I waited in agony to hear my sentence.
“Oh, you need not go so white,” suddenly leaning over and stroking my cheek; “I prefer the pretty roses.” As I recoiled he added, “And the payment I require is a mere nothing. In the eyes of the whole station you have always scorned me in your cool, haughty English manner. Now, you shall appear in public as my dear friend, make what is called ‘a demonstration,’ and let all the world see that we are on the very best of terms. My new motor is here. Go and put on your smartest hat and come with me, and show yourself in my company. First of all, we will drive up to the polo at Bolarum. There is a big match to-day—the Hussars and the city team. From there we will run down to the Hussain Saugur and look on at a boat race. Afterwards we will go to the club and have a nice little tea together, and then I will bring you home. How do you like the programme?” His interrogative grin was frankly diabolical.
How could I like the programme? I was aware that to be seen in Balthasar’s great grey motor would, so far as the world was concerned, cast me socially into outer darkness. Everyone would believe that we were engaged. This motor drive round Secunderabad and its principal resorts would amount to the precise equivalent of an announcement in the London Morning Post. My heart sank. I was painfully alive to the effect of this ostentatious tour, and realised my hateful fate. I was the slave who was about to be dragged at the conqueror’s chariot wheels; nevertheless, I resolved to make the sacrifice for Ronnie. After all, it would not be of such deadly consequence, since he and I would soon disappear from the station. As I rose to get ready my companion said:
“If you will draw up your acknowledgment of the money and receipt now, I can take it with me. It is merely a form, and I’ll send up a trusty messenger to-night.”
Strange to say, some lingering sense of prudence compelled me to reply, “I will have it all quite ready when your messenger comes.”
“How suspicious we are!” he exclaimed with a shrug. “Well, run along, my beautiful young lady, and put on your best hat—the one with the white feathers; it looks so nice and honeymoony. Ha! ha! ha!”
I believe our retinue could scarcely believe their eyes, when they beheld me come forth and, though every fibre in my being rebelled against the situation, take my place beside Balthasar sahib in his great grey car. Soon we were gliding towards the R.A. lines and away to the polo ground. I met, alas! many of my acquaintances; there were the Greys and their father, General and Mrs. Graham and Major and Mrs. Mills—riding. Their stares of incredulity were as so many stabs. At the polo other people also gazed—my friends with amazement and it seemed to me a sort of incredulous horror. One or two men strolled over, and accosted me, and talked perfunctorily of the game and the weather. I believe they really came to see if they could believe their senses, or if it was somebody faintly resembling me who was sitting there beside Balthasar. My hateful companion discoursed in a loud, guttural voice; bragged of his new car and its cost, and said that “with a little practice, a lady,” here he nodded familiarly at me, “would soon learn to drive it.”
I was too paralysed to repudiate the suggestion, but my face probably spoke volumes. In Balthasar’s car I could sympathise but too acutely with the sensations of a rabbit in a snake house! Presently, when all the world and his wife had enjoyed every opportunity of beholding me, we went away at great speed down to the boathouse, where I was once more placed on show! Finally we drove to the club, and there, in the most conspicuous place that he could select, Balthasar and I had tea. Every eye was upon us, and as he kept muttering: “Talk, talk, talk; try and look as if you were enjoying yourself! If you don’t play the game and do your share, you can’t expect me to do mine,” I was compelled to chatter any nonsense that my dazed brain could invent, whilst he lolled in a chair, enacting the part of a complacent and well-entertained potentate. People who knew me well nodded, but no one approached, except good kind Mrs. Lakin, who came over to where we were seated, and said:
“I am going up to Trimulgherry, my dear” (which remark was a most barefaced untruth, as her home was in the opposite direction), “and I can give you a lift, so that you won’t be taking Mr. Balthasar out of his way, and there is a little matter I want to consult you about.”
“It is too good of you, my dear madam,” replied my companion in his most unctuous voice, “but Miss Lingard is in my charge. She loves motoring, and I am sure you would not wish to cut short her pleasure.”