“I don’t know what’s to be the end of all this, and – Oh, Harley! is that you? Come in.”
The Resident, looking rather troubled and anxious, came in through the veranda, gazing sharply at Mr Perowne.
“What has the Rajah been here for this morning?”
“What has he been here for?” cried Mr Perowne, angrily, and glad of someone upon whom he could let off a little of his rage. “Why, to do what you ought to have done in a downright way. I gave you leave, and you have done nothing but play with her.”
“He has not been to propose for Helen’s hand?”
“Indeed, but he has.”
“How unfortunate! I did not know that matters had gone so far as that?”
“Nor I neither. I knew she was flirting a bit, confound her. Did you meet him?”
“Yes, and he would not speak. I saw something was wrong from his savage manner.”
“Perhaps he thought you had come up to propose, eh? Had you?”
“Not exactly,” said the Resident, looking very serious.
“Because if you had, you ought to have come before,” said Mr Perowne, biting his nails.
“I came to remonstrate with Helen, after seeing Mrs Bolter this morning.”
“Hang Mrs Bolter for a meddling little fool,” cried the merchant.
“She drew my attention to the serious dangers that might ensue if Helen led this man on. I ought to have foreseen it, but I did not, and that’s the most troublous part of it. I ought to have known better,” cried the Resident, biting his lips.
“Oh, it’s very easy to talk,” said Mr Perowne, whose previous night’s blandness seemed to be quite gone, to leave a weak, querulous childishness in its place.
“Knowing what I do of the Malay character, Perowne, I ought to have watched her, but I confess I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I did not think.”
“I thought you wanted to marry her, I gave you my consent at once. I told you nothing would please me better,” continued the father, querulously; “but ever since you both landed you seem to have done nothing but shilly-shally.”
“Don’t talk like that, Perowne,” said the Resident, impatiently. “A man does not take a wife like you make a bargain. I want to win her love as well as have her hand.”
“And you hang back – I’ve seen you – and let these other fellows cut you out. Hilton and Chumbley, and then this Rajah. I say – I must say, Harley, it is much too bad.”
“Yes, yes, I have done as you say; but I had a reason for it, Perowne, I had indeed; but I find I can manage natives better than a beautiful girl. If I had foreseen – ”
“If I had foreseen it,” cried Perowne, interrupting, “I’d have had her kept in England. Confound the girl!”
“It never occurred to me,” said the Resident, “though it ought, that danger might arise from her flirtations.”
“Danger! Why I shall lose thousands!” cried Perowne. “The fellow will never forgive me, and throw endless obstacles in my way with his people.”
“Helen refused him, of course?” said the Resident.
“Of course – of course,” said the merchant, pettishly.
“I blame myself deeply for not being more observant,” said the Resident. “Others have seen what I failed to see, and it was always so. Lookers-on see most of the game; but I am awake to the danger now.”
“Danger? danger?” said Perowne, looking up now in a startled way. “Do you think there is danger? I hope not; but we ought to be prepared. What do you think it will be best to do?”
“See Hilton, and tell him to double all guards; fill your revolver with cartridges; and be always on the alert. We must make no show of begin in danger, but go on as usual, while reinforcements are quietly sent for from Singapore.”
“Do – do you think it will be as bad as that?”
“Worse, for aught I know,” said the Resident, bitterly. “That fellow, with all his smoothness and French polish, may turn out, now he is thwarted, a perfect demon. Perowne, we have contrived to make him our bitterest foe.”
“But – but it couldn’t be helped, Harley,” said Perowne, in an apologetic tone. “Helen could not – ”
“Suppose you leave Miss Perowne’s name out of the question, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, sternly. “I’ll go on and see Hilton now, and we must do the best we can.”
Volume One – Chapter Twenty Two.
Mrs Bolter at Home
It cannot be denied that Mrs Bolter’s mature little heart had developed, with an intense love and admiration of her lord, a good deal of acidity, such as made her jealous, exacting, and tyrannical to a degree.
Let it not be supposed, however, that the doctor was unhappy. Quite the contrary; he seemed to enjoy his tyrant’s rule, and to go on peaceably enough, letting her dictate, order, and check him at her own sweet will.
“There’s no doubt about it,” chuckled the little doctor to himself, “she’s as jealous as Othello, and watches me like an – an – an – well – say eagle,” he said, quite at a loss for a simile. “I don’t mind, bless her! Shows how fond she has grown; and I suppose it must be worrying to the dear little woman to have first one and then another lady sending for me. I don’t wonder at her asking me what they wanted. I shouldn’t like it if gentlemen were always sending for her.”
Dr Bolter had been indulging in a similar strain to this, when, after making up a few quinine powders in his tiny surgery, he went into the room where his little wife was in conversation with her brother.
“Ah, Arthur!” said the doctor, “how are you getting on with folks?”
“Very pleasantly,” said the chaplain, smiling. “I find everybody kind and genial.”
“That’s right,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands and smiling at his wife, who frowned at him severely, and then let her pleasant face break up in dimples. “I want you both to enjoy the place. Don’t be afraid of visiting. They like it. Stir them up well, and make yourself quite at home with everybody. This isn’t England.”
“No,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling; “I find the difference.”
“I say, old boy,” continued the doctor, “I was in the fort yesterday, talking to some of the men. They say they like your preaching.”
“I am very glad, Harry,” said the chaplain, simply. “I was afraid that I was rather wandering sometimes in my discourse.”
“No, no; just what they like, old fellow! Simple and matter of fact. What they can understand. Going?”
“Yes; I am going across to see Mr Harley.”
“Ah! do. Good fellow, Harley! Don’t make any mistakes though, and step into the river instead of the sampan.”
“Is there any danger, Henry?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor, sharply.
“Not the least, my dear; only Arthur here is a little dreamy sometimes.”
“I’d go with him,” said Mrs Bolter decidedly, “only I want to talk to you, Henry.”
“Phee-ew!” whistled the doctor, softly, “here’s a breeze coming;” and he looked furtively at his wife to see what she meant.
She walked with her brother to the door, bade him be careful, and then returned.
“Now look here, Dr Bolter,” she said severely, “I am the last