“Master, master, it is well known that it is the white woman who came up the waters with your friend. You do ill to delay.”
“Ghundi, it’s never Mrs. Potts? Not the ravishing Mrs. Potts? You know, that’s pretty priceless in itself. Now suppose you collect all your little playmates out there and totter back to the Great One and inform him as gracefully as possible that the ineffable Potts has gone down the waters that she came up, reluctantly escorted by Mr. Billee Ledyar’. Present my condolences. She just caught the boat by the skin of her little white teeth. I agree with the Great One that it’s a thousand pities that she caught it at all.”
“Master, I am your servant. I have served you well—I have loved you better. My heart is yours to use for your meat, my skin for your carpet; for them I care nothing. If I return without you, they slay me—if I remain with you, they slay me—it is all one. But you—you are my master—you are my son—you are my father. Delay no longer; the woman was seen to enter here—she has not come out.”
The Honourable Tony did not stir from his careless station before the bedroom door, but something leapt across the guarded space to that dark and lonely figure—something more warm, more friendly, more reassuring than any touch of hands.
“Ghundi, there are two fellows this side of Heaven that I’d give a good bit to take there with me when I go. That sandy-haired young lunatic who came up the waters is one of them—and you’re the other. Now cut along back to the Great One, like a good fellow, and tell him that I was as good as tucked in for the night when you found me, with a nice little flicker of fever. If I wasn’t cagy about this dashed night air I’d nip over with you and explain; as it stands, I’ll trot over the first thing in the morning. Good-night, old chap; wish the Great One happy dreams.”
Ghundi’s grave voice was suddenly heavy with despair.
“Master, she is here. The air about us cries it to all who breathe.”
“Absolutely sickening, what?” agreed the Honourable Tony. “Jockey Club, I understand. I picked up her beastly little handkerchief on the beach path, coming back from the boat—it’s fairly sopped in it. Here, catch—I was going to send it back to her, but God knows when it would reach her. The Great One might fancy it; compliments of the season—corking souvenir, what?”
Ghundi stared down at the wet white ball in his clenched fist.
“Master—I was told to search——”