In a little Eastern settlement, in spite of feelings of caste, the Europeans are so few that rules of society are to a certain extent set aside, so that people mix to a greater degree than in larger towns. In spite of her rather particular, and, to be truthful, rather sharp, old-maidish ways, Mrs Bolter soon found herself heartily welcomed by all, and readily accorded, as the doctor’s wife, almost a leading position in the place.
This position would by rights have been given to the lady of the principal merchant, but Mr Perowne had lost his wife when Helen was very young; and Isaac Stuart—“Old Stuart,” as he was generally called—was no better off, his daughter Grey having been left motherless at a very early age.
The idea of Mr Perowne was that upon his daughter joining him she should take the lead and give receptions; and to this end the first party was arranged, to which Mr and Mrs Doctor Bolter and the chaplain had been invited, the time rapidly coming round, and the guests assembling at Mr Perowne’s handsome house, where the luxurious dinner, served in the most admirable manner by the soft-footed, quiet Chinese servants, passed off without a hitch; and at last, with a smile that seemed to have the effect of being directed at every gentleman at table, Helen Perowne rose, and the ladies left the room.
The conversation soon became general, and then the doctor’s voice rose in opposition to a laugh raised against something he had said.
“Oh, yes,” he cried, “laugh and turn everything I say into ridicule: I can bear it. I have not been out all these years in the jungle for nothing.”
“Does Mrs Bolter approve of your theory, doctor?” said the Resident.
“I have not mentioned it to her, sir,” replied the doctor, glancing at the curtains looped over the open doorway; “and if you have no objection, I will make the communication myself. My journey home and my marriage have put it a good deal out of my head. But what I want to tell all here is, that the thing is as plain as the nose on your face.”
Mr Harley, to whom this was principally addressed, gently stroked the bridge of his aquiline nose, half closed his eyes, and smiled in a good-humoured way.
“That’s right,” said the doctor. “Go on unbelieving. Some day I’ll give you the most convincing proofs that what I say is right.”
“But will Mrs Bolter approve of your running wild in the jungle now you are married?” said the Resident, quietly.