“Well, no, my dear,” replied the little doctor; “they could not very well chain her up. But I was there yesterday though, and I saw that Perowne had given her a very handsome chain.”
“Then why doesn’t he chain her up? I shall certainly tell Mr Perowne that he ought. This comes of the poor man having no wife and living out in these savage parts. Really, Henry, I don’t think we ought to go.”
“Oh! pooh, pooh – nonsense, my dear! You’ve nothing to mind. I’m not afraid of her. I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you are very good, and brave, and strong, Harry,” said the little lady, smiling, “and if you say it is safe I will go, for I do trust in your knowledge, and – there, now, I declare I am quite angry! You are laughing, sir! I’m sure there is some trick!”
“Trick? What trick?” cried the doctor, chuckling.
“Do you mean to tell me, sir, that Mr Perowne has a wild tigress running about his place?”
“Oh, no; I never said a wild tigress – did I, Arthur?”
“I – I did not quite hear what you said, Henry,” replied the chaplain.
“You said a dangerous creature – a sort of tigress, sir.”
“Right, so I did; and so he has.”
“What is it then?” said Mrs Doctor, very sharply.
“A handsome young woman,” chuckled the doctor – “his daughter Helen.”
“Now, Henry, I do declare that you are insufferable!” cried Mrs Doctor, angrily, as her brother rose softly, walked to the window of the pretty palm-thatched bungalow, and stood gazing out at the bright flowers with which the doctor had surrounded his place.
“Well, it’s true enough,” chuckled the doctor. “I never saw such a girl in my life. She has had that great fellow Chumbley hanging after her for weeks, and now – ”
“And now what, sir?”
Perhaps it was the wind, but certainly just then there was a sound as of a faint sigh from somewhere by the window, and it seemed as if the chaplain was recalling the past days of repose at his little home near Mayleyfield, and wondering whether he had done right to come; but no one heeded him, and the doctor went on:
“Now she seems to have lassoed young Hilton.”
“What, Captain Hilton?”
“Yes, my dear, with a silken lasso; and he is all devotion.”
“Henry, you astound me!” cried Mrs Doctor. “Why, I thought that Mr Harley meant something there.”
“So did I,” said the doctor, “but it seems all off. Harley and Chumbley cashiered, vice Hilton – the reigning hero of the day.”
“Of the day indeed!” exclaimed Mrs Doctor. “I never did see such a girl. It is dreadful.”
“And yet you scolded me for calling her a dangerous creature.”
“Well, I must own that she is, Henry,” said Mrs Doctor; and once more there was a faint sigh by the window.
“She’s a regular man-trap, my dear, and practises with her eyes upon everyone she sees. I don’t think even her great-grandfather would be safe. She actually smiled at me yesterday.”
“What?” cried the little lady.
“Perowne sent for me, you know.”
“Yes, of course, I remember. Go on, Henry.”
“They’d been out together – she wanted to see the Residency island – and then nothing would do but she must have a walk in the jungle; and then, I don’t know whether she began making eyes at the leeches, but half a dozen fastened upon her, of course.”
“Why, of course, sir?”
“Because she went out walking in ridiculous high-heeled low shoes, with fancy stockings.”
“Well, Henry, how tiresomely prolix you are!”
“Well, that’s all, my dear, only that the leeches fastened on her feet and ankles.”
“And did Mr Perowne send for you to take them off?”
“Well, not exactly, my dear, they pulled them off themselves; but one bite would not stop bleeding, and I had to apply a little pad on the instep – wonderfully pretty little ankles and insteps, my dear, when the stockings are off.”
“Doctor Bolter!” exclaimed the little lady in so severe a tone of voice that the subject of Helen Perowne was dismissed, and the culprit allowed to go to his little surgery to see to the compounding of some medicines necessary for his sick.
Volume One – Chapter Seventeen.
Doctor Bolter’s Theory
In a little Eastern settlement, in spite of feelings of caste, the Europeans are so few that rules of society are to a certain extent set aside, so that people mix to a greater degree than in larger towns. In spite of her rather particular, and, to be truthful, rather sharp, old-maidish ways, Mrs Bolter soon found herself heartily welcomed by all, and readily accorded, as the doctor’s wife, almost a leading position in the place.
This position would by rights have been given to the lady of the principal merchant, but Mr Perowne had lost his wife when Helen was very young; and Isaac Stuart – “Old Stuart,” as he was generally called – was no better off, his daughter Grey having been left motherless at a very early age.
The idea of Mr Perowne was that upon his daughter joining him she should take the lead and give receptions; and to this end the first party was arranged, to which Mr and Mrs Doctor Bolter and the chaplain had been invited, the time rapidly coming round, and the guests assembling at Mr Perowne’s handsome house, where the luxurious dinner, served in the most admirable manner by the soft-footed, quiet Chinese servants, passed off without a hitch; and at last, with a smile that seemed to have the effect of being directed at every gentleman at table, Helen Perowne rose, and the ladies left the room.
The conversation soon became general, and then the doctor’s voice rose in opposition to a laugh raised against something he had said.
“Oh, yes,” he cried, “laugh and turn everything I say into ridicule: I can bear it. I have not been out all these years in the jungle for nothing.”
“Does Mrs Bolter approve of your theory, doctor?” said the Resident.
“I have not mentioned it to her, sir,” replied the doctor, glancing at the curtains looped over the open doorway; “and if you have no objection, I will make the communication myself. My journey home and my marriage have put it a good deal out of my head. But what I want to tell all here is, that the thing is as plain as the nose on your face.”
Mr Harley, to whom this was principally addressed, gently stroked the bridge of his aquiline nose, half closed his eyes, and smiled in a good-humoured way.
“That’s right,” said the doctor. “Go on unbelieving. Some day I’ll give you the most convincing proofs that what I say is right.”
“But will Mrs Bolter approve of your running wild in the jungle now you are married?” said the Resident, quietly.
“Pooh, sir – pooh, sir! My wife is a very sensible little woman, isn’t she, Arthur?” he cried; and the chaplain smiled and bowed before lapsing into a dreamy state, and sitting back in his chair, gazing at the curtains hanging softly across the open door.
“Oh, we’re ready enough to believe, doctor,” said the Resident; “don’t be offended.”
“Pooh! I’m not offended,” exclaimed the doctor. “All discoveries get laughed at till the people are forced to believe. Here, young man, you’ve had enough fruit,” he cried sharply, as one of the party stretched forth his hand to help himself to the luscious tropic fruits with which the table was spread.
“What a tyrant you are,