“Ah, here’s Perowne,” cried the doctor. “Good-night, old fellow. Thank you for a pleasant evening. We are just off. Where is Madam Helen?”
“Don’t know; but don’t wait for her,” said Mr Perowne; and after a friendly leave-taking the party of three moved towards the gates, Mrs Doctor heaving a satisfied sigh as they went along.
They had to cross the lawn again, where a goodly group of guests yet remained; and as they passed, the Inche Maida smiled and kissed her hand to Grey, while the Rajah rose to see them to the gates.
“Not gone yet, Rajah?” said the doctor. “I say, how are you going to get home?”
“My boat is waiting. We like the night for a journey, and my rowers will soon take me back.”
“And the Inche Maida, will she go back home to-night?”
“No; I think she is to stay here. Shall I go and ask her?”
“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Mrs Doctor, “he does not want to know. Good-night, Rajah.”
“Good-night—good-night.”
They parted at the gate, and the Rajah returned to the lawn, staying with the remaining guests till they departed; he and the Inche Maida being about the last to leave—the latter being handed by Mr Perowne into her boat, for the Rajah was wrong—the Princess had not been invited to stay, and her strong crew of boatmen were very soon sending the long light naga swiftly up stream, the smoothly-flowing water breaking up into myriads of liquid stars, as it seemed to rush glittering along on either side while they progressed between the two black walls of foliage that ran up from the surface high in air, one mass of leafage, from which the lowermost branches kissed the stream.