"What I say, my good child. Thank goodness you are a fine healthy young woman, and that old Antonio's strong point is maternity cases!"
The blood flew to her face, and down again to her toes; such a possibility, at which she now understood he was hinting, had never presented itself to her mind. She felt horrified, frightened, as though caught in a trap. Did Robert expect it of her? How cruel of him to talk like this just when she was so content and lighthearted, looking forward to her garden party, to everything in the future. A baby! She knew nothing about children, and if she did have a child it would, she felt sure, be exactly like Santa-Sahib—plain, and solid, and red. Why on earth couldn't one be married without all that sort of thing!
She heard Robert say: "Why, what's the matter?" and she looked up to find his small, hard eyes fixed on her with a quizzical expression that disturbed her still further.
"Nothing," she replied uneasily, turning from him to hide her distress. "Look, there's somebody arriving. Hadn't we better go down?"
"It's Beard, the missionary, and his wife, and I'm hanged if they haven't brought their family with them!"
An odd little party was scrambling from an antiquated pony carriage. Mr. Beard, in a long black coat, white trousers, and a pith hat shaped like a half of a football; Mrs. Beard, in a voluminous gown of some green material; and three little girls, who all wore sun-hats as well—hats so large that they appeared to rest on the children's shoulders.
Stella hastened down the steps in front of her husband, to greet the guests who were now arriving in force. To her relief, Mrs. Cuthell, so to speak, took command, and proceeded to make up the sets for tennis, explaining that she knew how everyone played, which, of course, Mrs. Crayfield could not; and soon the courts were filled with vigorous people, running and shouting; tennis balls flew, the little boys darted after them, non-players gathered in knots about the tables, or settled in the easy chairs, and it was all very pleasant and cheerful. Stella, feeling excited and important, set herself to do duty as hostess. She conversed with Mrs. Beard, and duly admired the three little girls who hung round their mother; two were twins; the third was only a year younger, which accounted for their all looking about the same age and size. Mrs. Beard said that the number of native Christians in the Rassih district was on the increase; she hoped Mrs. Crayfield would visit the school and distribute prizes.... Stella then listened to Mrs. Antonio's artless admiration of her daughter "Pussy," who played tennis well, and was certainly a handsome creature with rich colouring and brilliant dark eyes. Why Mrs. Piggott should have branded the Antonios as "practically natives" Stella could not quite understand, though they seemed different, it was true, from the rest of the official community, and they spoke with a curious accent. Dr. Antonio was a stumpy, good-humoured person, with a large stomach about which he had bandaged a crimson silk sash; he had long, straggling whiskers, obviously dyed, and a dark, puffy face. Mrs. Antonio was sallow and thin, and had regular features inherited by her daughter, whom she adored with the frankest extravagance. She was drawing Mrs. Crayfield's attention to Pussy's perfect complexion, when Mrs. Piggott joined the group, and remarked pointedly that Mrs. Foster's sister, who was playing tennis in the same set with Pussy, was to be envied her lovely white skin, fair hair, and blue eyes.
"But how pastee!" objected Mrs. Antonio. "She had a nice colour in her cheeks when she came out last year from home; now it is all gone, while my Pussy she is like a rose."
"Well, you see," said Mrs. Piggott, with the air of a kindly instructress, "Pussy is accustomed to the climate; you must remember that she has never been to England!"