The Native Born | Page 7

I had any noble inclinations of that sort I should have
discovered them a long time ago. No, I content myself with taking the
part of a fairy godmother."
"I'm afraid I don't follow," Stafford put in. "What is the fairy
godmother going to do for us? Produce a club-house, a patron, or a
cucumber?"

"A patron, and one, my dear fellow, whom I should have entirely
overlooked had it not been for you."
"For me!"
"It was you who made the discovery that the present Rajah is not, as we
thought, an imbecilic youth, but a man of many parts and splendidly
adapted to our requirements."
"I protest!" broke in Stafford, with unusual earnestness. "It was by pure
chance that, in an audience with the Maharajah Scindia, the late regent
of Marut, I got to hear that his whilom ward was both intelligent and
cultured. I believe it was a slip on his part, and, seeing that Rajah Nehal
Singh has shunned all English intercourse, I can not see that there is
any likelihood of his adapting himself or his purse to your plans."
"Oh, bosh!" exclaimed Travers impatiently. "You are too cautious,
Stafford. Other rajahs interest themselves in social matters--why not
this one? He is fabulously rich, I understand, and a little gentle
handling should easily bring him around."
There was a chorus of bravos, in which only one or two did not join.
One was Colonel Carmichael, who stood a little apart, pulling his thin
grey moustache in the nervous, anxious way peculiar to him, his kindly
face overshadowed.
"On principle," he began, after the first applause had died down, "I am
against the suggestion. Of course, I have no deciding voice in the
matter, but I confess that the idea has not my approval. I know very
well that, as you say, other native princes have proved themselves
useful and valuable acquisitions to English society. In some cases it
may be well enough, though in no case does it seem to me right to
accept hospitality from a man to whom we only grant an apparent
equality. In this particular case I consider the idea--well, repulsive."
"May I ask why, Colonel?" Travers asked sharply.
"By all means. Because less than a quarter of a century ago the father

of the man from whom you are seeking gifts slaughtered by treachery
hundreds of our own people."
An uncomfortable, uneasy silence followed. Captain Stafford and Lois
exchanged a quick glance of understanding.
"I know of at least two people who will agree with me," continued the
Colonel, who had intercepted and possibly anticipated the glance.
"You are right, Colonel," Stafford said. "I bear no malice, and any idea
of revenge seems to me foolish. As far as I know, the present Rajah is
all that can be desired, but I protest against a suggestion--and what is
worse, a practice, which must inevitably lower our dignity in the eyes
of those we are supposed to govern."
The awkward silence continued for a moment, no one caring to express
a contrary opinion, though a contrary opinion undoubtedly existed.
Beatrice looked up at Captain Webb, who happened to be standing at
her side. Her acquaintance with him dated only from an hour back, but
an uncontrollable irritation made her voice her opinions to him.
"I think all that sort of thing rather overstrained and unnecessary," she
said. "Your chief business is to get the best out of life, and quixotic
people who worry about the means are rather a nuisance, don't you
think?"
Captain Webb's bored features lighted up with a faint amusement.
"O, Lor', you mustn't say that sort of thing to me, Miss Cary!" he said
in a subdued aside. "Superior officer, you know! If you want an index
to my feelings, study my countenance." He pretended to smother a
gigantic yawn, and Beatrice's cool, unchecked laughter broke the
constraint.
Travers look around with a return of his old good-humor.
"Well," he said, "I have two votes against my plans, but, with due

respect to those two, who are, perhaps, unduly influenced by
unfortunate circumstances, I feel that it is only just that the others
should be given a voice in the matter. Do you agree, Colonel?"
Colonel Carmichael had by this time regained his placid, gentle
manner.
"Certainly," he agreed, without hesitation.
"Hands up, then, for letting Rajah Nehal Singh go his way in peace!"
Three hands went up--Colonel Carmichael's, Stafford's and Lois'.
Beatrice glanced at the latter with a smile that expressed what it was
meant to express--a supercilious amusement. Her indifference was
rapidly taking another and more decided character.
"Hands up for drawing the bashful youth into Circe's circle!" called
Travers, now thoroughly elated. A forest of hands went up. Captain
Webb and his bosom comrade, Captain Saunders, who,