Grey Stuart, who had been making a brave effort to appear bright and free from care, replied that it was all very delightful and strange. "It seems so different from anything I have ever seen before!" she said, with animation. "Beats a lawn party and tennis in the old country hollow!" said Chumbley. "What a capital hostess the Princess is!" "She seems to take so much kindly interest in--in--" said Grey. "In you, you mean," said the great fellow, smiling. "Oh, no," said Grey, naively, "I think it was in you." "Well, I don't know," replied Chumbley, thoughtfully; "she has been very attentive and kind certainly, but then she has been far more so to Hilton and Miss Perowne. Why I saw her peel an orange for old Hilton with her own fair--I mean dark--fingers." "I suppose it is the Malayan way of showing courtesy to a guest," said Grey, in an absent tone of voice, as her eyes were wandering from Captain Hilton to Helen Perowne and back; and then, in spite of herself, she sighed gently, a fact that did not pass unnoticed by Chumbley, who made of it a mental note. Meanwhile, the half-savage banquet went on with fresh surprises from time to time for the guests, who were astonished at the extent to which the Malay Princess had adopted the best of our English customs. Perhaps the most critical of all was Mrs Bolter, who did not scruple about making whispered remarks to her brother about the various delicacies spread around. "If Henry does not come soon, Arthur," she whispered, "I shall send you to fetch him. By the way, those sweets are very nicely made. Taste them." "Thank you, dear Mary, no," he said, quietly, as he turned an untasted fruit round and round in his long, thin fingers. "Arthur, how can you be so absurd?" whispered his sister. "The people will be noticing you directly." "What have I done, my dear Mary?" he replied, looking quite aghast. "Nothing but stare at Helen Perowne," she said, in a low angry voice. "Surely you don't want her to flirt with you!" "Hush, Mary!" he said gravely. "Your words give me pain." "And your glances at that proud, handsome, heartless creature give me pain, Arthur," she replied, in the same tone. "I cannot bear it." The Reverend Arthur sighed, let his eyes rest upon his fruit, raised them again, and found himself in time to arrest an arrow-like glance from Helen's eyes sent the whole length of the table, and he closed his own and shuddered as if the look had given him a pang. "I cannot get Henry to look at me," whispered Mrs Bolter after a time. "He seems quite guilty about something, and ashamed to meet my eye. Arthur, I am sure he is drinking more wine than is good for his health." "Oh, no, my dear Mary," replied her brother. "Surely Henry Bolter knows how to take care of his constitution." "I don't know that," said the little lady, with asperity, "and he keeps talking to the Princess more than I like."