One Maid's Mischief Part 85

"I am glad," she said, with a satisfied smile. "I reserve it for my best friends."

"Then why give it to us, your prisoners--and enemies?" said Chumbley, sharply.

"I was trying to show you that you were my friends, and not my enemies,"

said the Princess, quietly.

"But you treat us like prisoners, Princess."

"Only for your good. You shall both be free and lords of the place whenever you will."

"But, my dear madam," said Hilton, from his place by the larger table, "this is the nineteenth century--Chumbley, a little more claret? You seize us as a baron might have seized people three or four hundred years ago, and yet you treat us as an English lady would her guests."

"It is what I have tried to do--this treatment," she said, simply. Then with spirit, "What is it to me what people did a long while back? I hope, Mr Chumbley, you are satisfied."

"With my dinner?" said the latter. "Yes, perfectly, for my part. It only wants a cup of coffee."

"Not poisoned?" said the Princess, with a laughing, malicious look at her guest, as she thus recalled to him his suspicions at the _fete_.

As she spoke she clapped her hands, and coffee was brought in little silver cups upon a silver tray.

"Hilton, old man," said Chumbley, as he took and liberally sugared a cup of coffee, smiling at the Inche Maida as he spoke.

"Well?" said his companion in misfortune.

"I have quite made up my mind, as I before hinted, not to knock the feathers off my n.o.ble breast against the bars of my cage."

The Princess looked puzzled.

"Pshaw!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Hilton; "don't be absurd."

"Why not? If to be patient in our present awkward position is being absurd. Won't you take coffee, Princess?"

She shook her head, but altered her mind directly.

"Yes," she said; and she took the cup Chumbley offered with a smile, while as he provided himself with a second, he nodded and said to himself:

"That's very ladylike; so that we should not feel suspicious, I presume."

"Ask her how long she means to keep on with this theatrical folly," said Hilton, in a low voice to his friend--in French.

"What does he say?" cried the Princess, quickly. "He asks if you are still in earnest about keeping us prisoners," said Chumbley. "If you are serious."

"Earnest? Serious?" she replied, with her eyes flashing. "Should I have taken such a step as this, and risked offending your people, if I were not serious? Suppose I let you go--what then?"

"If Hilton has his own way," said Chumbley, laughing, "there will be an expedition to come and burn your place about your ears for abducting two of her Majesty's subjects."

"No, no--no, no!" cried the Inche Maida, with a negative motion of her hand. "You would not be so cowardly as to come and attack a weak woman; that is for the Malays to do. You English are too brave and strong. I am not afraid."

"Well, I don't know," said Chumbley; "we might, you know."

"Oh, no, I won't believe it."

"Well, perhaps not," said Chumbley, drily; "but history has a few ugly little records of English doings here and there. Do you know, madam, that you have given us an excellent excuse to pay you a peculiar visit?"

"What! to come and attack and destroy my home--to kill my people?" cried the Princess, excitedly. "You could not--you dare not. But I am safe.

I shall not let you go; and as to my other enemies, in a short time you will both be reconciled to your lot, and you will say, 'Let me stop and defend you.'"

"Hope told a flattering tale," muttered Chumbley, as he saw the Princess watching Hilton as she spoke; but his distant mien and contemptuous looks so annoyed her that she turned from him angrily and addressed herself to his friend, as if for him to speak.

"Well," said the latter, coolly, "I am an Englishman, and I like fair play, so I shall speak out. Look here; you know, Princess, it won't do."

"What do I know that will not do?" she said, in a puzzled way.

"Why, this foolish kidnapping business of yours; and I frankly tell you that, much as we shall regret leaving such charming quarters, if you only leave the birds' cage door open for a moment we shall pop out and fly away."

"I do not quite know what you mean about your birds in cages and your kidnapping," said the Princess, haughtily; "but I suppose you mean that you will go."

"Exactly," said Chumbley, coolly.

"Then," said the Princess, "I should have thought, for the favours I offer you--the great position and brilliant prospects--you would be grateful now you have had time to reflect, instead of treating me with disdain."

"Well," replied Chumbley, in his dry way, "that's the nature of the English animal."

"Talk sensibly," said Hilton, in French; "why do you go on in that flippant way--why do you keep on arguing with her?"

"Because you will not," retorted Chumbley, in the same language; "so hold your tongue. You see, Princess," he continued, "you don't understand the British nature, and this is how it is. If we fellows could not get those positions you offer, we might make a struggle for them; but as you offer them, and tell us we must have them, you set all our bristles erect, and we vow we will not have them at any price. No: my dear madam, you have gone the wrong way to work, and it will not do."

The Inche Maida recoiled, as if the obstacles she was encountering stung her to the quick. She had evidently been under the impression that her patience and the treatment to which she had subjected her prisoners would have had a different effect, whereas they were as disdainful and obstinate as ever.

"You will think better of this," she cried, impatiently.

Hilton made a sign as if to negative her words.

"Then if you reject kindness I shall try harshness," she cried, her dark eyes flashing as she spoke. "I am Princess here, and my slaves obey me.

I will have you starved into submission."

Hilton smiled.

"Tell her she doesn't know what an Englishman is, Chumbley," he said, scornfully; "or no--be silent. Do not insult her, but treat her words with contempt."

"He need not tell me," said the Inche Maida, starting up and looking furious, as her eyes literally glittered in her rage. "I know, sir, what some Englishmen are--cold, proud, and haughty; men who think themselves almost G.o.ds in their conceit; while all who are not pale-faced like themselves they treat as dogs. Go to your prison, sir, and you shall learn that, proud and contemptuous as you are, there are others who can be as proud and cold."

Chumbley was about to speak, but she waved him back.

"I brought you to my place that I might make you lord, master, and defender of my people. You thrust my favours from you. Let it be so.

You shall not enjoy them. Stay as my prisoner till I please to free you, and then go back to your people, and beg, and fawn, and ask Helen Perowne to give you one of the smiles and sweet looks that she shares among so many."

"I cannot bear this!" muttered Hilton, turning purple with rage.