“Ah, well,” said Mr Harley, “that is all over now. I undertake to put matters right with Mr Perowne; but to be frank with you, Rajah—”
“Yes, that is right, be frank. That is what I like in an Englishman, he is frank and open. A Malay lets his secret thoughts be known—never.”
“I say, my friend,” exclaimed the Resident, laughing, “I hope that is not the case here.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” exclaimed Murad. “Do I not tell you I am English, and that I try to be like you.”
“To be sure, yes,” said Mr Harley. “Well, then, look here, I do not undertake to make you such friends as you wish to be with Miss Perowne.”
“You know all then?” said the Rajah, quickly.
“Her father told me.”
“Yes; you are his friend and counsellor; he would tell you of course. No; I do not expect that. I was mad and foolish just then. I know, of course, that you whites would not ally yourselves with us. We are a dreaming nation, and I had dreamed of her love and being happy with her amongst my people, making our alliance greater with you, but it was a dream. I am awake now, and it is past.”
“I don’t trust you, Master Murad,” said the Resident to himself; “but it is the best policy to seem to believe, and to try and make you friends with us again, so I will undertake your commission.”
“Look here,” he said aloud, “suppose you come across with me to Mr Perowne’s house?”