"This morning?" cried Augusta and Ellen together, and the three pairs of eyes were fixed on him in amazed curiosity.
"Yes; this morning, before breakfast," he confessed calmly, "and my opinion is that Stella meant no harm. She is growing up, is no longer a child, and she needs more outlet. School is hardly the place for her now."
"But what would you suggest?" came faintly from Ellen.
Mrs. Carrington shot a quick glance at him. She was recalling their conversation on the terrace the previous afternoon; he had said, "If I were not a bachelor, and could offer her a chance in India——" Then he had strolled in the garden with Ellen, and had enjoyed Ellen's music after dinner. Was it in his mind to seek the hand and the heart of her younger daughter?
"A plan has occurred to me," he continued, with caution; "but I am not at all sure—in fact, subject to your permission," he bowed slightly to the trio, "I should prefer to wait a little before saying anything further."
Mrs. Carrington smiled, and at the moment she resembled a hawk more than a sea-gull. With a gracious gesture of assent she rose. "Augusta, my dear," she said suavely, "will you assist me upstairs? I feel rather fatigued. This discussion has been trying, and I think"—again she shot a sharp glance at Colonel Crayfield—"we may leave the solution of our unhappy difficulty with every confidence to our poor dear Charles's old friend."
Augusta dutifully supported her mother from the room; but, to Mrs. Carrington's exasperation, the tiresome Ellen must needs come too, instead of allowing Colonel Crayfield this obvious opportunity of paying his addresses.
Therefore Colonel Crayfield found himself alone in the drawing-room, and he was only too thankful for the relief. Now he could think connectedly. In no way had he committed himself, so far, to any suggestion. Should he ultimately decide that to marry the girl was too serious a step to take, he could still advise something quite different from the idea that was so strongly seductive.... He might suggest that Stella should be sent to some Anglo-Indian friends of his own in London as a paying guest, he being financially responsible; or he could offer to find some family in India, when he returned there, who would be willing to take charge of a girl as a matter of business, he, as her godfather, paying expenses. The money was nothing.
As he roamed round the room, doubtful, undecided, his eyes fell on the group of coloured clay models of Indian servants set out on a papier-mâché bracket, and he paused, for they recalled the existence of Sher Singh, his Hindu bearer, who for the past twenty-five years had been his right hand and chief of his domestic staff, and who perhaps knew more about Robert Crayfield than any other living being. Sher Singh would not welcome a memsahib. At the same time, the fellow would hardly be such a fool as to jeopardise his own valuable position by making trouble; the almighty rupee would soon settle Sher Singh's objections, and Stella must be made to understand that interference with the head servant's authority in the household could not be permitted.... Thus the Commissioner of Rassih endeavoured to exorcise the inopportune vision of his confidential retainer, who, he was aware, bore a faint, fantastic likeness to himself. People would sometimes remark, laughing, "Like master, like man."