Besides having the entrée to the Salters’ domestic circle, Shafto had been elected a member of the Gymkhana Club, where he made various new acquaintances—and these increased in number as his prowess in tennis and cricket became evident; then, with the advice—and, indeed, almost under the compulsion—of FitzGerald, he purchased a smart stud-bred mare, certainly no longer in her first youth, but sound, clever and full of “go.” She was not called upon to shine on a race-course, but carried her master admirably in Station paper-chases on Thursday afternoons.
By the MacNab this investment was looked upon with a dubious and unfavourable eye, although he was aware that the price of “Moonshine” had come out of a small nest-egg which her owner had brought from home. He pointed out the enormous price of gram, or English oats, and he earnestly entreated Shafto “not to be led into follies by other people” (meaning FitzGerald), “but to keep his head and go slow.”
During this month of November Shafto had frequently come across his fellow-passengers in the Blankshire; even Lady Puffle had acknowledged his existence with a bow; not once had he beheld the desire of his eyes—Miss Leigh. She appeared to have vanished as completely as a summer mist and, it was whispered, had been swallowed up and submerged by the German colony.
Mrs. Krauss had vouchsafed no notice of his visit and card; her niece was never to be seen either at the Gymkhana, or on the lakes—the principal meeting-places for young and old. More than once he imagined that he had caught sight of her in the cathedral at evening service, but she looked so different in smart Sunday clothes—a feathered hat and gauzy gown—that he might have been mistaken, and he heard from MacNab (the gossip of the chummery) that Krauss had brought forward a remarkably pretty niece, who had recently played in a concert at the German Club, and made a sensational success.
When Shafto rode in the mornings, he eyed expectantly every passing or approaching habit, but Sophy Leigh was never among the early cavalcade—for the excellent reason that she had no horse.
Mrs. Gregory, in spite of multifarious occupations as the firm’s vice-reine, had by no means forgotten pretty Miss Leigh, nor her cousin’s emphatic instructions; the girl had failed to accompany her to the Gymkhana dance—“her aunt was ill; she had been unable to leave her”—a stereotyped excuse to every invitation. The truth was that Mrs. Krauss, after two or three social efforts, culminating in a large dinner-party to her German neighbours, had collapsed with one of her worst attacks, and between nursing her relative and housekeeping for Herr Krauss (who was shamelessly greedy and exacting), Sophy had not a moment to spare, and the Madras boy turned away all callers—including Miss Leigh’s friends—with his mechanical parrot cry, “Missis can’t see!”
CHAPTER XVII
AT THE PLAY
Theatrical performances are the chief entertainment in Burma; the Burmese as a nation delight in plays—operatic, tragic, opera bouffe and ballets, such as the “Han Pwe,” when a number of young girls, all dressed as royalties, posture and dance with extreme grace; and as their training is perfect, the entertainment evokes unqualified applause. So interested and absorbed do the audience become in long drawn-out dramatic performances, with interludes of dancing and singing, that they will bring their bedding, and not merely remain all night but several nights—according as the play may hold them! As a rule, the background is a palace, and the plot concerns the love story of a prince and princess, which is interrupted by all manner of vicissitudes—some grotesque, others of genuine pathos; to these the accompaniment of soft, wailing Burmese music is admirably adapted.
Po Sine, the greatest actor in Burma—an Eastern “star”—had recently returned to Rangoon from a prolonged tour, and his admirers, who numbered thousands, were all agog to see and welcome him.
The principal theatre was established in a large space at the back of the Great Pagoda, trustfully open to the soft blue night, otherwise strictly encompassed with matting; for in these changed and money-making days, there was an official box-office at the entrance and no admittance without cash payment! The stage was only raised a foot or two from the ground, and a long row of little lamps threw a becoming red light upon the scene. Here many rows of chairs were arranged for the use of Europeans, whilst the Easterns sat upon the ground on mats and folded themselves up in easy native fashion.