The Road to Mandalay Part 8

"Well, perhaps the expression is a bit too strong. She has a subtle way of attracting mankind. It amuses her and, in the long run, does no harm.

Wait till you see how they will collect about her on board--like flies round a pot of honey."

"Shall you be one of the flies?"

"Possibly. I enjoy being fascinated and I like honey! She is very amusing and dances like a moonbeam. Those are two coffee planters, wonderful pals and bridge players, and here comes a strange lady, probably a tourist--rich too."

Shafto looked and saw a handsome grey-haired woman, with a round smiling face, wearing a long sable coat and an air of complacent prosperity.

"Why, for a wonder I know her!" he declared. "It's Mrs. Milward. Her sister was our neighbour at home; I've met her often."

"Who is she?"

"A widow--very rich, I believe. I think her daughter is married to a man in India--or Burma."

"Is this the daughter following up the gangway?"

"No; I've never seen her before."

"I say, what a pretty girl--and a ripping figure! Once seen, never forgotten, eh? When you have claimed the chaperon you must present me to the young lady--especially as you are out of the running yourself."

"Out of the running--what do you mean?"

"Merely that I happened to witness that tender parting at Tilbury--the little girl in the green hat, who was crying her eyes out!"

"She was my cousin," protested Shafto; "nothing more."

"Oh, come!" rejoined Hoskins, with a knowing sidelong glance.

"Upon my honour! nothing whatever to me but that."

"Well, I suppose I'm bound to take your word for it, but it looked uncommonly touching--so like the real thing, and yet merely a case of strong family affection!"

"Yes, that's all."

"Well, let us descend and make ourselves presentable for lunch; nothing like first impressions."

After lunch, when the new-comers had found their places and scattered about, watching the sh.o.r.es of France recede, Shafto approached Mrs.

Milward and bowed himself before her.

"Why, Douglas!" she exclaimed, "this _is_ a surprise, a delightful surprise. What on earth are _you_ doing here?"

"Making a voyage to Rangoon."

"Rangoon! So am I. An amazing coincidence. Now come and sit down at once and tell me all about yourself."

"I think you have heard all there is to know."

"Yes; that you had become so distant and reserved and so like an oyster in its sh.e.l.l, and there was no getting you to 'Tremenheere.'"

"But I was not my own master--I was in an office."

"My dear boy, where there's a will there's a way."

"There is no way of taking leave--unless you wish to get the key of the street," he retorted with a laugh.

"And what takes you to Rangoon?"

"A post in a big mercantile house. I've to thank Mr. Tremenheere: I owe it to his interest--it's a splendid chance for me."

"Well, I'm sure you deserve it, my dear boy, if ever anyone did. You don't ask why I am on the high seas. I am en route, to Mandalay--Ella is there. After I've paid her a visit, I'm going on to India, to stay with your old friend Geoffrey. He and you are about the same age, are you not?"

"Yes; where is he now?"

"He is in the White Hussars at Lucknow--he was at Sandhurst with you, wasn't he?"

Shafto nodded, and the lady continued:

"I'm bringing out a girl, such a darling!--She's down unpacking in our cabin; a dear child. Her mother is an old friend of mine; her father was rector of our parish. I drop her in Rangoon."

"Oh, do you?"

"Her name is Sophy Leigh, and she is going out to stay with an aunt, who is something of an invalid. Her husband is in business, a German--said to be rolling in money."

"That sounds all right."

"And Sophy can't speak a word of German, though French like a native, and she plays the piano delightfully. Her father died some years ago, and Mrs. Leigh and the girls live in town--Chelsea; not rich, but have enough to go on with and are a very happy trio. One day a letter came from the German uncle asking for a niece--and if possible a musical niece--so Sophy was sent; anyway, her sister is engaged to be married and was not available. My friend, Mrs. Leigh, was very sorry to lose her girl--even for a year or so, but it seemed such a chance for Sophy to see the world, and make friends with her rich and childless relatives."

"I expect she will have a good time in Burma?"

"Bound to, for she is one of those fortunate people who make their own happiness. Here she comes!"

As she concluded, a tall, slim girl, with a face of morning freshness, wearing a rose silk sports coat and fluttering white skirt, approached, and Shafto instantly realised that such a personality was likely to have a good time anywhere! Miss Leigh's dark eyes were lovely, and she had a radiant smile; she smiled on Shafto when he was presented by her chaperon:

"Sophy, this is a most particular friend of mine; I've known him since he was in blouses--a boy with sticky fingers, who refused to be kissed. Mr.

Shafto--Miss Leigh."

Mrs. Milward was a handsome, impulsive, kind-hearted woman of forty five; her arched, dark eye-brows and a wonderful natural complexion gave her a fict.i.tious air of youth--slightly discounted by a comfortable and matronly figure. Some declared that her round face, short nose, and large eyes produced a resemblance to a well-to-do p.u.s.s.y cat, but this was the voice of envy. She had a clever maid, dressed well, and with the exception of the loss of her husband, had never known a care; there was scarcely a line or wrinkle on her charming soft face. Now, with her girl happily married, and her boy in the Army, she felt a free woman, and was anxious to try her wings--and her liberty! Though popular with rich and poor, she was by no means a perfect character; extraordinarily indiscreet and rash in her confidences--there was no secret cupboard in her composition--she threw open all her mental stores and also those of her intimates. Aware of this failing, she would deplore it and say:

"Don't tell me any important secrets, my dear--for I can never keep them, in spite of my good resolutions. They will jump out and play about among my latest news and good stories."

That night in their cabin, as she and her charge talked and discussed their fellow pa.s.sengers, the life history of Douglas was her princ.i.p.al topic. With considerable detail, she related his happy prospects and the shattering of these; told of his cultured father and odious, underbred mother, whom she particularly detested; spoke of his withdrawal from old friends, lest he might seem to sponge, and how, instead of being in the Army serving his country like her own boy, enjoying his youth and a comfortable allowance, he was stuck in a gloomy City office, drawing a miserable salary, and enduring the whims and temper of an empty-headed, selfish parent.

"She married again the other day," added Mrs. Milward, "a rich Jew. I've not a word to say against the Jews--a marvellously clever race; in fact, I think a little Jew blood gives brains; and as to riches, of course there's no harm in _them_; but this Mana.s.seh Levison is so common and fat, and seems to reek of furniture polish and money. I've seen him at 'the Mulberry' at tea, gobbling cakes like a glutton and making such a noise. Oh, what a contrast to Mr. Shafto, so aristocratic and so courteous--a man whom it seemed almost a privilege to know!"

And in this strain, Mrs. Milward, reclining in her berth, chattered on, whilst her companion brushed her heavy, dark hair, and imbibed a strong feeling of interest and pity for the good-looking hero of her chaperon's impressive sketch.

Quite unintentionally this voluble lady had enlisted the mutual sympathy of these young people; she had laid, so to speak, a match; whether a mutual liking would ignite it or not was uncertain--but the prospect was favourable.