“You are right,” he admitted with an indulgent smile. “My mother was a Persian, but I have been much in Europe. I was partly educated in England.”
I was scarcely listening to him; my attention was riveted on a lovely girl, who had just reached the top of the companion-ladder, and was looking timidly about. Suddenly she caught sight of my new acquaintance, and came towards us, with short hurried steps.
She appeared to be about twenty years of age, was slight, and of middle height, and wore an elaborately made white dress and a sailor hat, underneath which was the prettiest face I had ever seen. Her complexion was simply marvellous—pure milk and roses; her eyes, the colour of the sky, with long black lashes; her hair was really fair, with flaxen and golden shades through it. I could not take my eyes off her. As she came up to my companion, she said with an apologetic glance—
“You see, I found my way on deck myself.”
“Yes, so I see,” he answered, in a not particularly genial tone.
“The cabin was so stuffy, and I longed for a breath of the sea air,” she continued, with pleading eyes.
“Madam,” he said, suddenly turning to me, “may I introduce my wife—Mrs. Raymond?”
His wife? I was so taken aback, that for a second I was speechless with astonishment, and then I said, as I held out my hand—
“How do you do, Mrs. Raymond? Your first trip to India, I suppose?”
“Yes,” she replied, with rather a tremor in her voice; “it is the first time I have ever been from home.”