“Pray, why should I drop you? My new rule does not apply to you. Are you a millionaire?” And she broke into a laugh.
A keener observer than the young lady would have noticed a shade of embarrassment in his glance as, after a moment’s hesitation, he said—
“I am quite an old Indian friend now, at any rate—almost your first acquaintance.”
“Yes, I admit all that; but you must not presume on our ancient friendship. I warn you solemnly that the next time you laugh at me—laugh until you actually cry—our relations will be—strained.”
It was becoming dark, the fires were visibly increasing on the distant hills, the first mess bugle had gone. There was a general getting into rickshaws, and calling for ponies, and presently the club was empty, the formidable verandahs deserted, and all the red-capped little tennis-boys went trooping home.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TABLE OF PRECEDENCE.
Time wore on; Honor was becoming familiarized with her new surroundings, had picked up some useful Hindustani words, made a round of calls, and shown that she had no mean skill at tennis. And Mrs. Brande had demonstrated that she was not a woman of words only. She had given young Jervis a general and urgent invitation to her house—moreover, he found favour in her husband’s eyes. He was a fine, well-set-up, gentlemanly young fellow, a keen tennis player, with no haw-haw humbug about him, therefore the Honourable Pelham heartily endorsed his wife’s hospitality.
As for Captain Waring, alas! the three days’ travelling intimacy—like steamer friendships—had flickered, and flickered, and sunk down, and died. Mrs. Brande’s state-dinners were unimpeachable, but desperately dull; and she was not in the “smart” set; her niece was far too downright and raw; her sincere grey eyes had a way of looking at him that made him feel uncomfortable—a blasé, world-battered, selfish mortal. She had a sharp tongue, too, and no fortune; therefore he went over to the enemy’s camp, and followed the standard of Mrs. Langrishe.