Traherne noted that he introduced them to the Green Goddess, and not her to them, and he wondered if this man with his priceless gew-gaws, his cosmopolitan breeding and information, his countless centuries of Eastern-ancestry, were as apart from the beliefs and idolatrous superstitions of his uncouth people as his words and light tone implied. Well, he would to heaven they could cut all this useless talk, and get down to the real issue now. Their fate still hung in the balance—his and Crespin’s—and Lucilla’s. It was not a comfortable feeling. It was very far from a comfortable situation. And he knew how scrupulous the politeness of an Oriental foe-to-the-death could be. But he knew too that they must bide this Raja man’s time and tune.
Antony Crespin knew it too, and Lucilla had the wit to take her cue from them. But Crespin glanced at the lowering sun, and ventured, “I hope, sir, that we shall find no difficulty in obtaining transport back to civ—to India.”
The Raja of Rukh smiled openly then, and his smile was frank and very sweet. “To civilization, you were going to say? Why hesitate, my dear sir? We know very well that we are barbarians. We are quite reconciled to the fact. We have had some five thousand years to accustom ourselves to it. This sword—” he laid a hand lightly on his carved and jeweled scimitar—“is a barbarous weapon compared with your revolver; but it was worn by my ancestors when yours were daubing themselves blue, and picking up a precarious livelihood in the woods.” He said it in the friendliest way, and broke off abruptly, and turned to Mrs. Crespin, “But Madam is standing all this time!” he exclaimed in dismay. “Watkins, what are you thinking of? Some cushions!”
Watkins made no reply, and his well-trained face did not change, but he took several cushions from his master’s litter, and came sleekly forward, and piled them into a seat for her.
“Another litter for Madam, and mountain chairs for the gentlemen, will be here in a few minutes. Then I hope you will accept the hospitality of my poor house.”
If the litter as well as the chairs already had been ordered, Watkins must have caught some other ciphered command in his master’s voice, for the valet turned softly and said something to one of the people, and another runner sped quickly away.
“We are giving a great deal of trouble, Your Highness,” Lucilla objected.
“A great deal of pleasure, Madam,” the Raja corrected her.
“But I hope, sir,” Crespin ventured again, “there will be no difficulty about transport back to—India.” He was feeling deucedly uneasy, was the English Major, but he managed to keep it out of his voice.
Basil Traherne was feeling much uneasier, but he said nothing, gave no sign—and waited.