“To be sure,” said Chumbley. “You’ll invite me?”
“Will you promise me to come?” said the Rajah, holding out his hand.
“I will indeed,” replied Chumbley, grasping it in return.
“And you too, Miss Stuart?”
“You must ask papa,” she said, quietly.
“I will,” said the Rajah, earnestly. “Where is he?”
“Having a cigar in the little pagoda, Rajah,” replied Chumbley; and the Malay Prince nodded and smiled, and went away.
“Here, I say,” said Chumbley, as soon as they were alone. “I’m going to have a quarrel, Miss Stuart. I thought there would have been a chance for me, and that my rejected addresses would be accepted, and now you have behaved like this.”
“What do you mean, Mr Chumbley? If it is an enigma, I cannot guess it; if it is a joke, you must explain it; for I am only a Scottish maiden.”
“Joke?—no,” he said; “I call it no joke. Here you and the Rajah have the effrontery to make up matters before me.”