Her connections figuratively lifted up their voices, and wept, when they talked of "Poor Emmie," and agreed, that she had made an awful mess of her life, and had become very proud, and independent. Nevertheless they posted her The Queen, and the Weekly Times with affectionate regularity, and welcomed her boys for their holidays.
Mrs. Bourne's tastes did not take the form of cake and butter-making,—nor even of knitting stockings, and superintending coffee picking. She was naturally artistic, and fond of music, and books, she even wrote a little—and occasionally a bright and amusing article signed by "Chick" appeared in the Indian journals; and now that Barbie Miller was her assistant, the busy lady enjoyed some leisure for her favourite pursuits. Barbie had no responsibilities connected with coffee, but undertook the housekeeping, butter, cakes, and poultry,—such an able energetic little creature, a delightful companion, with a sweet unselfish character, and a sunny face. Into this modest ménage a third had unexpectedly entered; to do him justice, Mallender gave no trouble; on the contrary, his servant Anthony was a valuable acquisition; a priceless treasure! He could make delicious coffee, carpenter, wait at table, paper a room, and sew!
Anthony's master spent most of the day over at Bonagherry, reappearing in time for tea, so that that crushing incubus, "an idle man in the house," was spared the two ladies. He assisted Mrs. Bourne too, undertook certain business interviews—in which a man was secretly respected, and a woman set at nought! He overlooked accounts,—for Emily Bourne like many artistic people, had no head for figures,—and set an excellent example of energy and early rising. Mallender enjoyed this life amazingly. Open-air employment, the consciousness of having put in a good day's work, and of being worth his salt, afforded him a certain amount of satisfaction, and self-approval.
In the evening, the busy workers were at liberty for rest and enjoyment. They sat together in the charming sitting-room, and occupied themselves with music, books, poker, patience, and mere conversation. Sometimes Mallender read aloud, whilst the ladies worked; and as he now and then stole a glance over his book at his companions,—both so daintily dressed, so busy, and so interested, and in the case of one, so young and lovely,—he assured himself, that for the first time for years and years, he felt absolutely happy, and at home!
But he was not by any means so happy, when the several admirers of Miss Miller presented themselves upon the scene; riding over on Sunday, or casually dropping in to tea. There were several prétendants—(poor Tom Beamish had been among the crowd, but had confided to his friend, that as he knew Miss Barbie would never look at him, though he had lots of money, and would worship her all his life; he gave up, and retired). The individual Mallender most disliked and feared, was a man of the name of MacKenzie, known as "Mack," who owned a fine and flourishing estate, had a worn, handsome face, and looked romantic! He was about thirty-five years of age, and a person of substance, and standing, among other planters. Anyone could see with half an eye, that Mack was head over ears in love with little Miss Miller. So alas! was Mallender—there was no mistake about the fact. He was aware that a new phase in his life had opened, and felt strangely stirred. Little fair-haired Barbie, had enthralled him; he had been her slave, ever since the day at Bonagherry, when she had given him her hand, and promise; and each hour, but served to rivet his chains. Chains he was compelled to hug in secret, he dared not declare himself; a fellow without a roof to offer, or a penny in his pocket—that is to say beyond his passage money to England. As soon as he had returned home, and looked into matters, and found out exactly where he stood, he would come straight out, and ask her to marry him.—Meanwhile, what of Mack?
Another obstacle, was his own invincible reluctance to move, although now strong and well, thanks to these Hills, and their clear vitalizing air; he could not bring himself to leave them—how tear himself away? Nevertheless go he must, and he assured himself, that he was in honour bound to depart, and make no sign.
And Barbie—did she guess? how could she? He laughed and chaffed with her, joined in duets, to Mrs. Bourne's accompaniment, rode, played tennis, and card games, just as if she was nothing at all to him—instead of being everything in the world. As for Barbie? The busy young lady, no longer under the blight of her mother's rule, found herself most unaccountably happy, and asked no more. Possibly the cause of her happiness, was not far to seek;—but she had no idea of making a search,—possibly she had a feeling, that if she looked too closely into her possession, the enchanting vision might fade and disappear, like some beautiful mirage of the desert.
As for Mrs. Bourne, she calmly and dispassionately surveyed the situation, with the eye of sympathy and experience. She had long guessed Mallender's secret,—naturally a simple affair to such a clever woman. She liked Geoffrey; in fact, liked him so much, that she hoped her own boys would be of the same stuff; thoughtful for others, modest, and manly, and he had such nice frank eyes! What a pity, this wild scheme had ruined him! She took upon herself to scold him roundly for his obstinacy, and optimism, and concluded an animated lecture by saying:
"After your interview with Brown and Co., you should have turned straight round, and taken the first steamer for England."
"Then I should never have come to Mysore and met you, Mrs. Bourne," he answered gaily. "However, better late than never; as soon as the Beamishes return, I'll hand over, and be off to see what I can scrape together! Precious little, I'm afraid; for I've sunk my own money in what is my Uncle's property; repairs to the house, and to some of the farms, have swallowed up almost all I possess. Well, whatever I can pick up, I'll bring back here, buy a little estate, and start as a planter."