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The Knight Errant
by
“You think so?” she said doubtfully. “I can’t think what mother will say. I don’t dare think.”
“Is your mother away, then?”
“Yes, in Paris for a few days. I couldn’t have done it if she had been at home. I don’t know quite what I should have done.” She broke off with a sudden shudder. “I’ve had a horrid fright,” she said again.
“Come and have some tea,” suggested Rivington practically.
IV
A COUNCIL OF WAR
They had tea in a secluded corner, well removed from all prying eyes. Gradually, as the minutes passed, the girl’s manner became more assured.
When at length he leaned his elbows on the table and said, “Tell me all about it,” she was ready.
She leaned towards him, and dropped her voice.
“You know Mr. Dinghra Singh? I’m sure you do. Every one does.”
“Yes, I know him. They call him Nana Sahib at the clubs.”
She shuddered again.
“I used to like him rather. He has a wicked sort of fascination, you know. But I loathe him now; I abhor him. And–I am terrified at him.”
She stopped. Rivington said nothing. There was not much expression in his eyes. Without seeming to scan very closely, they rested on her face.
After a moment, in a whisper, she continued:
“He follows me about perpetually. I meet him everywhere. He looks at me with horrid eyes. I know, without seeing, the instant he comes into the room.”
She paused. Rivington still said nothing.
“He is very rich, you know,” she went on, with an effort. “He will be Rajah of Ferosha some day. And, of course, every one is very nice to him in consequence. I never was that. Don’t think it! But I used to laugh at him. It’s my way. Most men don’t like it. No Englishmen do that I know of. But he–this man–is, somehow, different from every one else. And–can you believe it?–he is literally stalking me. He sends me presents–exquisite things, jewellery, that my mother won’t let me return. I asked him not to once, and he laughed in my face. He has a horrible laugh. He is half-English, too. I believe that makes him worse. If he were an out-and-out native he wouldn’t be quite so revolting. Of course, I see my mother’s point of view. Naturally, she would like me to be a princess, and, as she says, I can’t pick and choose. Which is true, you know,” she put in quaintly, “for men don’t like me as a rule; at least, not the marrying sort. I rather think I’m not the marrying sort myself. I’ve never been in love, never once. But I couldn’t–I could not–marry Dinghra. But it’s no good telling him so. The cooler I am to him the hotter he seems to get, till–till I’m beginning to wonder how I can possibly get away.”
The note of distress sounded again in her voice. Very quietly, as though in answer to it, Rivington reached out a hand and laid it over hers.
But his eyes never varied as he said:
“Won’t you finish?”
She bent her head.
“You’ll think me foolish to be so easily scared,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. “Most women manage to take care of themselves. I ought to be able to.”
“Please go on,” he said. “I don’t think you foolish at all.”
She continued, without raising her eyes:
“Things have been getting steadily worse. Last week at Lady Villar’s ball I had to dance with him four times. I tried to refuse, but mother was there. She wouldn’t hear of it. You know”–appealingly–“she is so experienced. She knows how to insist without seeming to, so that, unless one makes a scene, one has to yield. I thought each dance that he meant to propose, but I just managed to steer clear. I felt absolutely delirious the whole time. Most people thought I was enjoying it. Old Lady Phillips told me I was looking quite handsome.” She laughed a little. “Well, after all, there seemed to be no escape, and I got desperate. It was like a dreadful nightmare. I went to the opera one night, and he came and sat close behind me and talked in whispers. When he wasn’t talking I knew that he was watching me–gloating over me. It was horrible–horrible! Last night I wouldn’t go out with the others. I simply couldn’t face it. And–do you know–he came to me!” She began to breathe quickly, unevenly. The hands that lay in Rivington’s quiet grasp moved with nervous restlessness. “There was no one in the house besides the servants,” she said. “What could I do? He was admitted before I knew. Of course, I ought to have refused to see him, but he was very insistent, and I thought it a mistake to seem afraid. So I went to him–I went to him.”