Part 32 (1/2)

Time does bring changes! And to you, too, time has brought changes.”

”And you, have you left Calcutta and come to live in Vepery?” Mr.

Morpeth asked, preferring to divert the conversation from matters personal to himself.

”Live in Vepery! No thank you, not when I have the most beautiful up-stair house in all Chandrychoke, besides a good bit of house property round about! No, I'm onlee on a visit to my poor widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Sarah Baltus.”

”Ah, yes, and you are Mrs. Baltus' daughter?” said Mr. Morpeth, looking with a kindly smile on Leila.

”She is, and as nice a girl as ever stepped,” chimed in Mrs. Rouat with a gratified air, ”though I allow she's a bit stand-offish in manner for her station in life,” she added apologetically, noting her niece's defiant, sulky air. ”But things is going to look up now thatt I've come.

I'm going to give them a good lift up before I've done. Some fine parties and some nice drives to the fas.h.i.+onable beach will set them up wonderful.” Mrs. Rouat rolled her eyes upon her niece, who still sat with a sullen air; Mr. Morpeth made no comment on the programme.

”And so you live all alone in this veree fine house?” continued Mrs.

Rouat, now fixing her eyes interrogatively on Mr. Morpeth's face. ”Ah, wouldn't this grand bungalow have pleased Rosina! She was thatt fond of style! Ah, well, she's gone, but it was a thousand peeties you didn't keep hold on thatt child--a fine boy he was. But Rosina had set her heart on sending him across the black water to make an Englishman of him, and so you let Flo take him. Oh, it was a peety! Just think what a comfort he might have been to you now.”

Mrs. Rouat's benevolent face looked with concern on the bent frame of the acquaintance of her youth. ”What's become of him? I hope he is still in the land of the livin'?” she asked, seeing Mr. Morpeth's face grow grey and drawn.

He seemed to hesitate whether he should break the silence. At length, with evident effort, he replied:

”No, my son is not dead. He still lives.”

Then, determining to change the subject, he turned to Leila and fixed his searching eyes on her.

”And you take care of your mother in Salamander Street?” he said encouragingly.

”Mrs. Baltus is quite able to take care of herself,” she returned. ”I live with her because I've been jilted and have nowhere else to live,”

said the girl, tossing her head.

”Oh, my gracious, what rubbishee stuff is this?” cried her aunt with uplifted hands. ”Never did I hear the like.”

Deciding that since Leila was so sulky and her host so ”stuck-up,” she would rather enjoy the hired bandy in bowling along the Madras roads than remain longer surrounded by those awe-inspiring books. She rose to take leave, much to the relief of her niece, who later recounted to her mother that ”it was quite a wasted hour. The man was as stiff as a poker and wished Aunt Tilly and her twaddle at the bottom of the sea!”

Mrs. Rouat took her seat among the cus.h.i.+ons in the bandy with a sense of disappointment. Her visit had evidently not been a pleasure to her old acquaintance.

”Sure, I wanted nothing more from David Morpeth but a hearty word for the sake of old times!” she sighed.

”Maybe, Aunt Tilly, but the man's so used to Eurasian beggars he could only credit us with being on some such whining errand.”

”Oh, fie, Leila Baltus, you _are_ bitter! How could he cla.s.s us with such? But I don't think he half liked my rippin' up his old mess by referrin' to Rosina though,” added Mrs. Rouat musingly. ”'Pon my word, he turned as white as a pucka Englishman at the veree mention of her name.”

”My gracious, from whatt you've been tellin' me about Rosina I think he must have been precious glad to be rid of her--and her brat too! But it was when you spoke of the son thatt he grew so white. I was sharp enough to see thatt. Anyhow I'm glad I choked off any fuss about my joinin' the Girls' Club. He didn't even get a word in sideways about thatt, though I read in his eye he'd have liked to have a try!”

”And whatt if he did? It would only be for your good! But whatt ever was thatt nonsense you were speakin' about bein' jilted? Was it all a make-up?”

”A make-up! I wish it were,” returned Leila bitterly. ”I suppose I am not the onlee woman who has had thatt trouble. But if she's not a fool she'll get even with the man, as I mean to do yet!”

This remark was lost on Mrs. Rouat, owing to the jingling of the bandy on the laterite road, and conversation flagged amid the distractions of the surroundings.

The drive to the beach was such an unwonted experience to Leila that she soon recovered her equanimity, while her aunt enjoyed herself lolling back among the cus.h.i.+ons. The growing heat of the day made the comparative coolness of the evening welcome to the jaded dwellers in Madras. The south wind with its accompaniment of damp and red dust was now replaced by gentle zephyrs from the golden west. Leila was anxious to make the most of her rare opportunity of seeing ”the quality,” and also desirous to impress her aunt with the elegance of her surroundings.

She directed the bandy-wallah to drive along Government Park Road and cross the fine bridge over the Cooum from where they could catch a better glimpse of the island which, in spite of the waxing heat, still glimmered green, so that one could hardly believe the close grimy streets of Black Town were not a mile distant from the verdant retreat.

There was still a number of carriages driving beach-wards, although the exodus to the hills had begun. Those whose lot it was to linger on the hot plains, having less energy for paying calls or taking part in gymkhanas, always at this evening hour drove to the sh.o.r.e to breathe the sea air. The occupants of the various carriages were often content to conduct conversations with each other while sitting in their respective chariots. Some, more enterprising, alighted and took a stroll on the well-kept promenade which flanked the expanse of sand sloping to the waves, where a little company of pale-faced English babies trotted about, pecking at the wet sand with their tiny spades, guarded by their ayahs and boys who squatted beside them, ever their devoted slaves, patiently erecting mimic sand forts and bridges to be imperiously annihilated by their little lords and masters.