What could I say, Amelia? A pretty friend, indeed, this good lady had proved herself, if I was right in discovering something of disappointment in her air when she found I was not run away; and as for her kind interpretation of my actions, what had she just done but charge me with the most culpable levity, and with allowing such freedoms as I have always believed to be quite incompatible with modesty? To tell her that I had never spoken with Lieutenant Bentinck but in a general company, and that I was as far from desiring to exchange signals of intelligence with him as he with me, would be of no avail, since she had made up her mind on the matter, and I attempted nothing more than to entreat her, as I waited on her to her palanqueen, to contradict any report she might hear of any partiality I had for him. In answer, she assured me that she was all discretion, and that I should find her constantly active in silencing any talk to my disadvantage, and so rode away, nodding and smiling at me as though we had established an understanding together. I know my dear friend would have pitied her unhappy Sylvia could she have seen me as I returned to the varanda. I tried to compose myself again to my work, but my hands were hot and cold by turns, and shook as if I was in an ague-fit, while the pen slipped about all over the paper, so that I could not draw a straight line.
“Sure the plague’s in the thing!” I cried at last, speaking very loud and bold, as though to give myself courage; “or perhaps I have catched a fever. I have felt vapourish once or twice of late.”
I rose to go to my chamber and fetch some hartshorn, but glancing out towards the gate I saw Mr Fraser entering. I can’t tell you what a state the sight of him threw me into. My limbs trembled so frightfully that I had to sit down again, and pulling my drawing towards me I began to work so hard at it that in two minutes I had spoiled the work of weeks, while all the time my heart was beating as though it would jump up into my throat and choke me. I durst not run away even if I had been able, but I know I wished that the roof of the varanda might fall and cover me. I think I must have fallen into a fit if it had not been for a mischance that happened to Mr Fraser as he entered, announced by the banyan. Coming out of the sunlight into the shade of the varanda, and groping his way, I suppose, towards me (for I could not advance a step towards him, holding one hand on my heart to still its tumultuous beating, and supporting myself by a pillar with the other); as he approached, I say, this white figure in the distance, he was so unfortunate as to strike against my table, and down it went, the ink pouring over my drawing and on the floor. I could have found it in my heart at any other time to pity the poor young gentleman for making such an entry, but now I could only be thankful for the interruption caused by calling in the servants to wipe up the mess, and by Mr Fraser’s apologies. But breaking off abruptly in his expressions of sorrow—
“Dear madam,” he said, “you look sadly disturbed. I fear my clumsiness has startled you more than you’ll own. Permit me to lead you to a seat.”
“I thank you, sir—no, I am quite well, believe me—I’m sadly vapourish to-day—pray, sir, excuse this sorry welcome.” Silly, stammering words, were they not, Amelia? but indeed I had so great an inclination to weep, coupled with so strong a resolve not to do so, that I could scarce speak at all.
“You’ll pardon me, madam,” says Mr Fraser, standing before me very civilly, “for forcing myself upon your retirements at such an hour, but I have no time to spare. Mr President is leaving for Ballisore this evening, and he is obliging enough to offer me a passage in his barge to that place, where I can pick up the country junk I came in from Madrass. My dearest Miss Freyne won’t think me, I hope, unmannerly in pressing for an interview with her as I did, when she knows the reason of my eagerness.”
Now, strangely enough, there was something in this speech that made me more inclined to cry than ever, so that ’twas the most fortunate thing in the world that I remembered I was very angry with Mr Fraser, and had every reason to be more angry still.
“I hope you have left Mr Bentinck at his ease, sir?” I said. He started.
“Had I known that his health was an object of interest to you, madam, I would have inquired about it more particularly than I did.”
“Why,” said I, very lightly, “when two gentlemen are so good as to make a lady’s name the subject of a public brawl, sure she has some concern with the issue?”