“Oh, it’s absolutely respectable—but—out of the world—our world. Mr. Krauss is a German and said to be rich; he does not belong to a firm or house, but is on his own. Of course, he is a member of the Gymkhana and all that; but he keeps to the German set and lives among them over in Kokine; then his English wife, once a celebrated beauty, is a semi-invalid. As he never—they say—does anything without some well-considered reason, and is always on the make, I hope to goodness he has not decoyed this charming girl to Rangoon merely to be her aunt’s nurse—and his housekeeper.”
“I should hope not, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Milward. “My cousin Mary Gregory must have an eye on my young friend—I’ll see to that. I shall be stopping with Mary for a few days before going up the river; but I think Sophy will be all right. After all, Mrs. Krauss is her own aunt.”
If Shafto and Sophy had become friendly over games, discussions and little special teas with Mrs. Milward, Bernhard cemented his acquaintance by means of their mutual love of music; but it seemed to the girl that, after he had heard her destination, Herr Bernhard’s manner had undergone a subtle change. The protégée of a wealthy woman—who wore wonderful rings and priceless pearls and carried herself as a high-born dame—was another person from the mere transitory companion who, once at Rangoon, would be handed over to Karl Krauss, her uncle—incredible! Uncle by marriage—yes, but still an inmate of his home.
“And so I hear you are niece to Herr Krauss,” he began abruptly, as he lounged against the bulwarks; “I know him well.”
“And my aunt?”
“Yes, I’ve met her two or three times; she must have been splendidly handsome once; now she looks broken up—it’s the climate. No woman should remain in Lower Burma for eight years without a change.”
“I did not know the climate was so bad; I’m afraid I know very little about Burma; it seems so far away—much farther off than India.”
“Yes, and a far more beautiful country—a land flowing with rivers and riches, and full of charming people, who live for the day, like so many butterflies, and do no work.”
“Then who does work?”
“The Madrassi, the Sikh, the Chinese, and, above all, the European. Rangoon has an enormous trade; I wonder what you will think of it?”