He cut short her assurances that on no account would she have him the least bit different by departing, on the plea that he feared a scolding from Mrs Gibbons, and left to herself, Eveleen realised that she was baffled still. The enigma was not solved, the barrier was still between them. Compared with the good-comradely relations existing between Dr and Mrs Gibbons, she and Richard were like strangers feverishly struggling to behave as near friends. Perhaps, after all, Richard was right, and nothing else was possible to him. It was hardly likely he could change much at his age, and the more she dashed herself against his defences the more uncomfortable and embarrassed he would be. She must be calm, reasonable, English, if they were to be happy together. “And how will I manage that?” she asked herself dolefully. “I’ll try—if it’s only to please him, but it’s a poor chance!”
Whether from his own feelings alone, or assisted by Mrs Gibbons, Richard had learnt his lesson. No more hysterics for him! He had taken up his quarters at Government House—since Colonel Bayard had deputed him to act as his representative in receiving Sir Henry Lennox when he landed—and he paid his wife a visit punctiliously morning and evening, but departed instantly if she showed the least sign of becoming excited. Under this bracing treatment Eveleen improved rapidly in health, and was promoted first to a couch on the verandah and then to taking drives, and was even well enough to be allowed to accompany her hostess to the shore to welcome the new ruler when he arrived from Bombay. Everything seemed to conspire to spoil Sir Henry’s first impression of Bab-us-Sahel. It was bad enough that his steamer should have been compelled to anchor off the port the night before, in imminent danger of running upon a reef in the darkness, and it was undignified for the person invested with supreme military and political power in Khemistan to be dragged in his boat through the surf and up the beach by yelling coolies because the tide would not allow of his landing at the pier. But the ladies watching from their carriages opined that something more serious must be wrong as the small bent figure, with dark glasses and long straggling beard, hobbled up the shore. Sir Henry had brushed aside brusquely the greetings of the officers awaiting him, and was giving sharp orders, pointing now to the vessel pitching on the horizon, now to the headlands on either side of the town. Something had to be done instantly, that was clear, for not until two or three men had detached themselves from the group, and mounted and ridden off in hot haste, did he appear to remember his manners.
“Sickness on board!” said Mrs Gibbons the experienced, noting that the port surgeon was one of those who had ridden away. “Now I wonder what it is—not cholera, I trust! I must see what beds——”
“Ah, but just wait till Sir Harry has passed!” urged Eveleen, in deep disappointment. “We don’t know that it’s sickness. And you wouldn’t make me cut my own brother? There he is—that’s Brian!” indicating a youth whose tall form towered above that of the General, naturally short and now bowed with rheumatism. Brian had a large mouth—expanded further by a cheerful smile—and blue eyes like his sister’s, one of them closed at the moment in a palpable wink. Eveleen was so much taken up with responding to this greeting that she was surprised to find her husband—portentously stiff and correct, as who should say, “This is none of my doing!” bringing Sir Henry up to the carriage. The General’s faded blue tunic might have been a relic of the Peninsula, and he wore a curious helmet of his own invention instead of the ordinary cap or shako with a linen cover and curtain. But the keen eyes twinkling through the dark spectacles, and the enormous nose, would have made him noticeable anywhere, quaint little figure though he was. He saluted and bowed low as he approached the two ladies in their best white gowns and flower-trimmed lace caps—Mrs Gibbons solid, jolly, and dependable; Eveleen all on wires, quivering with interest and excitement.
“My chief pleasure in coming to Khemistan,” he said courteously, “was the prospect of meeting Mrs Ambrose again, but I did not expect to have the honour so soon.”
“Ah, but that’s because I have been here for the hot weather,” said Eveleen eagerly. “But I may go up the river again with Ambrose, may I not?”
“So far as the matter rests with me, I shall be only too delighted,” was the courtly reply, and it took all Eveleen’s self-control not to cast a glance of triumph at her husband.
“And how is Black Prince?” she enquired, seeking hastily for safer themes.
“A bit seedy just now—we have had a terrible voyage——” his face was shadowed. “But he’ll soon shake that off.” Then the twinkle reappeared. “But would not a well-conducted lady have enquired first after my wife and the girls?”
“Ah, I never was that!” lamented Eveleen. “But I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Pray, Sir Harry, has Lady Lennox forgiven me yet for teaching Sally to jump?”