The Native Born | Page 5

are always putting your artistic feelings
before material necessities.' Poor fellow, he used to miss his creature
comforts sometimes, I fear."
Her laugh, painfully resembling a giggle, interrupted her own garrulity,
which was finally put to an end by a fresh arrival. A slight,
daintily-clad figure had detached itself from a group of guests and came
running toward them. Mrs. Carmichael's deeply lined, somewhat severe
face lighted up.
"That is my husband's ward, Lois Caruthers," she said. "She has been
with me all her life, practically. As you are so fond of genuine India,
you must let her show you over the place. She knows all the dirtiest,
and I suppose most interesting corners, with their exact history."
"Delightful!" murmured Mrs. Cary, with a gracious nod of her plumed
headgear. Nevertheless, she studied the small figure and animated
features of the new-comer with a critical severity not altogether in
accordance with her next remark, uttered, apparently under pressure of
the same irresistible enthusiasm, in an audible side whisper: "What a
sweet face--so piquant!"
An adjective is a pliable weapon, and, in the hands of a woman, can be
made to mean anything under the sun. Mrs. Cary's

"piquant"--pronounced in a manner that was neither French nor English,
but a startling mixture of both--had a background to it of charitable
patronage. It was meant, without doubt, to be a varnished edition of
"plain," perhaps even "ugly," though Lois Caruthers deserved neither
insinuation. Possibly too small in build, she was yet graceful, and there
was a lithe, elastic energy in her movements which drew attention to
her even among more imposing figures. Possibly, also, she was too
dark for the English ideal. Her black hair and large brown eyes,
together with the unrelieved pallor of her complexion, gave her
appearance something that was exotic but not unpleasing. Enfin, as
most people admitted, she had her charm; and her moods, which ranged
from the most light-hearted gaiety to the deepest gravity, could be
equally irresistible. She was light-hearted enough now, however, as she
smiled from one to the other, including mother and daughter in her
friendly greeting, though as yet both were strangers to her.
"I have come to fetch you, Aunt Harriet," she said, addressing Mrs.
Carmichael. "Mr. Travers has got some great scheme on hand which he
will only disclose in your presence. We are all gasping with curiosity.
Will you please come?"
Mrs. Carmichael nodded.
"I will come at once," she said. "I'm sure it's only one of Mr. Travers'
breakneck schemes, but they are always amusing to listen to. Lois,
come and be introduced. My adopted niece--Mrs. Cary--Miss Cary."
They shook hands.
"Lois, when there is time, I want you to do the honors of Marut. Miss
Cary especially has as yet seen nothing, and there is a great deal of
interest. You know--" turning to her visitors--"Marut is supposed to
have been the hotbed of the last rising."
"Indeed!" murmured Mrs. Cary vaguely. "How delightful!"
Lois Caruthers laughed, not without a shadow of bitterness.

"It was hardly delightful at the time, I should imagine," she observed.
"But what there is to see I shall be very glad to show you. Will any day
suit you?"
"Oh, yes, any day," Beatrice Cary assented, speaking almost for the
first time. "I have nothing to do here from morning to night."
"That will soon change," Lois said, walking by her side. "I am always
busy, either playing tennis, or riding, or getting up some entertainment.
The difficulty is to find time to rest."
"You must be a very much sought-after person," Beatrice observed, in
the tone of a person who is making a graceful compliment. The hint of
irony, however, was unmistakable.
"I am not more sought after than any one else," Lois returned, unruffled.
"Every one has to help in the work of frivolity."
"I shall be rather out of it, then," Beatrice said coolly. "I am not
amusing."
"It is quite sufficient to be willing, good-natured and good-humored,"
Lois answered.
They had by this time reached the group under the trees, where Mrs.
Carmichael and her companion had already arrived, under the escort of
a tall, stoutly built man, who was talking and apparently explaining
with great vigor. As Lois entered the circle, he glanced up and smiled at
her, revealing a handsome, cheerful face, singularly fresh-colored in
comparison with the deep tan of the other men.
"That is Mr. Travers," Lois explained. "He is a bank director or
something in Madras, and has been on a long business visit north. He is
awfully clever and popular, and gets up everything."
"Rich, I suppose?"
Lois glanced up at her companion. The beautiful profile and the tone of

the remark seemed incongruous.
"I don't know," she said rather abruptly. "He has four polo