“What maggot has the old fellow got in his brain now?” asked Fitz, when Ismail Bakhsh had disappeared down the passage.
“I really think this valued family retainer is getting a little bit cracked,” said Flora. “Do just imagine the Commissioner creeping in here in the dark with a dagger to murder the baby!”
“Or smothering it with pillows!” chuckled Haycraft.
“Well, I only hope Ismail Bakhsh won’t go and shoot some one by mistake,” said Fitz.
“There is a deputation from the regiment waiting at the end of the verandah, anxious to interview your son and heir, Mrs North,” said Dr Tighe in the afternoon of the same day.
“How nice of them! I wish I could take him to them myself,” said Georgia.
“You must leave that to his proud aunt,” said Mabel. “But surely we ought to smarten him up a little, Georgie? I wish we had a proper robe for him. How would that white embroidered shawl of mine do to wrap him in?”
“No, tell Rahah to get out the shawl which the native officers gave me for a wedding present. It is in the regimental colours, and that will please them more than anything.”
“Now, don’t excite yourself,” entreated Mabel. “You are getting quite flushed over the boy’s toilette. Do leave him to us. Surely Mrs Hardy and Rahah and Flora and I can dress one baby between us?”
“Well, mind that if they hold out the hilts of their tulwars, you make him touch them with his hand, and the same if they bring any present.”