The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People Part 27

"Yes, it's a fine building," Travers said, looking about him with an expression of satisfaction. "The Rajah hasn't spared the paint in any way. You see, it was all native work, so he killed two birds with one stone--pleased us and gave the aborigines a job. He has gone quite mad on reforms, poor fellow!" He laughed, not in the least contemptuously, but with a faint pity. "And it's all your doing, Miss Beatrice," he went on, turning to her with an elaborate bow. "You should be very proud of your work."

She looked him straight in the face. They were in the new ballroom of the clubhouse which the Rajah of Marut had just opened. In the adjacent tearoom she heard voices raised in gay discussion, but for the moment they were quite alone.

"You give me more credit in the matter than I deserve," she said. "Is that generosity on your part, or--are you s.h.i.+rking your share of the responsibility?"

"I--s.h.i.+rk my share of the responsibility!" he exclaimed with a good-tempered lifting of the eyebrows. "My dear lady, have you ever known me to do such a thing?"

She smiled rather sarcastically.

"No, Mr. Travers, but I own that the idea does not seem to me wholly impossible."

"And even if you were right, why should I in this particular case 's.h.i.+rk the responsibility,' as you put it? Surely it is not responsibility we have incurred, but grat.i.tude."

She walked by his side over to the open windows which looked out on to the as yet uncultivated and barren gardens.

"The question is this," she said at last: "Does the superficial grat.i.tude of a crowd in any way compensate for the fact that, in order to obtain it, a whole life's happiness has been incidentally sacrificed?"

"I know to whom you are alluding," he said, looking earnestly at her, "although, as a matter of fact, the two things have nothing to do with each other, except in your imagination. You mean Lois. Yes, of course she has had a hard time. Who doesn't? But it's rubbish to talk of a 'life's happiness.' In the first place, there isn't such a thing --nothing lasts so long as a lifetime, I a.s.sure you. In the second, Lois has not sustained any real loss--not any which I can not make good to her."

"Do you imagine yourself so all-sufficient?" she asked.

"I have confidence in my own powers," he admitted. "That is the first condition of success. I believe that in a few hours I shall have Lois on the road to recovery."

"I do not in the least understand your methods," Beatrice said, "but they have hitherto been so eminently successful that I suppose I ought not to question them. I hope for the best. I really was rather sorry for Lois--especially as she behaved so well."

"Are you starting a conscience, Miss Beatrice?" Travers asked gaily.

"I rather suspect you. It would be such a typically feminine proceeding."

"There you are quite wrong," she answered, with a shade of annoyance in her cool voice. "A conscience is an appendage which I discarded a good many years ago as the luxury of respectability. As you know, and as any woman at the Station would tell you, I am not respectable."

"Whence this anxiety, then?"

"It is purely a practical one. You talk of grat.i.tude--do you really think anyone is grateful to me for--this?" She waved her hand toward the lofty, handsomely decorated room before her. "Why, I doubt if anyone remembers that I had anything to do with it. But every one suspects me of having bewitched Stafford into becoming a deserter--thanks to Mrs. Carmichael's tongue--and every one feels a just and holy indignation. I doubt whether they really care a rap about poor Lois, and indeed I could accuse one or two of a certain satisfaction; but the matter has given them a new whip with which to beat us out of Marut."

"But you will not be beaten out of Marut," Travers said, a smile pa.s.sing over his fresh face. "You have got a far too firm footing. The woman who has bagged the finest catch in the Station has nothing more to fear."

"You mean Captain Stafford?"

"I do."

"Then, if you have no objection, we will leave that subject alone."

"By all means, if you wish it," he agreed, somewhat taken aback. "But, between friends, you know, one does not need to be so delicate."

Her hands played idly with the handle of her silk parasol.

"It is not a matter of delicacy," she said, "--at least, not altogether. It would be rather silly to begin with that sort of thing at my time of life, wouldn't it? But--you don't know for certain that I shall marry Captain Stafford."

"My dear lady! You have accepted him!" Travers exclaimed.

She looked at him, her clear hazel eyes flas.h.i.+ng with momentary fun.

"It is very bad policy to rely upon what a woman says further back than twenty-four hours," she warned him.

For once he remained serious.

"That may be true, but it is sometimes necessary to warn her that first thoughts are best."

"Now, what do you mean?"

He folded his arms over his broad chest.

"Miss Beatrice," he said, appearing to ignore her question, "do you remember some time ago my telling you that we were like two partners at a game of bridge?"

"I remember very well."

"Well, we are still partners, though the game is nearing its end. As a rule I am for straight, aboveboard play, but there are moments when a man is strongly tempted to cheat."

"Haven't we cheated all through?" she inquired, with a one-sided smile.

"By no means. We have finessed, that's all. Just at present I feel impelled to--well, give you a hint under the table."

"Why?"

"Miss Beatrice, more or less I stand in the position of a skilled and rich player who has tempted a less wealthy partner into a doubtful game. If my plans fail, I can look after myself; but I shouldn't like to get you in a mess. If I give you a hint, will you keep counsel?"

"I suppose I must."

"Well, then, it's just this. Your mother has invested the greater part of her money in the Marut Company. I did not want her to--I'll say that for myself--but she has the speculating craze, and nothing would stop her. Of course the mine will be an immense success--but if it isn't, I should like to see you, as my partner, well out of reach of the results."

"Now I understand. Thank you."

"As to the Rajah, I think you had better let him run before things go too far. I'm afraid he has got one or two silly ideas in his head. You had better make your engagement public."

"Thank you." She looked perfectly calm and collected. The red had died out of her cheeks and left them their pale rose, which not even the hottest Indian sun had been able to wither. Still, her tone had something in it which startled even the self-possessed Travers.

"By Jove!" he began, "are you angry--?"

She pa.s.sed over the question before he had time to finish it.

"I am going into the garden to look for my mother," she said. "The band is just beginning. _Au revoir_."

Travers watched her curiously and admiringly as she walked across the parquetry flooring to the door. It requires a good deal of self-possession and carriage to walk gracefully under the scrutiny of critical eyes, and this self-possession and carriage were the final clauses to Beatrice's claim to physical perfection. There was a natural dignity in her bearing and an absolute balance in all her movements which Travers had never seen before combined in one woman.

At first sight an observer called her pretty, and then, as one by one the perfect details unfolded themselves to a closer criticism, beautiful. He was never disappointed, and even the most carping and envious of Marut's female contingent had failed to find her vulnerable point. So they had turned with more success to her character, and proceeded there with their work of destruction. Her beauty they left unquestioned.

Travers often asked himself--and asked himself especially on this afternoon--why, apart from practical considerations, he had not fallen in love with her instead of Lois. He liked beautiful women, as he liked all beautiful things, and Lois had no real pretensions to beauty. Was it, perhaps, as he had said, that her honesty and genuine heart-goodness had drawn him to her? Of course he had pretended that it was so. He knew that, in company with all true women, she was susceptible to that form of flattery where other compliments merely disgusted, and he had made good use of his knowledge. He had often laughed to himself at the feminine craze for salvaging lost souls, but he had never taken it seriously, not even with Lois. Was there any truth in the a.s.sertions that he had made to her, more than he knew?

The idea amused him immensely, and also drew his attention back to his previous conversation with Beatrice Cary. He shook his head whimsically in the direction she had taken.