And, indeed, the servants' capabilities seemed miraculous. Tennis nets were fixed, the courts marked out correctly; tables became covered with cakes and sandwiches, tea and coffee, spirits and liqueurs, multitudes of soda-water bottles; there was fresh lemonade and claret-cup. All far more imposing than even the yearly flower-show at the vicarage at home that was patronised by the whole county! Stella felt there ought to be a band in attendance as well. She dressed herself in a soft white gown, and a lace hat that had cost Santa-Sahib a fabulous sum in London; then she stood for a few moments on the raised plinth overlooking the garden to watch Sher Singh giving orders and directions on the tennis ground below. Nothing had been forgotten; the row of cane chairs had little strips of carpet in front of them, and a group of small native boys clothed in white, with red caps and red belts, stood ready till they should be wanted to retrieve the balls. And all this was to happen every week!
Santa-Sahib came out and stood beside her, bulky, cheerful, in clean flannels, smoking a long cheroot.
"Turn round, little girl," he commanded; "let's have a look at you."
She turned and bobbed him a curtsey; he regarded her from head to foot with a proprietary air of satisfaction, yet he was silent, and Stella inquired anxiously if she "would do."
"Just as well, perhaps, that we're not in a big station," he exclaimed, half laughing, half serious, "or it would take me all my time to look after you!"
"But shall we be here always?" she asked.
"The longer the better," he answered shortly. "And no careering off to the hills, mind, unless of course——"
"Unless what? Do tell me!"
"Unless your health makes it necessary."
"My health? But I'm as strong as a horse. What do you mean?"