One Maid's Mischief

“Yes, my country is beautiful,” said the Princess.

“Well, if I were to come out to such a place to play Adam, I should want an Eve. You don’t understand that.”

“What savages you think us,” said the Princess, warmly. “I challenge you! I know more of your religion and history than you do about mine.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Chumbley heartily; and the Princess looked angry, but afterwards seemed to enjoy the young man’s genuine mirth.

“Do you English think it good manners to laugh at a Malay lady?” she said reproachfully.

“Laugh? At you?” he said frankly. “My dear Princess, I was laughing at myself. Why, I’m one of the most ignorant fellows under the sun. I know my drill, and how to handle a gun; that’s about all.”

“You depreciate yourself,” said the Princess, in an admonitory tone; “but I do know who were Adam and Eve. You mean that if you lived out here you would want a wife.”

Chumbley nodded.

“Marry Helen Perowne and settle down out here. I would build you a house.”

“Heaven forbid!” said Chumbley, laughing. “No, Princess, I am not one of her slaves. I look at her now as I should at a beautiful picture.”

“You look at a beautiful picture?” replied the Princess, wonderingly. “Oh, yes, I understand now. What? so soon! Well, well, I daresay you are right, Mr Harley,” she said, in reply to a remark made by the Resident.

“Yes, he’s quite right, madam,” said Dr Bolter, who also bustled up. “Dew’s falling fast. We must not have any of my folks down with fever after so pleasant a trip.”

“I always take your advice, doctor,” said the Princess, smiling; “and say it is good.”

“It is a long way back,” said the Resident, smiling.

“Yes, but you have the stream with you,” said the Princess. “Where is the Sultan? There: you shall go. I will not keep you longer than is right, for I want you to come again.”

“After so pleasant a welcome, I’m sure all will be too happy,” said the Resident.

“I shall only be too glad to entertain you,” replied the Princess, “if I am in a position to do so. Who knows? You English refuse to help me; and perhaps by another month I may be poor, and little better than a slave.”

“But with plenty of friends in Sindang,” said the little doctor, warmly. “Here is one.”

“I know it doctor,” she replied, taking his outstretched hand.

“Grey, my child,” whispered Mrs Doctor, who was some distance away, “I’m sure that is a very dreadful woman! It does not take so long as that to shake hands!”

“I think it is only the Princess’s manner,” replied Grey, smiling.

“And very bad manners too,” said the little lady. “Now, where is Arthur?”

“That is he,” said Grey, “following Helen with her cloak.”

“Now, there!” cried the little lady, angrily, “now is my brother Arthur the man to be carrying Helen Perowne’s cloak? Oh, dear me! I do wish we were safe back at home! I don’t like these picnics in savage lands at all!”

“Good-bye, if I don’t have a chance to speak to you again, Mr Chumbley,” said the Princess. “Is not your friend coming to say good-bye? Ah, I see! he is in attendance with your Mr Chaplain upon the beauty.”

“I’d go and say good-night to Madame Inche Maida, Hilton,” whispered Chumbley, the next minute to his friend, and the latter went up and shook hands, thanking the Princess for the pleasant evening they had had, and hoping soon to see her again.

“I thank you,” said the Princess, coldly. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself; but, you are keeping Mr Perowne’s little girl waiting. Good-night.”

That was imagination on the Princess’s part, for Helen was talking to the chaplain, and had her back to them.

“She’s a curious woman,” said Hilton; “and I don’t like her a bit!”

And then, taking advantage of his dismissal, he bowed, and went to where Grey Stuart was talking to Mrs Bolter, as a half-way house to Helen, at whose side he was soon after.

Half an hour later the whole party were safely embarked. The boats were hung with lanterns, the full moon was above the black jungle-trees, and the river looked like molten silver as the oars dipped in regular cadence to the rowers’ song. Then on and on floated the two great nagas; the whole scene, as they glided between the two black banks of trees, being so weirdly beautiful, so novel, and so strange, that it affected all present, though in different ways.

Helen was hot and peevish; Mrs Bolter was petulant and fretting about the doctor stopping so long away; while Grey Stuart felt as if at the smallest provocation she would burst into tears.

“I say, Chum, old fellow,” said Hilton, as they stood outside their quarters in the brilliant moonlight smoking a cigar before turning in for the night, and after a chat about their pleasant passage down to the landing-stage – “I say, Chum, old fellow.”

“Hullo!”

“She doesn’t seem to like me, but not a bad sort of woman that Princess.”

“Not at all. Pity she’s so brown.”

“Yes, rather; but I say, Chum.”

“Hullo!”

“I’ll bet a dollar she squeezed your hand when you were coming away, eh?”

“Never tell tales out of school,” said Chumbley, slowly. “Squeezes of hands leave no impression, so they don’t count. I didn’t ask you if you squeezed Helen Perowne’s hand.”

“I shouldn’t mind if you did, old lad. Perhaps so; but don’t bother, and pass me a match.”

Chumbley chuckled softly to himself; and after a time they finished their cigars and turned in, the lieutenant sleeping soundly, while the rest of the principal personages in this narrative were wakeful and tossing from side to side, perhaps the most restless being the successful beauty, Helen Perowne.

Volume One – Chapter Thirty.

The Return Party

Mr Perowne’s was acknowledged to be by far the best garden at the station; its favourable position – sloping, as it did, down to the river – prevented any approach to aridity, and as he had gone to the expense of getting three Chinese gardeners – men who were ready enough, if not to originate, to take up any suggested idea – the result was a charmingly-picturesque succession of smooth lawns and shady walks, sheltered by the choicest flowering trees the country produced.

He spared no expense to make the garden attractive, and on the night of Helen’s twenty-first birthday, when they gave a garden-party, the place, with its Chinese lanterns and illuminated summer-houses, had an effect that seemed to Grey Stuart the most lovely she had ever seen.

“I quite envy you sometimes,” she said, as Helen, in her calm assurance, kissed her and welcomed her in a patronising way; “surrounded as you are with luxuries, you ought to be very happy.”

“And yet I am not,” said Helen, bitterly, and she turned to meet some fresh arrivals.

“You’ve a deal to grumble about,” said old Stuart, who had heard his daughter’s words. “What’s all this but show and tinsel? What’s it worth? Bah!”

Her father’s words did not comfort her, for she felt very sore; and as she strolled with him down one of the paths she thought to herself that there was an old fable about a dog in a manger, and in her quiet, homely fashion, it seemed to her that Helen was playing that part.