"Oh, all right," agreed Mallender, "but, mind you, I'm an awful duffer at tennis," and he followed Tara and her brother down the steep resounding stairs.
Tennis was played on two large kunker courts, not far from Beaufort's quarters, and close by on an ancient bandstand were disposed chairs and a table, with tea, lemonade and pegs, presided over by the General's bearded butler. As anticipated, the explorers proved to be the last arrivals, and found awaiting them two anxious Miss Beauforts, racquets in hand; looking wonderfully sleek and smiling in spotless white frocks.
Captain Beaufort was arrayed in a gaudy flannel suit, and a sailor hat at least three sizes too small. Miss Lily presented with empressement a thin, dark youth wearing a red satin tie, and many gilt rings, as Alonzo Perez; also a bluff police officer, whose name Mallender did not catch, and as Miss Lily called him "Chorlie" every two minutes, he was compelled to do the same!
Tennis proved strenuous indeed. The new-comer was out of practice, and he and Tara were easily disposed of by Blanche and "Chorlie." Humble and defeated, Mallender withdrew to a seat on the bandstand, and proceeded to watch a hard-fought contest between Tom and Lily, Perez and Jessie. Jessie's service was as that of a strong and determined man—her volleys were deadly, her activity tireless—apparently she was made of wire and india-rubber,—a matchless lady champion!
Presently Blanche approached, then she sat down, sidled nearer to the onlooker, and began to question him, with her soft, see-saw voice, and liquid, enraptured eyes. Almost before he was aware, Mallender found himself promising to write in her album, to take her photograph, and give one of his own in exchange. Alas, poor Blanche! being dark herself, this reserved young man—who served so stupidly into the net—only admires blue eyes and fair hair, so your innocent coquetry is entirely wasted.
When the dusk fell with its Eastern suddenness, the party went off to play badminton by lamp-light in the old racket court, but Mallender, with the excuse that he had letters to write, returned to the Dâk Bungalow. Here he was received by the Maty with a soup-plate in his hand, on which lay two letters. One was in a strange handwriting, the other from Nancy Brander. He opened the latter first, and calling for a candle, sat down to read it.
"Dear Geoffrey," it began,
"I do wonder where you are, and what you are doing? The other day I met a Major and Mrs. Rochfort, and their lovely little girl; they are all three devoted to you, and told me that you had stayed with them recently,—of course in England. It seems rather late for them to bring a child out here, and—though it was not my business, with my usual audacity I offered Mrs. Rochfort my opinion gratis. Uncle and Aunt are going strong; she often talks of you, and asks me for your news. He never—this is so unlike the little man, who is not naturally dour, or unforgiving; but, my dear twenty-first cousin, I now understand that it is not so much 'the cutting of your own throat,' as he calls it, that he objects to,—he has a far more serious charge against you, which Fanny breathed to me only yesterday. Our kindly Mrs. Fiske has informed him, that the passage money for Ada Sim was paid by you, and as I write with one hand I cover my blushes with the other, since I must add, that Mrs. F. solemnly assured Uncle Fred, that you had your own very good reasons for getting Miss Sim out of the country! Mrs. Fiske, ever ready to impute base motives, had the story absolutely pat; she was told it by Mrs. Wylie, whose husband came upon you in the shrubbery. He said Miss Sim was crying like blazes, and had her arms wound about your neck! He also overheard you arrange for another merry meeting, and added, that he was in Cook's office when you paid for the lady's passage. That was like your generosity, and I believe in it, and nothing else,—neither does Fan, but Fred is peculiarly sensitive about a man's good name—especially when his name is Mallender—and he always thought you a sort of Galahad, and in fact most frightfully respectable. Now he has changed his mind. Hence his silence. This really is a hateful story, and the telling of it has afforded Mrs. Fiske some very delicious minutes. However, I had the satisfaction of assuring her, that bar the generosity to an unfortunate, homeless girl, the rest was lies,—and so she cuts me, and has returned me a whole sheaf of my own visiting-cards!
"Our latest fashionable intelligence is—let me prepare you for a shock—the engagement of Lena Villars to Sir Billy. He is the envy of all men in our upper world; she, of the women. He has given her such diamonds! I fancy, all the same, that the Sea Lion will keep the Syren in subjection, and chain her to a rock; at any rate, round dances and men's Christian names are now barred.
"No news of your Uncle, I presume? How I should like to put the thumb-screw on Brown and Brown! Is it not maddening to feel that they know! Tom sends his salaams. He believes your Uncle is 'purdah' somewhere, and asks me to tell you that he is looking forward to your paying us a long visit before you go home. You have only to send a wire, and your room will be ready. We go down the 15th, leaving Babs with Auntie,—for the present she will be her only girl! I hope she won't betroth her to some eligible little boy. By the way, I hear that you are bespoke by Mota Rochfort! Be sure and write to me soon, and tell me of all your adventures.