“Did you ever see such a lovely girl? I wish I was going to stay in Naples.”
“Maybe it is just as well you are not,” rejoined the other, with a laugh; “her father looks a stern old gentleman.”
Charles to be called an old gentleman, and to be taken for Mrs. Raymond’s father! The very idea gave me quite a shock. I glanced hastily at Mr. Raymond: had he heard too? Apparently not; if he had, he had an admirable command over his expression, for he was examining a quaint mosaic with a smile on his face. When I turned round the young men had departed.
It was getting dusk and chilly, and we set our faces towards the harbour, and after being nearly upset by rival boatmen, found ourselves once more safely in the lamp-lit saloon, which had quite a home look, with its three long tables covered with flowers, fruit, and Italian pastry, and duly punctuated by bottles of red country wine. Six new passengers had arrived, and, to my great consternation, they included the two young men whom I had seen in the Museum. Mrs. Sharpe told me that they were officers in the Prancing Lancers, on their way to join their regiment at Mhow. The tall one was Captain Fuller, and the short one was the Honourable Guy Warneford. They made a valiant effort to secure seats at our table, on the strength of a slight acquaintance with Mrs. Sharpe; but even this did not avail them, for there was no room, and they were forced to sit elsewhere. All the same, they attached themselves closely to our set, and soon had scraped acquaintance with Mr. Barker, the Borrodailes, and the Raymonds—especially Mrs. Raymond. They were, however, not prepared for her husband’s persistent presence. Was she leaning over the bulwarks, he was sure to be at her side; sitting, reading, walking, it was ever the same, and he generally monopolized the entire conversation. The only time that Mrs. Raymond was free from his ever-haunting presence was when she sat beside me, after dinner, and they made the very most of this! We landed at Messina, and of course they annexed themselves to our party. They saw quite plainly that their company was distasteful to Mr. Raymond, and redoubled every effort—the combined efforts, of two audacious young men—to enjoy his wife’s society, partly because they admired her, and partly because it made him secretly and politely furious; it was a capital game! and they resolved to play it all the way to Bombay. Mrs. Raymond was no flirt, but she was young, pretty, and liked admiration; her exquisite blue eyes were childlike in their innocence—not like Mrs. Swift’s dark orbs, whose one glance was a whole three-volume novel! Mrs. Swift was decidedly fast, and her husband allowed her to do as she pleased. He was never on duty. This lady was also recently married, had a plain face, good figure, pretty feet—which she displayed liberally, and in six different pairs of shoes a day; she dressed admirably, was excessively amusing, and self-possessed. She was generally surrounded by a crowd of admiring young men, as she smoked cigarettes, bringing the smoke out of her ears or down her nostrils at pleasure. She talked slang, and behaved herself more like a schoolboy than a lady. Often have I caught Mr. Raymond’s black eyes fixed upon her, with anything but a pleasant expression; and, indeed, I could not wonder that he did not approve of this remarkably frisky matron. Ladies, as a rule, did not admire Mrs. Raymond. She was stupid, and had no style, and was not a person of good birth; now Mrs. Swift, with all her fastness, was well born (and much was forgiven her on this account). Mrs. Raymond was inclined to boast in a mild way of her diamonds, and of her husband’s wealth, of the lovely horses she would drive, and the tribes of servants she was to have in India.
“My dear good girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Sharpe, impatiently, “we are all on the same footing out there. We have all lovely horses, and tribes of servants; it’s our only compensation! If I had been you, I’d have made your rich husband stay at home. Whereabouts are you going to live?”
“It is not quite settled yet,” she answered rather grandly. “My husband has a good deal of property in the Punjaub, I believe. I am not sure where that is.”
“But what will be your station?”
“I really have never heard him mention it. I don’t think we have a station.”
“How strange! Well, you will know soon enough; and if it’s a dull little out-of-the-way hole, you must make him take you down to Calcutta in the cold weather, and up to Simla in the hot season, and to Lucknow for the races. Don’t let him hide you and make a Purdah Nashin of you,” she added with a laugh.
“What is a Purdah Nashin?” inquired Mrs. Raymond, giggling and displaying her little white teeth.