"I think you are both talking the greatest nonsense," declared Mrs. Bourne, who was busily cutting up cold roast guinea-fowl.
"Yes, Paddy is; it's his normal state," asserted his wife with a laugh, "I don't allow him to rave about other young women, and I shall give him six nice little strokes of my whip when I have him to myself at home—not that I don't agree with him about Barbie!"
The supper-party broke up about eight o'clock, and the revellers set out for the fourteen-mile ride. Mrs. Bourne mounted Geoffrey's pony, Ibex was led by a syce, and "The Blood Orange" and Geoffrey, took it in turns to ride the latter's hairy slave. Taking advantage of some discussion, argument, and the consequent delay, Mr. MacKenzie (always king of his company) led off with Barbie. He appeared to think, that owing to his standing and weight in the neighbourhood, he had an undisputed claim to the first place, and choice of partners.
Geoffrey looked after the pair, as they gradually disappeared into a steep valley. Well, it did not matter if Mack rode a few miles in the moonlight with Barbie,—though he sincerely wished himself in his place. Barbie was pledged to him.
The poor girl had a truly anxious and uncomfortable ride, and found extreme difficulty in warding off, and eluding, a second proposal within a couple of hours. Over and over again, the conversation became personal; and on each occasion, she called her woman's wit to her assistance, and guided the subject into generalities. Finally being at the end of her resources, the deceitful little creature pleaded such toothache, that she could not talk, and Mack more than ever in love, and impressed by her maidenly diffidence, reserved his declaration for a future occasion. How little he dreamt, that the girl's whole heart and thoughts were with the man he had nicknamed "the loafer," who was leading a lame pony a mile or two in their rear.
Mrs. Bourne received from Barbie the surpassing news, almost before she had time to change from her habit,—and strange to say, exhibited no surprise whatever.
"I like him very much, dear," she said, as she embraced her, "and you will, I believe, both be happy. My little Barbie will make a capital wife for a poor man!"
For the next few evenings, there was more conversation than music; plans were exhaustively discussed, coffee estates, crops, and furniture took the place of the most thrilling news of the day. There was also a certain amount of sitting tête-à-tête in the verandah, overlooking the moon-flooded estate, whilst kind Mrs. Bourne, wrote letters indoors, and made detailed arrangements for a trip to Madras, and home. These were evenings of beautiful happenings, magnificent castle building, close sympathies, and the thrill of touching hands.
The air was pure and cool, the nights were so still, that the whole world seemed to be at rest, not a sound disturbed the deep silence, but two young voices.
"I think you are very brave, Barbie," said Mallender, "you know, we shall be paupers!"