"I will do what I can, love, but I am never quite sure how to approach these young men. If only dear Theodora were here——" Mrs James was alluding to her sister-in-law, Mrs Edmund Antony.
"Oh, if Ned and his wife were here, the trouble would be at an end," said James Antony, with his big laugh. "I can't begin an interview by blowing a man up sky-high, and end it by falling on his neck, as Ned does. I have done my best for Gerrard—more than Ned would have done, too—in commending his conduct throughout this unfortunate affair, but it don't seem to make him any happier."
"But you cannot think your brother would have taken the part of that dreadful Sher Singh, love?"
"Ned would have seen the matter so wholly from Sher Singh's point of view as to consider him justified in killing not only poor Charteris, but Gerrard as well, for the offence of abducting his stepmother."
"Then when Edmund returns, will he insist on forcing the unfortunate woman to go back?"
"No, my dear, he won't, for the very good reason that I have already passed her safely across the Ghara. But he will have a rod in pickle for poor Gerrard, who seems to me to have quite enough to bear already—what with his wounds and the loss of all his belongings, to say nothing of the death of his friend."
"You don't think, James, that he feels himself to blame for poor Mr
Charteris's death?"
"He's an unreasonable idiot if he does," testily. "As if he hadn't done all that he could when he heard of it—insisting on mounting a horse and going back to look for him! When he very naturally fainted again, his people were uncommon wise in continuing the journey and bringing him here, and it's no reason for him to pull a long face. A broken arm and a complete suit of bruises ain't pleasant wear, but they are mending, and the beggar has no business to mope as he does. If he's still in love with old Cinnamond's daughter, his path is clear now, but they tell me he has made no attempt to see her."
"Ah!" said Mrs James thoughtfully. "But he shall see her. Leave it to me, love. Don't you think," with extreme innocence, "that it would be cheering for the poor fellow if you invited him to sit in your dufter[1] this evening? He would not be in spirits to join the party, of course, but the music might soothe him, and his friends could go in and talk to him from time to time."
"He will be a sad kill-joy, my dear. But consider the room at your disposal for any nefarious projects of the kind."