Durians, those strange productions of the fruit-world, that on being opened reveal to the eater so many chestnut-like seeds lying in a cream-like pulp—the said pulp tasting of sweet almonds, well-made custard, sherry, cheese, old shoes, sugar and garlic formed into one delicious whole.
Mangosteens, with their glorious nectarine aroma, and plantains or bananas of the choicest flavoured kinds; these, mingled with other fruits luscious and sweet to a degree, but whose names were unknown to the guests, formed a dessert beyond compare.
Chumbley, seeing that a good deal of the Resident’s attention was taken up elsewhere, divided his time between talking to Grey Stuart and watching the Malay Princess, upon whose countenance not a shade of her former annoyance remained.
Every now and then, as her eyes wandered about, she caught Chumbley’s glance as he watched her, and she always met it with a frank, open smile, and begged his acceptance of fruit or wine.
At the same time, she was constant in her attentions to Hilton and Helen Perowne, selecting choice fruits for them with her own hands, and pressing them to eat.
“Well, Miss Stuart, is not this a novelty?” said Chumbley at last. “What do you think of it all?”
Grey Stuart, who had been making a brave effort to appear bright and free from care, replied that it was all very delightful and strange.
“It seems so different from anything I have ever seen before!” she said, with animation.
“Beats a lawn party and tennis in the old country hollow!” said Chumbley. “What a capital hostess the Princess is!”
“She seems to take so much kindly interest in—in—” said Grey.