Nancy saw the reasonableness of what he said and she liked the jovial courtesy of the choice he allowed. She was shyer than Edward, but already she felt as if she had known these men—she did not think of them as young men; they represented no special age to her mind—she felt as if she had known them for years. And she trusted them. So to Edward's manifest joy she put aside qualms about her father's wrath and chose an experience which promised entry into a new world, a world she had long been curious to see. She was tired too and hungry, and this walk, as it proved, was none too short for the hour of daylight which remained.
Beresford had extracted a fair knowledge of Edward's history by the time they reached the settlement. He had learned to suppress his amazement and relished with appreciation every sidelight of Edward's intimate recital. It was rare amusement to hear a youngster, who was so assuredly English as to regret the loss of his bow more than all the excitement of a crowded afternoon, treating of concubines, their favor and loss of favor with his father, their expectations of further offspring, as though these were the normal stuff of life. Nasmith did not say much, but he listened with silent appreciation while Nancy walked quietly, obsessed by thoughts no one could read.
They came at last down a wide road into the settlement. Dusk had fallen. The children were dazzled by the many lights which shone from the bungalows and from the occupied temples scattered round the sides of the valley.
"Well, here we are," said Beresford, passing through a grove of acacia at the end of which stood a low, rangy house, built in foreign style. An oil lamp, hanging from the ceiling of the verandah, shone upon a table where dinner, it seemed, was soon to be served. Servants were spreading a white cloth. Nancy, with a sinking of the heart, recognized that several people—they looked like a crowd to her frightened eyes—were sitting in a group just beyond the outer margin of the light.
"So you're back, are you?" came a woman's voice. "We were just going to have dinner without you. Why, whom have you brought here?"
"Sorry to be late," laughed Beresford, as he stepped up to the verandah, "we've found the Babes in the Wood and brought them home with us. Nothing to be afraid of, Edward, Nancy," he said, pushing the children into the light, "she won't bite. Miss Hai, Master Hai, in other words, Nancy and Edward, I have the pleasure of presenting you to Mrs. Ferris. Tell the rest of the family to sit down; I'm not going to introduce them now. This isn't a reception. Take this pair inside, Agnes, and let them wash. Ronald will explain."
Mrs. Ferris was not so puzzled as to miss the hint. She saw the embarrassment of the two children; her motherly sympathies helped her to take instant pity on their plight. She got them inside, called for hot water, soap, and towels, and left the boy and girl vigorously scrubbing themselves.
"They know how to wash," she said delightedly, coming back to the large living-room. "Who are they? What are they?"
Nasmith detailed all that he had learned while Beresford was supplying the curiosity of the group on the verandah and keeping them from too quick a descent upon Edward and Nancy.
"The poor dears!" exclaimed Mrs. Ferris. "How utterly horrible to think of two English children being brought up like that! And with such a man for their father. I declare I don't think you ought to take them back."