Part 12 (1/2)
remarked Mrs. Ralston, with a quite unusual touch of severity.
Netta Ermsted laughed again, her light, heartless laugh. ”How crus.h.i.+ngly absolute! But it is the literal truth. I certainly should. He's cheap now, poor old boy. That's why I lead him such a dog's life. A man should never be cheap to his wife. Now look at your husband! Indifference personified! And you have never given him an hour's anxiety in his life.”
Mrs. Ralston's pale blue eyes suddenly shone. She looked almost young again. ”We understand each other,” she said simply.
A mocking smile played about Mrs. Ermsted's lips, but she said nothing for the moment. In her own fas.h.i.+on she was fond of the surgeon's wife, and she would not openly deride her, dear good soul.
”When you've quite finished that,” she remarked presently, ”there's a tussore frock of my own I want to consult you about. There's one thing about Stella; she won't be wanting many clothes, so I shall be able to retain your undivided attention in that respect. I really don't know what Tessa and I would do without you. The tiresome little thing is always tearing her clothes to pieces.”
Mrs. Ralston smiled, a soft mother-smile. ”You're a lucky, lucky girl,”
she said, ”though you don't realize it, and probably never will. When are you going to bring the little monkey to see me again?”
”She will probably come herself when the mood takes her,” carelessly Mrs. Ermsted made reply. ”I a.s.sure you, you stand very high on her visiting list. But I hardly ever take her anywhere. She is always so naughty with me.” She chose another cigarette with the words. ”She is sure to be a pretty frequent visitor while Tommy Denvers is here. She wors.h.i.+ps him.”
”He is a nice boy,” observed Mrs. Ralston. ”I wish he could have got longer leave. It would have comforted Stella to have him.”
”I suppose she can go down to him at Kurrumpore if she doesn't mind sacrificing that rose-leaf complexion,” rejoined Mrs. Ermsted, shutting her matchbox with a spiteful click. ”You stayed down last hot weather.”
”Gerald was not well and couldn't leave his post,” said Mrs. Ralston.
”That was different. I felt he needed me.”
”And so you nearly killed yourself to satisfy the need,” commented Mrs.
Ermsted. ”I sometimes think you are rather a fine woman, notwithstanding appearances.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. ”By Jove, how late it is! Your latest _protegee_ will be here immediately. You must have been aching to tell me to go for the last half-hour. You silly saint!
Why didn't you?”
”I have no wish for you to go, dear,” responded Mrs. Ralston tranquilly.
”All my visitors are an honour to my house.”
Mrs. Ermsted sprang to her feet with a swift, elastic movement. ”Mary, I love you!” she said. ”You are a ministering angel, faithful friend, and priceless counsellor, all combined. I laugh at you for a frump behind your back, but when I am with you, I am spellbound with admiration. You are really superb.”
”Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. Ralston.
She returned the impulsive kiss bestowed upon her with a funny look in her blue eyes that might almost have been compa.s.sionate if it had not been so unmistakably humorous. She did not attempt to make the embrace a lingering one, however, and Netta Ermsted took her impetuous departure with a piqued sense of uncertainty.
”I wonder if she really has got any brains after all,” she said aloud, as she sped away in her ”rickshaw.” ”She is a quaint creature anyhow. I rather wonder that I bother myself with her.”
At which juncture she met the Rajah, resplendent in green _puggarree_ and riding his favourite bay Arab, and forthwith dismissed Mrs. Ralston and all discreet counsels to the limbo of forgotten things. She had dubbed the Rajah her Arabian Knight. His name for her was of too intimate an order to be p.r.o.nounced in public. She was the Lemon-scented Lily of his dreams.
CHAPTER II
THE RETURN
Stella's first impression of Bhulwana was the extremely European atmosphere that pervaded it. Bungalows and pine-woods seemed to be its main characteristics, and there was about it none of the languorous Eastern charm that had so haunted the forbidden paradise. Bhulwana was a cheerful place, and though perched fairly high among the hills of Markestan it was possible to get very hot there. For this reason perhaps all the energies of its visitors were directed towards the organizing of gaieties, and in the height of the summer it was very gay indeed.
The Rajah's summer palace, white and magnificent, occupied the brow of the hill, and the bungalows that cl.u.s.tered among the pines below it looked as if there had been some compet.i.tion among them as to which could get the nearest.
The Ralstons' bungalow was considerably lower down the hill. It stood upon more open ground than most, and overlooked the race-course some distance below. It was an ugly little place, and the small compound surrounding it was a veritable wilderness. It had been named ”The Grand Stand” owing to its position, but no one less racy than its present occupant could well have been found. Mrs. Ralston's wistful blue eyes seldom rested upon the race-course. They looked beyond to the mist-veiled plains.