"It's like an oven out here," growled the merchant. "I say, Grey, you don't want me, do you? Chumbley will take care of you. Come to me when you want to go." For answer she placed her hand on the lieutenant's arm, and he took her round the grounds. "Looks nice, doesn't it?" he said. "Seen all the grandees?" "I have only seen Helen and Mr Perowne," she replied. "Looks well to-night, 'pon my word. I saw Murad's eyes light up like a firefly as he shook hands with her, but he pulled himself to directly. Perowne does these things well. Old boy must be pretty rich." "They say he is, very," replied Grey. "Here is the Rajah coming up. Mr Chumbley, I always feel afraid of that man." "Hold tight by my arm, then, and I'll punch his head if he looks at you. He shan't run away with you while I am by." Grey laughed merrily, and in the midst of her mirth the Rajah came up. "You English people always seem so bright and merry," he said, smiling, and looking very handsome as he stood by the side of a lantern. "We people always feel dull and sad." "Have a glass of champagne then, Rajah. It is a fine cure for sadness. I say," continued Chumbley, "you'll have to imitate this, and give an evening _fete_." "Yes," he said, eagerly; "I was thinking so. But I would have more lanterns in the trees, and more flowers." "To be sure," said Chumbley. "You'll invite me?" "Will you promise me to come?" said the Rajah, holding out his hand. "I will indeed," replied Chumbley, grasping it in return. "And you too, Miss Stuart?" "You must ask papa," she said, quietly. "I will," said the Rajah, earnestly. "Where is he?" "Having a cigar in the little pagoda, Rajah," replied Chumbley; and the Malay Prince nodded and smiled, and went away. "Here, I say," said Chumbley, as soon as they were alone. "I'm going to have a quarrel, Miss Stuart. I thought there would have been a chance for me, and that my rejected addresses would be accepted, and now you have behaved like this." "What do you mean, Mr Chumbley? If it is an enigma, I cannot guess it; if it is a joke, you must explain it; for I am only a Scottish maiden." "Joke?--no," he said; "I call it no joke. Here you and the Rajah have the effrontery to make up matters before me." "I and the Rajah!" cried Grey. "Yes; you told him to go and ask papa. I heard you." "Oh, Mr Chumbley, what a poor joke," she cried; and then she stopped short, for the handsome face and stately form of the Inche Maida, followed by one attendant, suddenly came upon them from out of a dark side-walk. "Then I was right," she said, holding up her finger at both in turn. "You two are lovers." "And we always talk about other people," said Chumbley, as the Princess kissed Grey rather coldly upon the forehead. "Come along with us, and you shall hear."