“Oh, poor Wazira Begum!” cried Penelope. “Is the young man nice?”
“Very far from it, I should say; but when it’s a choice between marriage and murder, he will probably look at the matter philosophically.”
“I wasn’t thinking of him,” said Penelope indignantly, “but of the poor girl. How can they want her to marry him?”
“They want to have a check upon him if he takes kindly to the new state of affairs, and a spy upon him if he turns rusty, and they seem to think they can trust the young lady to be both.”
“Well, I call it infamous!” cried Lady Haigh; “and I only hope that Wazira Begum will refuse and run away. If she comes here, I’ll give her shelter.”
“You shouldn’t say that sort of thing in my hearing,” said Sir Dugald, as he rose from the table. “It might become my duty to insist upon your giving her up, and what would happen then?”
“Why, I shouldn’t, of course!” cried Lady Haigh defiantly.
* * * * * * *
It was a fortnight before Major Keeling and his escort returned from Nalapur, but messengers were constantly coming and going between the city and Alibad, so that there was little scope for anxiety. Sir Dugald came home late one night, and was instantly seized upon by his wife and Penelope, and ordered to satisfy their curiosity as to the course of events, which turned out not to be altogether satisfactory.
“The Sheikh has no notion of yielding an inch to make things pleasant on the frontier,” he said. “He will give up criminals of ours who take refuge in Nalapur, but merely as an act of grace, and he won’t enter into any regular treaty. No doubt it’s a piece of wisdom on his part,—for he is regarded with a good deal of suspicion as having lived so long on British soil,—and his attitude will tend to disarm the suspicions of the Sardars and the Mullahs.”