The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People Part 24

"In what way?"

"You ride out with him every morning."

"You said nothing a month ago--when I went out for the first time."

"It was the first time. And I didn't know people would talk."

"Do they talk?"

"Yes. Mrs. Berry told me only this afternoon that she thought it most _infra dig_. She told me as a friend--"

Beatrice laughed.

"Mrs. Berry as a friend is a new departure."

"Never mind. There was something in what she said. She told me it spoiled your chances--with others."

"I dare say she told you that it is very immoral for me to ride out with Captain Stafford?"

Mrs. Cary threw up her head.

"I don't take any notice of that sort of thing. That is only her cattishness, because she wants Stafford for Maud."

"You don't mind about Captain Stafford, then?"

"Goodness, no! Why should I? A man wants to know a girl before--well, before he asks her. I don't see anything in that. But this business with the Rajah is quite different. Of course, I know you are only amusing yourself, but still it lowers your value to be seen so much with a colored man."

"Why should you mind? Surely you can see for yourself that Captain Stafford is to all intents and purposes engaged to Lois?"

"Rubbis.h.!.+ She thinks so, but it's a lukewarm business which could easily be brought to nothing--if you tried. And besides, I don't want you talked about. We have been talked about quite enough."

"Why should people talk?" exclaimed Beatrice, with a sudden change in tone. "What harm do I do? What do they suppose goes on between us?"

Mrs. Cary shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm sure I don't know," she said indifferently.

Beatrice sat back in her chair, for a moment silent. A faint smile moved the corners of her fine mouth.

"I fancy our conversation, if they heard it, would startle the unbearable Marut scandal-mongers," she said. "What do you say to a Bible-cla.s.s on horseback?"

Mrs. Cary's small round eyes opened wide.

"A Bible-cla.s.s?" she repeated suspiciously.

Beatrice nodded.

"Yes. I have been teaching him the rudiments of Christianity. It seems you must have neglected my education in that respect, for I have had to burn a good deal of midnight oil to keep pace with the demand upon my knowledge. I tell him it as a story, and he reads it himself afterward. We are halfway through St. John. What are you laughing at?"

The tone of intense irritation pulled Mrs. Cary up short in the midst of a loud fit of laughter.

"I'm sorry, my dear," she apologized, "but you really must admit it's rather funny."

"What is rather funny?"

"Oh, well, you, you know. Fancy you as a missionary! I must tell Mrs.

Berry. It will amuse her, and--"

She stopped again, as though she had inadvertently trodden on the tail of a scorpion. She had seen Beatrice angry, but not as now. There was something not unlike desperation in the eyes that were suddenly turned on her.

"You won't tell Mrs. Berry, mother. You will never breathe a word to a single soul of what I have told you. It was very absurd of me to say anything--I don't know what made me. I might have known that you would not understand--but sometimes I forget that 'mother' is not a synonym for everything."

Mrs. Cary smarted under what she felt to be an unjust and uncalled-for attack.

"I don't see what I have done now," she protested indignantly. "What is there to understand that I haven't understood, pray?"

Her daughter got up as though she could no longer bear to remain still, and began to walk restlessly about the room.

"Never mind," she said. "That doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is that I will not have the Rajah made a b.u.t.t for the Station's witticisms. You can say what you like about me--I don't care in the least--but you will leave him alone."

"Dear me, what are you so annoyed about?" Mrs. Cary inquired, with irritating solicitude. "How was I to know you were seriously contemplating the Rajah's conversion? I'm sure it's very nice of you.

Child, don't pull all those roses to pieces!"

Beatrice dropped the flowers impatiently.

"It's more likely that he will convert me," she muttered, but the remark fell on unheeding ears.

"I wish you would let me tell Mrs. Berry about it," Mrs. Cary went on.

"It might make quite a nice impression, and stop her saying disagreeable things. Of course, if your intimacy with His Highness was due to your desire to bring him to a nice Christian state, it would be quite excusable. I might even ask Mr. Berry for some of those tracts he is always distributing among the natives."

It was Beatrice's turn to laugh. Her laugh had a disagreeable ring.

"For the Rajah? I wonder how he would reconcile them with all I have been telling him about love, and pity, and tolerance? Besides, my dear mother, diplomatist as you are, don't you see that it wouldn't have the least effect? Do you think the most kindly thinking person in this Station would believe for an instant that _I_ would ever convert anyone? Of course I should be seen through at once. They would say--and perfectly correctly, too--that I was just fooling the Rajah for my own purposes."

"What are your purposes?" Mrs. Cary demanded.

Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

"You knew them a month ago."

"Oh, yes; then it was for Mr. Travers' sake. But now--"

"Now things are the same as they were then. I--I can't leave off what I have begun."

She had gone over to the piano and, opening it, sat down and began to play a few disjointed bars. Mrs. Cary, who watched the lovely face with what is sometimes called a mother's pride, and which is sometimes no more than the satisfaction of a merchant with salable goods, saw something which made her sit bolt upright in her comfortable chair. A tear rolled down the smooth cheek turned toward her--a single tear, which splashed on the white hand resting on the keys. That was all, but it was enough. With a jingle of gold bracelets and a rustle of silk, Mrs. Cary struggled to her feet and came and stood by her daughter, her heavy hand clasping her by the shoulder.

"Beaty!" she said stupidly. "Are you--crying?"

Beatrice turned on the music-stool and looked her mother calmly in the face. There was not a trace of emotion in the clear, steady eyes.