"In that case I warn you, I shall leave you behind," he announced as he gathered up his reins. "Cheer up, Angel, and don't let me hear any more about dying. Good-bye," and wheeling his impatient pony, he turned her head towards the maidan, and galloped away over the flat parade ground which lay between the bungalow and the club, raising as he went a cloud of red dust.
Angel stood motionless staring after him, till a huge peepul tree hid him from her gaze. "A drive in his beautiful dogcart," she said to herself, "with its dark blue cushions and red wheels, and crazy Sally, the fastest trotter in Ramghur. Phil never took grown-up ladies for a drive—yet she was invited—she hoped he would go right through the bazaar so that everyone might see them! The Wallace children and that sneering Dodd boy. How delicious! But what was she to do for a hat?" As she stood pondering this momentous question, with an old, care-worn expression on her child's face, a fat ayah suddenly appeared near the bungalow and shrieked out in Hindustani:
"Missy Angel—what you doing there? Come away from the road, oh shameless one! Wicked child, without hat or topee. Supper is ready, come therefore at once. Think of what the Colonel Sahib will say if he sees thee thus."
This shrill invocation was all delivered in one breath. When it had concluded, the child turned about, slipped off the gate, and with unexpected alacrity ran up the drive, and was presently swallowed by the shadows of a long verandah.
CHAPTER II
IN THE VERANDAH
Before the station clock had chimed six the following morning, every soul in the Wilkinsons' bungalow was astir. The portly head of the house, clad in lily-white drill, and mounted on a lily-white charger, had ambled off at daybreak, to preside over the cantonment rations. In the long west verandah, the bamboo blinds were already down in order to keep out the blinding glare, and behind these "chicks" the entire family was assembled. Three podgy, pasty-faced children were solemnly playing at bazaar, and buying, selling, and chaffering, in ludicrous but unconscious imitation of their elders. The fourth was a mere spectator in the arms of the fat ayah who with her understudy kept order among the infants. Occasionally a shrill exclamation, a whimper, or a howl, arose from their corner, but taking them en masse, Beany, Pinky Tod, and Baba were unemotional and well-behaved infants. They ate well, slept well, and conducted themselves sedately. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that they were not fair to see, but then we all know that it is better to be good than beautiful. A painful illustration of this axiom was beside them, in the shape of their half-sister Angel, who with puckered brows and compressed lips, was labouring away at a handsewing machine, and turning out yards of faultlessly hemmed frills. She was pretty, all the ladies said so—indeed, she said so herself—but even the dog boy was aware that Missy Angel was not good, did not want to be good, and made no secret of the terrible fact. Angel assured her brothers that it was a thousand times nicer to be wicked. She would not eat cold curry, she refused to go to bed at seven o'clock, she laughed at her kind papa, and sang when the ayahs scolded her.
Not far from Angel squatted the dirzee, a thin, grave-eyed man in spotless white clothes and turban. He was holding a piece of muslin between two of his toes, and cutting down a neatly marked crease with a pair of gigantic scissors. This was Kadir Bux, a capable workman, and Mrs. Wilkinson's much coveted treasure. Nor was Mrs. Wilkinson herself idle, although she reclined on a long cane lounge, propped up with cushions. She was intently occupied in trimming a smart evening bodice. One glance proved sufficient, to assure us that the lady was clever with her fingers, for she turned and twisted the lace with the audacious familiarity of a practised hand. It is said, that could they but discover it, everyone is endowed with a special gift; there are thousands of mortals who go through life unconscious of their own capacities, but Mrs. Wilkinson was one of those more fortunate beings who had found her metier, and gloried in its exercise. She was an accomplished milliner and a really firstclass dressmaker. In all the province there was not a woman who could put in a sleeve, tie a bow, or hang a skirt as well as Angel's mamma. Once upon a time—and that time not very distant—Mrs. Wilkinson had been a beauty, but continuous hot seasons on the plains, harassing money cares, and indifferent health had combined to filch her of her good looks. There were hard lines about her mouth, her cheeks had fallen in, and her complexion—only appeared in the evening. Of course, in early morning deshabille we do not expect to see a lady at her best. Still, her carelessly arranged hair was abundant, her features were delicate, and her blue eyes had not yet lost the power of their spell. Black-lashed, plaintive blue eyes, what had they not achieved for their owner? How much she owes to them. What difficulties surmounted, what favours granted—what friends! They resembled in potency some fabled talisman; their mistress had but to wish, look, and possess. Fortunately, Mrs. Wilkinson's ambition was of a moderate character. She merely desired to be the best-dressed woman in her circle, that is to say station, and hitherto her pre-eminence had been supreme.
"The Mrs. Wilkinson who dresses so well," enjoyed a fame that went beyond the bounds of her own province, and had even been echoed in much maligned Madras.
Just at present this celebrity, her eldest born, and her faithful dirzee were labouring hard in order to maintain this far-reaching reputation. The scene in which they slaved was no bad imitation of the workroom of some smart dressmaker. Chairs were piled with materials, the matting was littered with scraps of lace, muslin, and calico; patterns and fashion-plates lay scattered around, and in the foreground was a wicker dress-stand, surmounted by an exact model of Mrs. Wilkinson's own graceful figure—a costly but indispensable possession. At this moment it was attired in an elaborate white ball skirt and low satin bodice, and at a little distance appeared to be one of the party in the verandah.