miller does not like me. She has wonderful pluck in the saddle, it's a pity she can't show some of it in her own family."

"Ah, it is so easy for us to talk! You little know Mrs. Miller; a woman as hard as the nether mill-stone, as pitiless as Fate, and she has a strong backer in Mrs. Fiske. Poor Barbie has no chance against two such allies."

"I don't see where Mrs. Fiske comes in?" argued Mallender.

"As adviser. Mrs. Miller was once upon a time her bridesmaid, and although she publishes a striking and historical record of her character, declares that her bridesmaid was a bully from her youth, never would allow anyone near her to be happy, and adds, many later, and more lurid particulars, yet they are close friends!"

"I can't stand Mrs. Fiske, and she always smiles—if you can call it a smile! at me, and looks as if she knew a lot, and we had some guilty secret between us!"

"I understand, and sympathise with your feelings respecting Mrs. Fiske—I am with you there! She says such spiteful things to my face, that they leave me beyond the power of a coherent retort. But why do you say that Barbie dislikes you?"

"Because lately, she won't speak to me."

"Imagination! She has been flung so violently at men's heads, that naturally she avoids them, for which, I confess I do not blame her;—among women, she is different."

"And once upon a time she was different with me!—we were quite chummy out hunting, or paper-chasing—she's a nailing good rider,—one day, she got a nasty toss, and I took her home,—Lord, what a place!"

"I can imagine it."

"I doubt it! We found lots to say to one another, as we toiled along to Vepery, afterwards too—at chota-hazri's, at the gardens; then all of a sudden, the young lady dropped me like the traditional hot potato!"

Mrs. Brander burst into a ringing laugh, and again repeated, "Imagination!"

"No," he replied with some heat. "The last couple of weeks, Miss Miller avoided me on purpose,—you remember the finish at the paper-chase at the Mount, and breakfast at the Artillery Mess, under the banyan tree? When I spoke to her there, she just looked me straight between the eyes, and administered the dead cut."

"I must say you amaze me! I can only suppose, that Mrs. Fiske has given you a bad character."

"She knows nothing about me!"

"I would not be so sure. She knows all about me! my age, fortune, where Tom proposed, how much I pay my dhobi, and which of my teeth are stopped."

After a silence, during which they threaded their way among a horde of heavily-laden pack ponies, charcoal burners, and coolies—almost bent double under incredible loads of baggage—Mrs. Brander resumed:

"I'm so sorry for Barbie, her little white desperate face comes before me, if only I could have done something to snatch her from Colonel Harris, but Tom says, I'm always too ready to rush in, where angels, etc., etc. Aunt Fan is an angel,—but even she is afraid of those two women, that like the giants in the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' bar the road to Barbie's liberty. Uncle Fred is fond of Barbie, she is his favourite girl in all Madras, but he dare not interfere in other people's family concerns. He, however, goes about, telling everyone that he and James Harris are the same age!"

"Much good that will do Miss Miller!" scoffed her companion.

"Well, we are getting off our old bachelors. I suppose the next wedding will be Sir William's—he is older than Uncle Fred."

"What Sir William?—Sir William Bream?"

"Yes, our very own Sir William, with his extraordinary and imposing power of saying things, with nothing to say. Why do you look so surprised?" and her gaze rested upon him with impressive steadiness.

"You don't mean that Mrs. Villars would marry him!"

"I refuse to commit myself, I don't mean to say anything, except that Mrs. Villars will make a sensation in our Blue Mountains, and have a good time. Who is so absolutely free, and independent, as a beautiful rich young widow? at least, I hope she is rich——"

"Why do you hope that?"

But Nancy Brander touched her horse, and cantered on; she was not disposed to tell tales, or to reply.

"Merely because she showed me a bill from a Paris house, for nine hundred pounds, and assured me, that she had no more idea than my Mab, how it was going to be paid! or where the money was to come from!"

By eleven o'clock the equestrians had arrived at Under Cliff Hotel, Coonoor, and there found the remainder of the party, all comfortably installed, sitting in the verandah, imbibing draughts of deliciously cool air, and looking forward to a late, and solid, breakfast. The early afternoon was abandoned to resting, unpacking, and novel-reading, but about four o'clock the Tallboys and their guests reassembled for tea.

Not a few acquaintances were "up," and passing through,—these included Colonel Molyneux and Forbes, the great shikari. Mrs. Villars, who had changed her travelling dress for a becoming toilet, was talking to them, when Mallender joined her. She gave him a radiant smile—her smile conveyed to many, the secret, that "you, and you only, are my friend"; undoubtedly she had a wonderful charm—which is another name for power—and in her delicate hand, it frequently proved an irresistible weapon. At the moment, she was carrying on a bantering conversation with the mighty hunter.

"You know perfectly well, that you hate all this," she said, indicating the smart gay groups, who were scattered along the verandah, drinking tea. "You prefer black coffee, and leathery chuppatties in the jungle, you know you do!"

"Yes, I must confess that I enjoy the jungle," admitted Mr. Forbes, who found it not unpleasant to be chaffed, and singled out, by this beautiful creature in white serge, with the eyes of a fawn, and the sun throwing glints on her wealth of red-brown hair. "But then, I'm a semi-savage—and an old bachelor," he added boastfully.

"Worse—a woman-hater!"

"No, no, Mrs. Villars, but I admit that I would as soon look at a fine pair of horns, as at a fine pair of eyes," and his glance was almost a challenge!

"Really?" with a gay incredulous laugh. "What an odd taste! The only horn that appeals to me, is a coach horn. Are you making any stay?"

"No, a couple of days, and then I'm off to the Anna-Mullays after a bison. When I was at home, I got a letter from an old pal of mine, a Kurumba shikari, and he told me of a remarkable, in fact, matchless head."

"Still on the animal's shoulders?" she enquired airily.

"I hope so, I've come straight out to pot him."

"Rather a long aim!"

"Oh, I think nothing of that. I've gone to Arabia for lions, to Java for a particular deer. My collection of heads is my hobby."

"One would think you were a Dyak!"

"You need not reproach me, dear madam. What are my heads, to your scalps?"

"I declare you are becoming quite agreeable and complimentary! but no doubt you are in great spirits at the prospect of leaving us. You know, you are longing for the solitude of the deep, hot, smelly jungle; once there, we cease to exist."

"I won't agree with that; but the jungle has its allurements, too." Then suddenly turning to Mallender. "Think of the cool early mornings, when the birds begin to stir, and the bamboos to whisper; oh, you society fellows miss a lot! You never see the dense, virgin forests, peopled with half-tame animals, and impassable, except by game tracks." He paused, and looked steadily before him, as if his eyes beheld some rapturous vision.

Mrs. Villars now rose, carefully brushed the crumbs from her gown, and said, in her soft drawling voice:

"There is quite a nice little jungle near this; I explored it this morning. There are paths, and flowers—possibly, a stray animal or two. I mean the garden. Come with me, Captain Mallender, and perhaps I will whisper to you like the bamboos. At any rate, I can introduce you to lovely views, a fountain, and a summer-house!"

Mallender promptly accepted the invitation, and as he descended the steps, in the lady's wake, the old shikari looked after them, and muttered half aloud, "Got him!"

CHAPTER XIII

As Mrs. Villars gracefully proceeded along a path, not wide enough for two abreast, and offered her companion a full view of a perfectly-fitting back, and coils of lustrous hair—she had several new ideas simmering in her head. She liked the handsome boy, now treading in her footsteps, and had flirted and amused herself with him, as was her custom; also, because Fanny had given her a somewhat shame-faced hint to keep Geoffrey fast, and urge him to accompany his friends to the Hills, adding mysteriously, that there was an important reason for detaining him. When she had asked for further particulars, Fanny replied:

"It is a family matter. Much depends on tying the young man to my, or rather to your apron strings."

"And so I am to play the syren?"

"Yes, my dear, a nice, amiable, harmless syren," and to this she had agreeably consented.

But now, as the lady preceded her slave, stepping delicately over the ground, in her high-heeled grey suede shoes, she asked herself, why she should not play the syren in real earnest?

Relieved from Sir William's formidable presence, and the questioning glances of his torpid, but suspicious eyes, she felt once more young, and free! Of course, there was Sir William's great fortune figuratively at her feet, but its master was old, unattractive, and irritable; when they were man and wife, and he had paid her debts, possibly he might not be so devoted or so docile.

As for Geoffrey Mallender, dear, simple boy! he was the soul of chivalry, generosity, and good-humour. He had a fine old place, and seven or eight thousand a year. Why should she not have, so to speak, "a new deal," be serious, encourage his timid homage, and marry him? It was true, that she was fourteen years his senior, but who would suspect it? Like her family, she had been endowed with the priceless gift of perennial youth. Fanny, her old school-fellow, who knew her age to a day, would possibly disapprove, and make difficulties. After all, why should she consider Fanny Tallboys? Naturally her first object was her own interest.

"Do let us sit down here," she said, turning about at last, "and look at this glorious blue view! Blue mountains, blue valleys, and blue sky, all in different shades,—and sniff the scent of roses, and heliotrope, and now, my dear boy, I am going to have a nice little talk with you."

"That's right, what is it about?"

"I want you to tell me, why there is such a silent but strenuous effort to keep you from leaving the Tallboys?"

Mallender looked at her smiling eyes, broke off a twig of lemon verbena, but made no reply.

"Fanny has some particular reason for not allowing you to run away."

"Has she?" he answered with a bantering air.

"Don't evade my questions, there's a dear, but tell me the truth? I am so safe. Are you about to ruin your life by a foolish marriage?"

His reply was a boyish and spontaneous laugh; then seeing her face of grave reproach, he added:

"I don't want to go away, you may be sure,—but I may have to leave—as a duty. I'd tell you all about it, like a shot, but it would not interest you, you'd only chaff me."

"Chaff you!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you imagine you are talking to Nancy Brander? anything that concerns you, will interest me. Won't you tell me?" Suddenly her voice sank to a low enticing whisper. Behold Mrs. Villars in her most dangerous character.

"Yes, I will another time," he glanced about. They were not alone in this exquisite spot. Various other couples were roaming in the lovely garden.

"But, Geoffrey, you will never have a better opportunity!" she urged. "Give me your confidence, and perhaps, if you are very, very good, I will tell you something, that I know will please you!" and she smiled at him, with half-closed eyes.

"All right," he agreed, "confidence for confidence—exchange is no robbery, my business is about——"

At this critical moment, when Mrs. Villars was leaning forward with parted lips, a white figure came prancing towards them! It was Chinna-Sawmy, holding aloft a telegram between his two thumbs. Here, indeed, was a most perverse little incident!

The baffled lady drew back murmuring, "What a bore! well, another time then," and rose slowly to her feet. "I think I must run in now, and see what Kemp is doing, and dress for dinner. I believe it is at the ghastly hour of half-past seven. We will meet in the verandah later—and continue our little talk!"

"Yes, all right," then he tore open the envelope, unfolded the slip of paper, and read:

"He is found, return to-night. Shumilal."

For a moment, Mallender felt stunned, and stared stupidly at the telegram. Then by degrees he collected his wits and turning to Chinna-Sawmy, said:

"Run and find out when the next train leaves." To Anthony who had followed the wire, "I am going back at once. Put my kit together again, and send it to the station."

"Train leaves in one half-hour," was Anthony's prompt reply. "I knowing the place well,—master will have to be quick."