One Maid's Mischief Part 42

"I think it is only the Princess's manner," replied Grey, smiling.

"And very bad manners too," said the little lady. "Now, where is Arthur?"

"That is he," said Grey, "following Helen with her cloak."

"Now, there!" cried the little lady, angrily, "now is my brother Arthur the man to be carrying Helen Perowne's cloak? Oh, dear me! I do wish we were safe back at home! I don't like these picnics in savage lands at all!"

"Good-bye, if I don't have a chance to speak to you again, Mr Chumbley," said the Princess. "Is not your friend coming to say good-bye? Ah, I see! he is in attendance with your Mr Chaplain upon the beauty."

"I'd go and say good-night to Madame Inche Maida, Hilton," whispered Chumbley, the next minute to his friend, and the latter went up and shook hands, thanking the Princess for the pleasant evening they had had, and hoping soon to see her again.

"I thank you," said the Princess, coldly. "I hope you have enjoyed yourself; but, you are keeping Mr Perowne's little girl waiting.

Good-night."

That was imagination on the Princess's part, for Helen was talking to the chaplain, and had her back to them.

"She's a curious woman," said Hilton; "and I don't like her a bit!"

And then, taking advantage of his dismissal, he bowed, and went to where Grey Stuart was talking to Mrs Bolter, as a half-way house to Helen, at whose side he was soon after.

Half an hour later the whole party were safely embarked. The boats were hung with lanterns, the full moon was above the black jungle-trees, and the river looked like molten silver as the oars dipped in regular cadence to the rowers' song. Then on and on floated the two great nagas; the whole scene, as they glided between the two black banks of trees, being so weirdly beautiful, so novel, and so strange, that it affected all present, though in different ways.

Helen was hot and peevish; Mrs Bolter was petulant and fretting about the doctor stopping so long away; while Grey Stuart felt as if at the smallest provocation she would burst into tears.

"I say, Chum, old fellow," said Hilton, as they stood outside their quarters in the brilliant moonlight smoking a cigar before turning in for the night, and after a chat about their pleasant pa.s.sage down to the landing-stage--"I say, Chum, old fellow."

"Hullo!"

"She doesn't seem to like me, but not a bad sort of woman that Princess."

"Not at all. Pity she's so brown."

"Yes, rather; but I say, Chum."

"Hullo!"

"I'll bet a dollar she squeezed your hand when you were coming away, eh?"

"Never tell tales out of school," said Chumbley, slowly. "Squeezes of hands leave no impression, so they don't count. I didn't ask you if you squeezed Helen Perowne's hand."

"I shouldn't mind if you did, old lad. Perhaps so; but don't bother, and pa.s.s me a match."

Chumbley chuckled softly to himself; and after a time they finished their cigars and turned in, the lieutenant sleeping soundly, while the rest of the princ.i.p.al personages in this narrative were wakeful and tossing from side to side, perhaps the most restless being the successful beauty, Helen Perowne.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE RETURN PARTY.

Mr Perowne's was acknowledged to be by far the best garden at the station; its favourable position--sloping, as it did, down to the river--prevented any approach to aridity, and as he had gone to the expense of getting three Chinese gardeners--men who were ready enough, if not to originate, to take up any suggested idea--the result was a charmingly-picturesque succession of smooth lawns and shady walks, sheltered by the choicest flowering trees the country produced.

He spared no expense to make the garden attractive, and on the night of Helen's twenty-first birthday, when they gave a garden-party, the place, with its Chinese lanterns and illuminated summer-houses, had an effect that seemed to Grey Stuart the most lovely she had ever seen.

"I quite envy you sometimes," she said, as Helen, in her calm a.s.surance, kissed her and welcomed her in a patronising way; "surrounded as you are with luxuries, you ought to be very happy."

"And yet I am not," said Helen, bitterly, and she turned to meet some fresh arrivals.

"You've a deal to grumble about," said old Stuart, who had heard his daughter's words. "What's all this but show and tinsel? What's it worth? Bah!"

Her father's words did not comfort her, for she felt very sore; and as she strolled with him down one of the paths she thought to herself that there was an old fable about a dog in a manger, and in her quiet, homely fas.h.i.+on, it seemed to her that Helen was playing that part.

For she had, in her unselfish sorrow, seen that for some little time past Hilton was not happy in his love. Helen was playing with him, and he seemed to feel it bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; and she thought to herself, what would she not give to be able to whisper comfort to the young officer, and pour out for him the riches of her love--an impossibility, for in her way she was as proud as Helen herself.

"Ah, Mr Stuart! How do, Miss Stuart?" drawled a voice just behind them. "Glad to see you both. I say, Miss Stuart, do you want a fellow to play cavalier? I'm quite at liberty. Mr Stuart, there's plenty of claret-cup, champagne, and cigars in the little paG.o.da, and it's nice and cool."

"It's like an oven out here," growled the merchant. "I say, Grey, you don't want me, do you? Chumbley will take care of you. Come to me when you want to go."

For answer she placed her hand on the lieutenant's arm, and he took her round the grounds.

"Looks nice, doesn't it?" he said. "Seen all the grandees?"

"I have only seen Helen and Mr Perowne," she replied.

"Looks well to-night, 'pon my word. I saw Murad's eyes light up like a firefly as he shook hands with her, but he pulled himself to directly.

Perowne does these things well. Old boy must be pretty rich."

"They say he is, very," replied Grey. "Here is the Rajah coming up.

Mr Chumbley, I always feel afraid of that man."

"Hold tight by my arm, then, and I'll punch his head if he looks at you.

He shan't run away with you while I am by."

Grey laughed merrily, and in the midst of her mirth the Rajah came up.

"You English people always seem so bright and merry," he said, smiling, and looking very handsome as he stood by the side of a lantern. "We people always feel dull and sad."

"Have a gla.s.s of champagne then, Rajah. It is a fine cure for sadness.

I say," continued Chumbley, "you'll have to imitate this, and give an evening _fete_."

"Yes," he said, eagerly; "I was thinking so. But I would have more lanterns in the trees, and more flowers."

"To be sure," said Chumbley. "You'll invite me?"

"Will you promise me to come?" said the Rajah, holding out his hand.