After that he turned smilingly to Amy, and evidently paid her some compliment, for she started a little and coloured, her eyes being directed the next moment at Murray, as if to apologise for having listened to the prince’s words, while the Englishman bit his lip till it bled.
Meanwhile the attendants glided about silently, plying each of the guests with wine, fruits, and sweets, to all of which Frank helped himself liberally; and the guards and attendants, dimly-seen in the feebly-lit place, looked like so many statues cast in bronze.
“I say,” whispered Frank, as he cut open a mangosteen, “do you notice anything?”
“Yes. Uncle looks horribly cross. He can’t bear to be ordered about.”
“S’pose not. No man does. But I say, don’t you notice anything else?”
“No.”
“Well, I do. Strikes me we are going to have a storm.”
“Are we? Well, I want to look at the lightning.”
“Nonsense! I mean a row. My father looks as if he had been getting into trouble with the rajah, and the ladies are all on the fidget. So’s the doctor. I can’t make it out.”
“I fancied they looked as if they were not enjoying themselves.”