for a moment, and she darted an angry look at the speaker before turning away with an imperious gesture, when, with a meaning smile upon his lip, Neil Harley, Her Britannic Majesty’s Political Resident at Sindang, walked forward.
“That man irritates me,” said Helen, in a low, angry voice. “I began by disliking him; I declare I hate him now!”
“Is it not because you both try to say sharp-edged words to each other, Helen?” said Grey Stuart, seating herself by her schoolfellow’s side, and beginning to work. “Mr Harley is always very kind and nice to me.”
“Pah! He treats you like a child!” said Helen, contemptuously.
“Well,” said Grey, smiling in her companion’s face, “I suppose I am a child to him. Here comes Mr Rosebury.”
“I wish Mr Rosebury were back in England,” said Helen, petulantly. “He wearies me with his constant talk about the beauties of nature. I wish this dreadful voyage were over!”
“And we have hardly begun it, Helen,” said Grey, quietly; but noticing that her companion’s face was flushed, she said, anxiously, “Are you unwell, dear?”
“Unwell? No.”
There was something strange in Helen’s behaviour, but she had the skill to conceal it, as the newly-appointed chaplain of Sindang came slowly up and began to talk to Helen in his dry, measured way, trying to draw her attention to the beauty of the evening, but without avail, for she seemed distraite, and her answers were sometimes far from pertinent to the subject in question.
Just then Mrs Doctor Bolter came bustling up, looking bright, eager, and full of animation.
She darted an uneasy look at her brother, and another at Helen, which was returned by one full of indifference, almost defiance, as if resenting the little lady’s way, and Mrs Bolter turned to Grey Stuart.
“Where is my husband, my dear?” she said. “I declare this ship is so big that people are all getting lost! Oh! here he comes! Now there – just as if there were no sailors to do it – he must be carrying pails of water!”
For the little doctor came panting along with a bucket of water in each hand, the Resident walking by his side till the two vessels were plumped down in front of Helen’s chair.
“Now, my dear Harry, what are you doing?” began the little lady, in tones of remonstrance.
“All right, my dear. Two pails full of freshly-dipped sea water. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will close round, I will show you some of the marvels of creation.”
As quite a little crowd began to collect, many being ladies, at whom the little doctor’s wife – only a few days back elderly Miss Rosebury – directed very sharp, searching glances, especially when they spoke to her husband, Helen rose with a look of annoyance from her chair and began to walk forward.
She was hesitating about going farther alone, when a low voice by her ear said, softly:
“Thank you, Miss Perowne. Suppose you take my arm? We will walk forward into the bows.”
“Mr Harley!” said the lady, drawing back, with her eyes full of indignation.
“I think I was to show you the beauty of the sunset,” he said. “We can see it so much better from the bows, and,” he added, meaningly, “I shall have so much better an opportunity to say that which I wish to say.”
“What you wish to say, Mr Harley?”
“Yes,” he replied, taking her hand, drawing it quickly through his arm, and leading her down the steps.
“I wish to return, Mr Harley,” she said, imperiously.
“You shall return, my dear young lady, when I have said that which I wish to say.”
“What can you wish to say to me?” she said, haughtily.
“That which your eyes have been asking me if I could say, ever since we met a fortnight ago, Helen, and that which I have determined to say while there is time.”
Helen Perowne shrank away, but there was a power of will in her companion that seemed to subdue her, and in spite of herself she was led to the forward part of the vessel, just as the sun had dipped below the horizon; the heavens were lit up like the sea with a gorgeous blaze of orange, purple, green, and gold; and little Mrs Doctor Bolter exclaimed:
“That wicked, coquettish girl away again! Grey Stuart, my dear, where has your schoolfellow gone?”
Volume One – Chapter Fourteen.
A Troublesome Charge
Neil Harley, in spite of his strong power of will, had said but very few words to Helen Perowne before little Mrs Doctor Bolter bustled up.
“Oh, Mr Harley!” she exclaimed, “you have carried off my charge.”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling pleasantly; “we came forward to have a good view of the sunset.”
“Because you could see it so much better at the other end?” said Mrs Bolter, drily.
“No; but because we could see it uninterruptedly,” replied the Resident, coolly.
“Oh no, you could not, Mr Harley,” continued the little lady, “because you see I have come to interrupt your tête-à-tête. Helen, my dear, will you come back and join us on the other deck?”
“To be sure she will, my dear Mrs Bolter, and I shall come too. There, mind those ropes. That’s better. What a glorious evening! I hope I am to have the pleasure of showing you ladies many that are far more beautiful on the Darak river.”
Little Mrs Bolter looked up at him meaningly; but the Resident’s eyes did not flinch; he only gave her a quiet nod in reply, and they climbed once more to the quarter-deck, where, in preparation for the coming darkness, the sailors were busily hanging lamps.
They had no sooner reached the group of people around Dr Bolter, than, as if to revenge herself for the annoyance to which she had been subjected, Helen disengaged her hand, walked quickly up to the Reverend Arthur, and began to talk to him in a low earnest voice.
“If she would only keep away from poor Arthur,” muttered the little lady, “I would not care – she is making him infatuated. And now there’s Henry talking to that thin dark lady again. I wish he would not talk so much to her.”
“Married late in life,” said the Resident, quietly, as he lit a cigar; “but she seems to have her share of jealousy. She’s a dear, good little woman, though, all the same.”
He walked to the side watching Helen where she stood beneath one of the newly lit lamps, looking very attractive in the faint reflected rays of the sunset mingled with those shed down from above upon her glossy hair.
“Why does she go so much to gossip with that chaplain? If it is to pique me it is labour in vain, for I have not a soupçon of jealousy in my composition. She is very beautiful and she knows it too. What a head and neck, and what speaking eyes!”
He stood smoking for a few minutes and then went on:
“Speaking eyes? Yes, they are indeed. It is no fancy, but it seems to have been
