“Rather!” cried Mildred; “I can’t think how you can have been so calm! If I had been there, and had seen Bertha coming, I’d have whooped like a red Indian, and rushed down, and simply smothered her with kisses. Men must be awfully cold-blooded.”
“I don’t know about that. There are different ways of expressing one’s emotion. A grip of the hand goes a long way sometimes. Well, I was fortunate, you see, for I had my chum with me once more. He had been as lonely without me as I without him, and had made up his mind to come and join me. We bought an estate between us, and now have a factory of our own. I was grieved to see these good people drinking Chinese tea this evening. I believe some wiseacres pretend that it is good for the digestion, but what is that compared with encouraging the poor planters in Ceylon? Remember, Miss Mildred, I rely upon you to drink nothing but Indian tea for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, I will!” promised Mildred readily. “I am quite interested in Ceylon now, because of you, and of another planter who was a friend of a great friend of mine. She told me a story about him only a few weeks ago. He wasn’t so fortunate as you. He was quite alone, and he tried to grow quinine—cinchona, you call it, don’t you? All the other estates suffered from blight, except his, and he was promised ever so much money for it—a fortune—but just when he was so happy, thinking of coming home, the disease came on his estate too, and everything died away before his eyes. All his work was lost, he had to begin over again, and dig up the land to plant tea instead.”
“Now, I wonder who told you that story!” Mr Muir cried. “I knew a fellow who had exactly the same experience. Curiously enough, he came home in the ship with me. We only landed a week ago. Do you mind telling the name of your informant?”
“No, of course not. Why should I? It was one of my school-mistresses—Miss Margaret Chilton. She and her eldest sister keep the school to which we all go—Bertha, and Lois, and I. We were talking of disappointments one day, and she told me this story as an illustration.”
Mr Muir threw back his head, and began to laugh in a soft, amused fashion, most mystifying to the hearer.
“Talk of coincidences!” he cried. “Talk of coincidences! Why, Miss Mildred, it is the very man of whom I was speaking. Isn’t that a curious thing? I knew him intimately, and he has told me stories too—about Miss Margaret Chilton among other people. And she is your school-mistress? Tell me now, what is she like? I have heard so much about her that I am interested to hear.”
“She is a darling!”
“Er—so I was given to understand!” said Mr Muir drily. “And as to appearance? Dark or fair, tall or short, plain or good-looking?”
Mildred reflected.