One Maid's Mischief. Fenn George Manville

would not care to come,” she said, with the injured look of a spoiled child.

      “Indeed I should,” exclaimed Hilton, “and I will come.”

      “You will come?” she cried, with her dark eyes flashing.

      “Yes, indeed I will.”

      She leaned towards him, speaking eagerly:

      “I am glad. I like you English. You shall hunt and shoot. There are tigers, and I have elephants. My slaves shall find game, and you shall have my boat to fetch you.”

      Dark as her skin was, the Resident noticed the red blood mantling beneath it in her cheeks as she spoke eagerly, fixing her eyes upon Hilton as she spoke, and then lowering the lids in a dreamy, thoughtful way.

      “Then you will both come?” she said.

      “Yes, I promise for both; but we cannot leave the station together,” said Mr Harley.

      “It is well,” she said, smiling; “and you too, lieutenant – you will come and see me? You like to shoot. All Englishmen like to shoot.”

      “Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Chumbley, with his slow, heavy drawl. “I think it would be rather jolly. Yes, I’ll come.”

      She nodded and smiled at him once more, as if he amused her; and Harley noticed that she glanced at Chumbley again and again as the conversation went on, looking at him as if he were some fine kind of animal she thought it would be well to buy at the first opportunity.