For answer she paused for a moment, and then walked straight to the door.
“That’s right,” he said. “Temporise with him a bit, my dear, and let him down gently.”
Helen stood with the door in her hand, and darted at him an imperious look; then she passed through, and the door swung to behind her.
“Confound him! What insolence!” muttered Mr Perowne, as he stood listening. “Eh? No; she wouldn’t dare! Why, confound the girl, she has gone up to her room and locked herself in! What a temper she has got to be sure!”
He gave his head a vicious rub, and then, evidently under the impression that it was in vain to appeal again to his child, he snapped his teeth together sharply, and walked firmly into the drawing-room, where the Rajah stood impatiently waiting his return.
The young eastern prince was most carefully dressed; his morning coat and trousers being from a West-end tailor, and his hands were covered with the tightest of lemon-coloured gloves. In one hand was a grey tall hat, in the other the thinnest of umbrellas. Altogether his appearance was unexceptionable, if he had dispensed with the gaudy silken sarong ablaze with a plaid of green, yellow, and scarlet.
His thick lips were wreathed in a pleasant smile, and his dark, full eyes were half closed; but they opened widely for an instant, and seemed to emit anger in one flash, as he saw that Mr Perowne came back alone.
“Where—is—miss?” he said, in a slow, thick tone.
“Well, the fact is, Rajah,” said Mr Perowne, giving a laugh to clear his throat, “I have seen my daughter, and she asked me to tell you that she is suffering from a bad headache. You understand me?”
The young Rajah nodded, his eyes seeming to contract the while.