She managed, however, not to laugh her childish love of mischief into
Mumtâza Mahal's very face when, after much shrinking into white sheets
held up as screens, and quick cuddlings into corners at the faintest
suspicion of a possible peep, that good lady, in her very, very best
pink satin continuations, was ushered in through the dark deserted
passages of the palace, to Laila's boudoir. For, despite the amusement,
the girl's heart was beating fast with determination to climb her
golden stairs without interruption. So she allowed herself to be
_kow-towed_ to, and called Begum-_sahiba_ and she accepted the new
dress and jewels without protest. Eagerly, in fact, since they were far
more gorgeous than the first, and caught her taste better. The former,
indeed, had been Roshan Khân's own choice, dictated by his acquired
knowledge of the sort of things _mem-sahibs_ admired; these latter were
her grandmother's, purely, entirely oriental. The difference was great.
Put briefly, _this_ was the costume in which Anâri Begum had flouted
the Nawab, the _other_ that in which she had caught Bun-avatâr's fancy.
Laila took up one of the heavy, gorgeous, glittering garments. It smelt
strongly of musk, attar of roses, and jasmin, and she snuffed at it
with a smile. That was ever so much better than the dull lavender
water, which was the only scent her guardian said a lady could use.
Vincent would like that; he, like she did, loved strong scents. If only
the stupid old frumpish thing would go away in time, she would put on
that dress at once, and so give him pleasure. That was all her thought.
As she sat, with a happy smile, her face half-buried in a tiny,
three-cornered corselet of scarlet net embroidered in seed pearls,
Mumtâza and Akbar Khân winked at each other; and Laila's sharp eyes,
catching this, brimmed over with laughter. She felt glad the rest of
her face was hidden, until she was grave enough to reply graciously to
the hints, the suggestions; for Mumtâza had been bound over by oaths
not to go too fast, and she obeyed her instructions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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