The Native Born; or, the Rajah's PeopleWylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross)
General
The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People
Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross)
India -- Fiction
"Stafford, you mean?"
"And Lois herself."
He joined in her amusement.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"You have a good-natured hostess. I dare say the arrangement could be
altered if you wished it."
"But I don't. They happen to be _my_ arrangements, you see."
"Oh!" she ejaculated, somewhat taken back.
"On my left there will be Mrs. James, who, as you perhaps know, is stone
deaf," he went on calmly. "On Miss Caruthers' right will be Mr. James, who
from long custom never opens his mouth except to put something into it.
Stafford will be right at the other end of the table."
"You are malicious," she said.
"Not a bit. I only go hard for what I want, that's all." He chuckled to
himself and then went on: "I've confided to you my subtle underground
plans--why, goodness knows. I'm not usually of a confiding nature. But
really, Miss Cary, I feel as though I had known you all my life."
"We have already plotted together," she said. "Possibly that forms some
sort of link between us."
He glanced down at her, and this time, as she did not return his gaze, he
was free to study her calm, undisturbed profile.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, half under his breath, "I don't blame the young
fool for being taken in."
Her brows contracted sharply.
"Thank you. I suppose that is a compliment."
"It is meant for one. By the way, are you really sure of your success?"
"Perfectly sure."
"That's a good thing. We shall have the laugh over old Stafford and his
grandmother's ideas if it comes off. All I fear is that the youth's
impressionable mind may lose its impressions as quickly as it receives
them."
"I don't think so. He did not seem that sort."
"Besides," added Travers, with a sudden drawl, "your face is not one that
a man forgets easily, Miss Cary."
She stirred very slightly in her seat. It was the instinctive movement of
a woman bracing herself secretly for a coming shock.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. That was what I meant to tell you the other day, but there
was no fitting opportunity. I recognized you at once."
"And I you," she returned.
He whistled.
"So we recognized each other and didn't recognize each other. Rather a
queer thing, eh?"
Again there was that scarcely noticeable stiffening of her whole body.
"I see nothing queer about it. We were both taken aback, and after the
first shock we realized that to acknowledge a previous meeting was not to
either of our advantages. You were ashamed; and I--well, you can guess my
reasons."
"By Jove! You know, you really are plucky!" he burst out, with genuine
admiration.
"Thank you. You have intimated that to me already, and, as a matter of
fact, there is no question of pluck. I'm taking the bull by the horns
because I must. Mr. Travers, I can't live in the same place with you and
not know if you are going to explode the mine under our feet or not. I may
have nerve, but I haven't got nerve enough for that."
"I see. You want to know whether I am going to gossip or hold my tongue.
Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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