“But, sor, there’ll be nobody to—”
“Oh, never mind; we’ll manage. My factotum, butler, footman, groom, everything,” continued the stranger. “Did those fellows bring you in?”
“Not exactly. They showed us the way.”
“Hem!” said the stranger, with a dry cough; and he put up his white umbrella again. “Mind the sun?”
“Oh, no; we are getting a bit acclimatised.”
“You’re lucky then; I’m not. My dears, gentlemen from home. Mr—Mr—?”
“Murray.”
“Mr Murray. My wife and daughter. Oh, by the way, forgot to introduce myself: Barnes, Doctor Barnes, resident physician to His Highness the Rajah of Dah, in whose capital you stand. My dear, Mr Murray and his nephew have kindly consented to take tiffin with us.”
“You are very kind,” said Murray, hesitating.
“No apologies are necessary,” said the elder of the two ladies, rather a yellow, quick-spoken body; and she made as if to take the newcomer’s arm. “We are only too glad to see a fresh face—a white one, are we not, Amy?”