The man brought a box and lighted a match, which he presently applied to one end of the cigar while his master pulled at the other.
“Well,” said Mrs. Daye, thoughtfully dabbling in her finger-bowl, “about this statue or whatever it is to Mr. Church—if it were a mere question of inclination—but as things are, Richard, I really don’t think we can afford more than fifty. It isn’t as if it could do the poor man any good. Where are you going, Rhoda? Wait a minute.”
Mrs. Daye followed her daughter out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and put an impressive hand upon Rhoda’s arm at the foot of the staircase.
“My dear child,” she said, with a note of candid compassion, “what do you think has happened? Your father and I were discussing it as you came down, but I said ‘Not a word before Rhoda!’ They have made Lewis Ancram Chief Commissioner of Assam!”
The colour came back into the girl’s face with a rush, and the excitement went out of her eyes.
“Good heavens, mummie, how you—— Why shouldn’t they? Isn’t he a proper person?”
“Very much so. That has nothing to do with it. Think of it, Rhoda—a Chief Commissioner, at his age! And you can’t say I didn’t prophesy it. The rising man in the Civil Service I always told you he was.”
“And I never contradicted you, mummie dear! My own opinion is that when Abdur Rahman dies they’ll make him Amir!” Rhoda laughed a gay, irresponsible laugh, and tripped on upstairs with singular lightness of step. Mrs. Daye, leaning upon the end of the banister, followed her with reproachful eyes.
“You seem to take it very lightly, Rhoda, but I must say it serves you perfectly right for having thrown the poor man over in that disgraceful way. Girls who behave like that are generally sorry for it later. I knew of a chit here in Darjiling that jilted a man in the Staff Corps and ran away with a tea-planter. The man will be the next Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army, everybody says, and I hope she likes her tea-planter.”
“Mummie!” Rhoda called down confidentially from the landing.