The Daughter of Brahma | Page 6

little too out
of harmony with her otherwise slight and fragile figure to be altogether
graceful.
On this particular afternoon, her height was accentuated by her dress.
The judge, who fancied himself a connoisseur in such things, would
have described it as "flimsy," and waved his hand vaguely as a final
touch to his description of the indefinable. The ladies of Kolruna would
have said, "One of those wickedly expensive tea-gowns, my dear, with
real lace!" and exchanged glances which would have given a fillip to
many an old, half-forgotten scandal. In reality it was Mrs. Hurst who
looked "expensive," rather than the dress. The slim, strong hands lying
passively on the arms of her chair were beautiful enough to make the
observer believe anything of the laces which framed them; the face
turned to the light was a face that might possibly have seen suffering,
but never the baseness of the cheap and tawdry. No doubt it was her
face which frightened and even repulsed. It was colourless, whiter than
marble, and rendered startling by the straight, black brows and the
sombre, heavilyshadowed eyes. Her hair, which was abundant and

arranged with consummate art, was white also, and of that whiteness
which alone nature can give. But she was not an old woman. Her face
was unlined. Even the hard mouth betrayed no sign of years. Nor was
she young. Her bearing and expression denied youth. It was as though a
beautiful girl had sprung into middle age without transition perhaps in a
single night and had since that one tremendous change remained
stationary, indifferent to the behests of Time.
But, as it has been said, the man who watched her was not critical or
disposed to discover the whys and wherefores of his own admiration. It
was obvious that he looked upon her as something of a riddle a riddle
that it was not for him to solve. Suddenly she turned and looked at him,
and the colour in his face deepened.
"Pour me out some tea, Judge!" she said. The tone was commanding to
the point of abruptness, but he obeyed with an alacrity which proved
that it had pleased him. For a big man, his movements were
surprisingly dainty, and she smiled at him with a faint pleasure. "I like
to have you about me," she said. "You do not get on my nerves. Now
sit down closer. As I told you, I want to talk to you, and no one knows
how long we shall be spared before some busybody discovers that we
are having tea alone together. Among other things, I want your advice.
You are the only friend I have here."
He bowed his head.
"Surely not!"
"I mean, the only person whom I can trust to be honest and keep my
confidence--another thing altogether, no doubt."
He looked up at her again.
"You can trust me," he said simply.
"Yes, I know. It's about David."
"Ah, yes, about David." He sat back in his chair with a movement that

was almost one of relief. "Is there anything wrong? Has the young
beggar been up to mischief?"
"Oh, no, he is never up to mischief." The corners of her mouth twitched.
"But he is twelve years old to-day, and I realise that I cannot keep him
here any longer."
The judge nodded an eager assent.
"I'm glad you have seen that. It has been on my mind for some time.
Frankly, he ought to have gone years ago. Anglo-Indians can't stand
this climate long, and David is beginning to show signs of wear and
tear."
"Yes, he ought to have gone years ago," she repeated; "but there were
reasons." She turned her eyes back to the window. "The first was that I
myself did not want to go to England. Here I have lived down the
gossip of these amiable people who fancied I was only hunting for a
second husband. My return would start their tongues again, and I am
old enough now to cherish my peace."
"Must you return?" he ventured.
"Yes."
"In the end it will tell upon your health. Why must you return?"
She turned in her chair and measured him. Her eyes had widened and
there was an expression of sombre anger in them which made him
flinch.
"That is a question which lies outside the sphere of our discussion," she
said imperiously. "That which has made India my home is my own
affair." Then her mood and face softened. "I am very rude. Do you hate
me?"
"No," he said. "I want to help you. Tell me the other reasons. You
could send David to school or to relations."

Her eyes went back to the plain as though drawn there by some
irresistible fascination.
"David loves India," she said. "He