India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
"How could you bear to leave your beloved jungle and that dear Badshah? I
know you dislike hill-stations," said the girl, laughing and tremulously
happy. The world seemed a much brighter place than it did five minutes
before.
"My beloved jungle has no charm for me at this season," he said. "But
Badshah--ah, that was another matter. I have seldom felt parting with a
human friend as much as I did leaving him. The dear old fellow seemed to
know that I was going away from him. But I was very pleased to come here to
see how you were enjoying yourself in this gay spot. I was glad to know
that you were out of the Terai during the Rains."
So he had wanted to see her again. Noreen blushed, but Dermot did not
observe her heightened colour, for he had taken her programme out of her
hand in his usual quiet, masterful manner and was scrutinising it.
"You haven't said yet if I may have a dance," he continued. "But I know
that on an occasion like this I must lose no time if I want one."
"Oh, do you dance?" she asked in surprise. Somehow she had never associated
him with ballrooms and social frivolities.
Dermot laughed.
"You forget that I was on the Staff in Simla. I shouldn't have been kept
there a day if I hadn't been able to dance. What may I have?"
Noreen felt tempted to bid him take all her programme.
"Well, I'm engaged for several. They are all written down. Take any of the
others you like," she said demurely, but her heart was beating fast at the
thought of dancing with him.
"H'm; I see that all the first ones are booked. May I--oh, I see you have
the supper dances free. May I take you in to supper?"
"Yes, do, please. We haven't met for so long, and I have heaps to tell
you," the girl said. "We can talk ever so much better at the supper-table
than in an interval."
"Thank you. I'll take the supper dances then."
"Wouldn't you care for any others?" she asked timidly. What would he think
of her? Yet she didn't care. He was with her again, and she wanted to see
all she could of him.
"I should indeed. May I have this--and this?"
"With pleasure. Is that enough?"
"I'll be greedy. After all, the men up here have had dances from you all
the Season, and I have never danced with you yet. I'll take these, too, if
you can spare them."
She looked at him earnestly.
"I owe you more than a few dances can pay," she said simply.
"Thank you, little friend," he said, and a happy feeling thrilled her at
his words. He had not forgotten her, then. He used to call her that
sometimes in Ranga Duar. She was still his little friend. What a delightful
place the world was after all!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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