“I don’t know, dear, I suppose so,” said George laughing, and turning to look at her and pat her cheek.
“Then if I met one I should pull them out,” she cried in a flame of fury, and before her husband could recover from his astonishment, she had fled out of the room.
He followed her with a troubled countenance, and found her face downwards on the bed, sobbing her heart out. No remonstrances were of any use, she only murmured that she would like to be a nun, it was more interesting than to be a wife shut up and never allowed to speak to anybody.
“But, Nouna, the Indian ladies are much more shut up than you are.”
“They have beautiful wide palaces to live in. I shouldn’t care if I had a palace.”
“Well, you know I can’t give you a palace, but if you will be good and leave off crying, I will take you on the river myself one day.”
“Will you? When, when?” cried she, starting up excited, all her griefs forgotten.
“I’ll see if I can take you to-morrow.”
She flung her arms round his neck, not to ask his pardon for her petulance, but to assure him that he was the best, kindest husband that ever lived, and that no Indian Maharanee in all her splendour of marble courts and waving palms was ever so happy as she.
George kept his promise, and on the following day took her down to Kingston, and rowed her up as far as Shepperton and back. She was delighted with the river, and, charmed with the idea of being a person of responsibility, showed great aptitude for a beginner at steering. Being one of those quick-eyed, neat-handed persons whose wit is rather nimble than profound, she acquired accomplishments of this nature with a feminine and graceful ease; and sitting with the ropes over her shoulders, her dark eyes intent with care gleaming from beneath her white baby-bonnet, she made a picture so perfect that, as usual, every man who passed looked at her with undisguised admiration, and glanced from her to her companion to find out more about her through him. All this George, who was not too much lost in his own adoration to note the casual votive glances offered to his idol, bore with complacency, until, just as they entered Sunbury Lock, on the return journey, a well-known voice calling his name from a boat that was already waiting inside the gates, startled him. He turned and saw a crew of four men, two of whom were Captain Pascoe and Clarence Massey. The impetuous little Irishman dragged the two boats alongside each other, and instantly plunged into conversation with Nouna, who seemed delighted with the incident. George was not a Bluebeard; still, remembering all the circumstances of Nouna’s previous acquaintance with the all round lover, Massey, he by no means desired the friendship to grow closer between them, and he was not pleased by the glances of interest which Nouna exchanged with Captain Pascoe, who had an air of quiet good-breeding particularly attractive to women. The two boats passed each other again and again on the way to Kingston, for the stronger crew seemed to be in no great hurry, and were not perhaps unwilling to be occasionally passed by a boat steered by such an interesting little coxswain. At any rate the smaller craft arrived first at Bond’s, and George took his wife up stairs to the coffee-room for a cup of tea. Then she discovered that she felt rather “faint,” and had forgotten her smelling-salts; would George go out and get her some? What could a newly-fledged husband do but comply, however strong his objection might be to leaving his wife alone in a public room? There was no one in it, however, but a cheerful and kind little waitress, who seemed quite overcome by the young lady’s beauty; so he gave Nouna a hurried kiss when the girl’s back was turned, and hastened off to fulfil her behest as fast as possible.