Prize-giving was the occasion of his triumph. This was his five minutes, when he advanced to receive from Lady Puffle a clock, set of studs and a thermos flask—all carefully laid in at Malta by the provident “Amusements Committee.” Shafto bore his honours modestly, and was glared on by Bernhard who, drawn up beside her ladyship like an Imperial Guardsman, presented an alarmingly militant and stern appearance.
Between him and this particular “Englander” no love was wasted. Once, when they had collided on the companion ladder, Shafto’s agility alone had saved him from a heavy fall, and the obstructor had neither looked back nor offered apology. Probably he concluded that charming Miss Leigh, who accompanied his songs with such delicate sympathy, accorded too much of her society to this young man; and, after all, what was he? A London clerk, going out to begin at the bottom of the ladder, as one of Gregory’s assistants. Naturally he disliked Gregory’s, a rival and substantial house, which, like his own, dealt largely in paddy—and this casual, outspoken, clear-eyed youngster was just the type of person specially abhorred by the Prussian Junker. Now that the music-room had two such efficient performers as Bernhard and Miss Leigh, Shafto and others abandoned the bridge tables and enjoyed a rare treat. Miss Leigh presided at the piano and appeared to have complete command of the instrument; she could read anything at sight, no matter how it bristled with sharps and accidentals; her repertoire ranged from Beethoven, Bach, Grieg, Chopin, to the latest ragtime, and her playing had a crisp ringing touch that was delightful.
Hoskins, who was endowed with a good baritone, sang quaint Burmese songs with gratifying effect. There was something weird and yet musical in the solemn and majestic “Toung Soboo Byne,” or “Yama Kyo,” from a native opera, and the Royal boat song as sung by the King’s boatmen when rowing His Majesty on State occasions.
Mrs. Maitland’s contribution was a beautifully trained light soprano, but the Caruso of the company was Herr Otto Bernhard; amazing that a man of his sensual nature and proclivities should be gifted with a voice fit to swell heaven’s choir. He sang Wagner, Gounod, Schubert with absolute impartiality, as well as numbers of melting German lieder and touching English ballads. He brought smarting tears to the eyes of comfortable matrons, and swept their thoughts back to poignant moments of long ago—to youth and first love, to moonlight nights, entrancing meetings and heart-rending farewells! As for the younger and less emotional generation, even they were moved out of their everyday composure and hung upon the singer’s words with breathless appreciation.
There was a number of young people on board the Blankshire, and since the good old days of Tadpool Shafto had never enjoyed himself so thoroughly. It was the first time since he had arrived at man’s estate that he had been associated with girls of his own class. There were no fewer than thirty on board—of these, eleven were brides elect—but the prettiest of all, and to him the most attractive, was Miss Leigh. He looked for her the first thing when he stepped on deck in the mornings, and in the evenings watched her departure with wistful regret. Meanwhile, between morning and evening he contrived to see as much of the young lady as possible—though when out of sight she was never absent from his mind.
“Was he about to fall in love?” He was conscious of a vague wonder and sense of alarm. A hopeless attachment would be a fatal misfortune to a fellow beginning a new life; a life that required the whole of his mind and the best of his energies; but, like the moth and the candle, he still continued to hover round Miss Leigh—and Miss Leigh was not averse to his society. Together they talked and argued, played quoits and danced. A stern, inward voice assured Shafto that, luckily for him, there was a fixed date for the terminating of his enchantment—the day when the Blankshire entered the Irrawaddy river and was moored to her berth. Then Miss Leigh would go her way to be the joy and the light of wealthy relatives—he, to begin his new work at the very bottom of the ladder.
Another voice also made itself heard, which said: “One is young but once! Make the most of these shining hours; sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
When in a placid temper, the Red Sea is favourable for dances and theatricals and, much against his will, Shafto was dragged into “the Neptune” company by Hoskins, a resolute, determined individual, who filled the thankless office of stage manager. Shafto was cast for the part of an old gentleman, the role being softened and alleviated by the fact that he was to undertake to play uncle to Miss Leigh. Although Bernhard had no part in the piece itself, being an authority, he superintended its production, and on several occasions addressed Miss Leigh’s temporary “uncle” in a manner that increased Shafto’s natural aversion to what Hoskins termed “The great blond brute!” The play proved to be a success and there was little or no jealousy or friction. Amazing to record, Miss Pomeroy and Miss Leigh—the two principal ladies—still remained the very best of friends. During rehearsals Shafto and his “niece” exchanged a good deal of dialogue that was not in the piece—thanks partly to Mrs. Milward’s introductions and revelations, and partly to a mutual attraction, they now knew one another rather well. They sat with their chaperon and listened to her incessant flow of talk with appreciative sympathy, played deck quoits, walked and danced together, and were for looks and accomplishments the most prominent couple on the Blankshire.
“Tell me, dear lady,” said Mrs. Maitland, sinking into a deck-chair beside Sophy’s chaperon, “do you intend anything to come of that?” and she nodded at a pair who, with heads fairly near, were leaning over the side, engrossed in watching the divers at Aden.
“What do you mean?”