“You got into his line of fire, Wilson,” the Major said; “he is explosive this morning, and has been giving it to us all round. However, nobody minds what the Doctor says; his bark is very bad, but he has no bite. Wait till you are down with the fever, and you will find him devote himself to you as if he were your father.” “He is one of the kindest men in the world,” Isobel agreed warmly, thereby effectually silencing Richards, who had just pulled up his shirt collar preparatory to a sarcastic utterance respecting him. Isobel, indeed, was in full sympathy with the Doctor, for she, too, was disappointed at Bathurst’s sudden departure. She had looked forward to learning a good deal from him about the native customs and ways, and had intended to have a long talk with him. She was perhaps, too, more interested generally in the man himself than she would have been willing to admit. That evening the party went to an entertainment at Bithoor. Isobel and the girls were delighted with the illuminations of the gardens and with the palace itself, with its mixture of Eastern splendor and European luxury. But Isobel did not altogether enjoy the evening. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your success last night, Isobel,” Dr. Wade said, when he dropped in after breakfast. “Everyone has been telling me that the Rajah paid you the greatest attention, and that there is the fiercest gnashing of teeth among what must now be called the ex-queens of the station.” “I don’t know who told you such nonsense, Doctor,” Isobel replied hotly. “The Rajah quite spoilt the evening for me. I have been telling Mrs. Hunter so. If we had not been in his own house, I should have told him that I should enjoy the evening very much more if he would leave me alone and let me go about and look quietly at the place and the gardens, which are really beautiful. No doubt he is pleasant enough, and I suppose I ought to have felt flattered at his walking about with me and so on, but I am sure I did not. What pleasure does he suppose an English girl can have in listening to elaborate compliments from a man as yellow as a guinea?” “Think of his wealth, my dear.” “What difference does his wealth make?” Isobel said. “As far as I have seen, I do not think that rich Englishmen are more amusing than others, and if he had all the wealth of India, that would not improve Nana Sahib in my eyes. There are women, of course, who do think a great deal about money, and who will even marry men for it, but even women who would do that could not, I should think, care anything about the wealth of a Hindoo they cannot marry.” “Not directly, my dear,” Mrs. Hunter said; “but people may be flattered with the notice and admiration of a person of importance and great wealth, even if he is a Hindoo.” “Besides,” the Doctor put in, “the Rajah is considered to be a great connoisseur of English beauty, and has frequently expressed his deep regret that his religion prevented his marrying an English lady.”