British -- India -- Fiction; India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Women -- India -- Fiction
‘Oh, if you please, Captain Drake--let me see what you’ve done. All
those? But--’
‘Isn’t it after eleven, Mrs. Innes?’ asked the Assistant Secretary, with
a timid smile. He was enjoying himself, but he had a respect for vested
interests, and those of Captain Drake were so well known that he felt a
little like a buccaneer.
‘Dear me, so it is!’ Mrs. Innes glanced at one of her bracelets.
‘Then, Captain Drake, I’m sorry’--she carefully crossed out the three
‘V.D.’s’--‘I promised all the dances I had left after ten to Mr.
Holmcroft. Most of the others I gave away at the gymkhana--really. Why
weren’t you there? That Persian tutor again! I’m afraid you are working
too hard. And what did the Rani do, Mr. Holmcroft? It’s like the Arabian
Nights, only with real jewels--’
‘Oh, I say, Holmcroft, this is too much luck, you know. Regular
sweepstakes, by Jove!’ And Captain Drake lingered on the fringe of the
situation.
‘Perhaps I have been greedy,’ said the Assistant Secretary,
deprecatingly. ‘I’ll--’
‘Not in the very least! That is,’ exclaimed Mrs. Violet, pouting, ‘if
I’M to be considered. We’ll sit out all but the waltzes, and you shall
tell me official secrets about the Rani. She put us up once, she’s a
delicious old thing. Gave us string beds to sleep on and gold plate to
eat from, and swore about every other word. She had been investing in
Government paper, and it had dropped three points. “Just my damn luck!”
she said. Wasn’t it exquisite? Captain Drake--’
‘Mrs. Innes--’
‘I don’t want to be rude, but you’re a dreadful embarrassment. Mr.
Holmcroft won’t tell you official secrets!’
‘If she would only behave!’ thought Madeline, looking on, ‘I would tell
her--indeed I would--at once.’
Colonel Innes detached himself from a group of men in mess dress as she
appeared with the Worsleys, and let himself drift with the tide that
brought them always together.
‘You are looking tired--ill,’ she said, seriously, as they sought
the unconfessed solace of each other’s eyes. ‘Last night it was the
Commander-in-Chief’s, and the night before the dance at Peliti’s.
And again tonight. And you are not like those of us who can rest
next morning--you have always your heavy office work!’ She spoke with
indignant, tender reproach, and he gave himself up to hearing it. ‘You
will have to take leave and go away,’ she insisted, foolishly.
‘Leave! Good heavens, no! I wish all our fellows were as fit as I am.
And--’
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Don’t pity me, dear friend. I don’t think it’s good for me. The world
really uses me very well.’
‘Then it’s all right, I suppose,’ Madeline said, with sudden depression.
‘Of course it is. You are dining with us on the eighth?’
‘I’m afraid not, I’m engaged.’
‘Engaged again? Don’t you WANT to break bread in my house, Miss
Anderson?’ She was silent, and he insisted, ‘Tell me,’ he said.
She gave him instead a kind, mysterious smile.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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