The natives who stood round, whilst the sahib and Miss Sahib ministered so quickly and effectually to their friend, now changed their lamentations to loud ejaculations of wonder and praise. Miss Gordon was amazed to hear her companion giving directions to these spectators in fluent and sonorous Hindustani, and still more astounded when, as she took up her topee, preparatory to departure, the Eurasian turned to him, and said in an impressive squeak—
“Sir, your wife is a saint—an angel of goodness”—and then, as an hasty afterthought, he added, “and beauty!”
Before Jervis could collect his wits and speak, she had replied—
“I am not this gentleman’s wife; we are only fellow-passengers. Why should you think so?” she demanded sharply.
“Because—oh, please do not be angry—you looked so suitable,” he answered with disarming candour. “Truly, I hope you may be married yet, and I wish you both riches, long life, and great happiness,” he added, bowing very low, lamp in hand.
Honor passed out of the hut, with her head held extraordinarily high, scrambled up the bank, and proceeded along the line at a headlong pace in indignant silence.
She now maintained a considerable distance between herself and her escort; no doubt her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light, and at any rate there was that in her air which prevented him offering either arm or hand. In spite of the recent scene in which they had both been actors, where he had clipped hair and cut plaster, and she had applied bandages and scanty remedies to the same “case,” they were not drawn closer together; on the contrary, they were much further apart than during the first portion of their walk, and the young lady’s confidences had now entirely ceased. She confined herself exclusively to a few bald remarks about the patient, and the climate, remarks issued at intervals of ten minutes, and her answers to his observations were confined to “Yes” and “No.” At last Okara station was reached; and, to tell the truth, neither of them were sorry to bring their tête-à-tête to a conclusion. The dazzling lights on the platform made their eyes blink, as they threaded their way to the general refreshment room, discovering it readily enough by sounds of many and merry voices, who were evidently availing themselves of its somewhat limited resources.
It was not a very large apartment, but it was full. The table was covered with a thin native tablecloth, two large lamps with punkah tops, and two cruet-stands and an American ice-pitcher were placed at formal intervals down the middle. It was surrounded with people, who were eating, drinking, and talking. At the further end sat Captain Waring, supported on either hand by his two fair companions, three men—young and noisy, whom they evidently knew—and a prim, elderly woman, who looked inexpressibly shocked at the company, and had pointedly fenced herself off from Mrs. Bellett with a teapot and a wine-card. Captain Waring’s friends had not partaken of tea (as the champagne-bottle testified). The tongue, cake, and fruit had also evidently received distinguished marks of their esteem. Mrs. Bellett put up her long eyeglass, and surveyed exhaustively the pair who now entered.
“Hullo, Mark! What ages you have been!” exclaimed his cousin. “We can make room at this corner—come along, old man.”
Mark and his companion found themselves posted at the two corners at the end of the table, and were for the moment the cynosure of all eyes.