"We've just been awfulee happy," said one spokeswoman. "'Twill be a tale to tell for many a day in Vepery!"
"And won't thatt cat, Leila Baltus, be spiteful when she hears wot a good time we've had, and her kept out," remarked another.
"Oh, but that is not a kind source of satisfaction, Rosa," said Mrs. Fellowes, looking at the girl, and shaking her head in gentle disapproval. "Who is Leila Baltus?" she asked in an undertone, turning to Hester; but the question was unheard in the general bustle of departure.
The last carriageful was now driving off, and a shrill chorus of expressions of gratitude mingled with the sea sounds which were more audible now that the darkness had fallen. Long afterwards Hester remembered this night, and conjured up a vivid picture of this shore of the Bay of Bengal, the sweet placid face of the "wise saint," the eager groups of amber-faced girls with the evidence of a happy innocent day written on every feature, and the background of the brightly-lit parlour, while a stone's throw away rolled the darkened waters of the great restless ocean.
Hester, in her husband's absence, had agreed to remain the night with her friend. Colonel Fellowes appeared presently, having driven out to see his wife, and a pleasant evening followed. When Hester mounted the narrow staircase to the delightful bedroom assigned to her on the flat roof, she felt it was long since such an entirely happy day had been her portion. With its many doors opening on the leads, this room was an abode of luxury on hot Indian plains. Here no drowsy punkah-wallah had to be roused by the sleepless victim to pull the weary wind-fan! The sea breeze wooed one to sleep even on the hottest nights, and through the many doors open to the dark blue vault, one could lie in bed and watch the stars come out, tracing whole constellations from one's downy pillow to the music of the wild waves.
CHAPTER XVI.
On the same afternoon as Hester was enjoying the many-sided pleasures of her day at Ennore, Alfred Rayner was stepping from the train at the trim little railway station of Puranapore. He looked less brisk than ordinarily, and did not seem disposed to claim the simultaneous attentions of all the native officials in his usual self-assertive manner, but stood glancing up and down the platform with an undecided air. In fact the green flag had been waved, and the train by which he had arrived had started on its onward way, but still he seemed in no hurry to proceed. Presently the station-master approached him, and salaaming, inquired which Dorai he was on his way to visit, no carriage having appeared from the English cantonment.
Mr. Rayner was in a very uncommunicative mood. He did not disclaim any purpose of visiting one of the English residents, nor did he indicate whither he was bound. Suddenly he picked up his bag, for on second thoughts he had dismissed his dressing-boy at the Madras station, and strode off on foot, much to the surprise of the station-master, who was a comparative stranger and did not even know him by sight. The scowling Hindu ticket-collector quickly enlightened him.
"That's La'yer Rayner that done bobbery about that mosque," he remarked, and proceeded to denounce the barrister in no flattering terms, prophesying that he had reappeared to hatch fresh mischief with the plotting Zynool.