"Friends, if you like it better," retorted Oliver.
"Friends! ah, that I understand. That is good," replied the young chieftain, taking Oliver's hand between his own in his Eastern fashion. Happily for Oliver, no little bag of musk was near to drop into it. He was perfumed past all endurance already by "that beggar with the scent-bottle."
"Now," cried Oliver, "I should like to be off with the old man. I'm good for a ten-mile walk any day. What say you? Could we be back again before my uncle starts?"
Rattam drew himself up with dignity. "It would hardly become me to walk," he said with emphasis.
Oliver's impatient shrug was cut short by a summons to the hall of audience. The deputy was going. It was Rattam's turn to sigh, for he was as weary of perching on a chaukee, or chair, as Oliver was of the scent-bottle. He managed to draw up one leg unseen by his tutor.
Mrs. Desborough was amused to discover the fabulous powers attributed to her, and soothed the Ranee's disappointment by sketching the three little girls as they stood together in the flickering light and shade cast from the fretwork of the balcony.
But now the word passed round that the sahib was going. A breath of life entered into the five shawl bundles. Rattam's other foot found its way to the floor. In walked the two stout gentlemen in white with a tray of wreaths. Oliver espied the scent-bottle in the back-ground, and thought about flight. The Rana took up a splendid wreath of weeping jessamine, with its pure white blossoms trailing loosely over his outspread arm, and dropped it solemnly over the deputy's head. He, poor man, was doing his utmost to preserve his gravity, and half succeeded. But Mr. Desborough's utterly failed when a superb circlet of white and orange immortelles found its way to his neck. He took refuge in a fit of coughing, which approached strangulation when he caught sight of Horace's face. The little fellow was just brought in from the gardens, and stared with wide-open eyes, literally struck dumb by his father's absurd appearance. For the five by the wall gravely left their chairs and followed the Rana's example, until Mr. Desborough's shirt front was lost to sight beneath the multitude of garlands.
The band was gathering in the porch, and the pompous peons were waiting.
"Good-night, gentlemen," said the deputy, shaking hands all round.
"By your honour's condescension, may your slaves be reserved in health," replied the five, salaaming to the ground, and they followed him to the top of the steps, where the Rana was standing.