“Of course.”
“Then you eat just the same as I do, and you can’t be wrong.”
Ned took the advice, and, like his companion, he was very soon enjoying himself thoroughly; too busy, in fact, to take much notice of the others, till Frank began to make remarks.
“I say, how nice Amy Barnes looks, doesn’t she! Got quite a colour.”
Ned glanced at her, and saw that she was flushed and looked excited, but was evidently doing her best to be at ease, talking readily enough with the Resident, and letting him translate in answer to some remark made in a grave and stately way by the rajah, who scarcely ate anything, but kept on giving instructions to his attendants to take this dish or that wine to his guests.
“What’s the matter with your uncle?” said Frank, suddenly; “not poorly, is he?”
“Matter?” said Ned, looking across to where Murray was seated. “Nothing; he only looks cross.”
“But he is hardly eating anything. Overdid it to-day in our walk, or else riding the elephants has made him queer. It makes some people ill, like going to sea for the first time.”
Just then the rajah spoke to one of the attendants, who directly after went and filled Murray’s cup with some kind of palm wine, and then the Resident’s, and the doctor’s.
“The rajah will take wine with us, Murray, in the English fashion,” said Mr Braine; and though Murray felt as if he would like to refuse, he told himself that so far he had no real cause, and that such an act on his part might mean peril to all present. So in a very distant quiet way he took wine, the rajah merely putting his cup to his lips, while as Murray drank he could not help thinking how easily such a man might get rid of any one he disliked, and how little likelihood there was of his being ever called to account for the murder.