Neil Harley, in spite of his strong power of will, had said but very few words to Helen Perowne before little Mrs Doctor Bolter bustled up.
“Oh, Mr Harley!” she exclaimed, “you have carried off my charge.”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling pleasantly; “we came forward to have a good view of the sunset.”
“Because you could see it so much better at the other end?” said Mrs Bolter, drily.
“No; but because we could see it uninterruptedly,” replied the Resident, coolly.
“Oh no, you could not, Mr Harley,” continued the little lady, “because you see I have come to interrupt your tête-à-tête. Helen, my dear, will you come back and join us on the other deck?”
“To be sure she will, my dear Mrs Bolter, and I shall come too. There, mind those ropes. That’s better. What a glorious evening! I hope I am to have the pleasure of showing you ladies many that are far more beautiful on the Darak river.”
Little Mrs Bolter looked up at him meaningly; but the Resident’s eyes did not flinch; he only gave her a quiet nod in reply, and they climbed once more to the quarter-deck, where, in preparation for the coming darkness, the sailors were busily hanging lamps.
They had no sooner reached the group of people around Dr Bolter, than, as if to revenge herself for the annoyance to which she had been subjected, Helen disengaged her hand, walked quickly up to the Reverend Arthur, and began to talk to him in a low earnest voice.
“If she would only keep away from poor Arthur,” muttered the little lady, “I would not care—she is making him infatuated. And now there’s Henry talking to that thin dark lady again. I wish he would not talk so much to her.”