Hugh c.l.i.theroe, M.A., father of the bride, Peter Gubbins, Esq., of The Laurels, Middleston, to Emilia Frances, third daughter of the Rev. Hugh c.l.i.theroe, rector of Millington.'"

"c.l.i.theroe--Gubbins; what on earth has that to do with it? That would be Mrs. Gubbins: this is Lady Meadowcroft."

"The same article, as the shopmen say--only under a different name. A year or two later I read a notice in the Times that 'I, Ivor de Courcy Meadowcroft, of The Laurels, Middleston, Mayor-elect of the Borough of Middleston, hereby give notice, that I have this day discontinued the use of the name Peter Gubbins, by which I was formerly known, and have a.s.sumed in lieu thereof the style and t.i.tle of Ivor de Courcy Meadowcroft, by which I desire in future to be known.'

"A month or two later, again I happened to light upon a notice in the Telegraph that the Prince of Wales had opened a new hospital for incurables at Middleston, and that the Mayor, Mr. Ivor Meadowcroft, had received an intimation of Her Majesty's intention of conferring upon him the honour of knighthood. Now what do you make of it?"

"Putting two and two together," I answered, with my eye on our subject, "and taking into consideration the lady's face and manner, I should incline to suspect that she was the daughter of a poor parson, with the usual large family in inverse proportion to his means. That she unexpectedly made a good match with a very wealthy manufacturer who had raised himself; and that she was puffed up accordingly with a sense of self-importance."

"Exactly. He is a millionaire, or something very like it; and, being an ambitious girl, as she understands ambition, she got him to stand for the mayoralty, I don't doubt, in the year when the Prince of Wales was going to open the Royal Incurables, on purpose to secure him the chance of a knighthood. Then she said, very reasonably, 'I WON'T be Lady Gubbins--Sir Peter Gubbins!' There's an aristocratic name for you!--and, by a stroke of his pen, he straightway dis-Gubbinised himself, and emerged as Sir Ivor de Courcy Meadowcroft."

"Really, Hilda, you know everything about everybody! And what do you suppose they're going to India for?"

"Now, you've asked me a hard one. I haven't the faintest notion....

And yet... let me think. How is this for a conjecture? Sir Ivor is interested in steel rails, I believe, and in railway plant generally.

I'm almost sure I've seen his name in connection with steel rails in reports of public meetings. There's a new Government railway now being built on the Nepaul frontier--one of these strategic railways, I think they call them--it's mentioned in the papers we got at Aden. He MIGHT be going out for that. We can watch his conversation, and see what part of India he talks about."

"They don't seem inclined to give us much chance of talking," I objected.

"No; they are VERY exclusive. But I'm very exclusive, too. And I mean to give them a touch of my exclusiveness. I venture to predict that, before we reach Bombay, they'll be going down on their knees and imploring us to travel with them."

At table, as it happened, from next morning's breakfast the Meadowcrofts sat next to us. Hilda was on one side of me; Lady Meadowcroft on the other; and beyond her again, bluff Yorkshire Sir Ivor, with his cold, hard, honest blue North Country eyes, and his dignified, pompous English, breaking down at times into a North Country colloquialism. They talked chiefly to each other. Acting on Hilda's instructions, I took care not to engage in conversation with our "exclusive" neighbour, except so far as the absolute necessities of the table compelled me. I "troubled her for the salt" in the most frigid voice. "May I pa.s.s you the potato salad?" became on my lips a barrier of separation. Lady Meadowcroft marked and wondered. People of her sort are so anxious to ingratiate themselves with "all the Best People" that if they find you are wholly unconcerned about the privilege of conversation with a "t.i.tled person," they instantly judge you to be a distinguished character. As the days rolled on, Lady Meadowcroft's voice began to melt by degrees. Once, she asked me, quite civilly, to send round the ice; she even saluted me on the third day out with a polite "Good-morning, doctor."

Still, I maintained (by Hilda's advice) my dignified reserve, and took my seat severely with a cold "Good-morning." I behaved like a high-cla.s.s consultant, who expects to be made Physician in Ordinary to Her Majesty.

At lunch that day, Hilda played her first card with delicious unconsciousness--apparent unconsciousness; for, when she chose, she was a consummate actress. She played it at a moment when Lady Meadowcroft, who by this time was burning with curiosity on our account, had paused from her talk with her husband to listen to us. I happened to say something about some Oriental curios belonging to an aunt of mine in London. Hilda seized the opportunity. "What did you say was her name?"

she asked, blandly.

"Why, Lady Tepping," I answered, in perfect innocence. "She has a fancy for these things, you know. She brought a lot of them home with her from Burma."

As a matter of fact, as I have already explained, my poor dear aunt is an extremely commonplace old Army widow, whose husband happened to get knighted among the New Year's honours for some brush with the natives on the Shan frontier. But Lady Meadowcroft was at the stage where a t.i.tle is a t.i.tle; and the discovery that I was the nephew of a "t.i.tled person"

evidently interested her. I could feel rather than see that she glanced significantly aside at Sir Ivor, and that Sir Ivor in return made a little movement of his shoulders equivalent to "I told you so."

Now Hilda knew perfectly well that the aunt of whom I spoke WAS Lady Tepping; so I felt sure that she had played this card of malice prepense, to pique Lady Meadowcroft.

But Lady Meadowcroft herself seized the occasion with inartistic avidity. She had hardly addressed us as yet. At the sound of the magic pa.s.sport, she p.r.i.c.ked up her ears, and turned to me suddenly. "Burma?"

she said, as if to conceal the true reason for her change of front.

"Burma? I had a cousin there once. He was in the Gloucestershire Regiment."

"Indeed?" I answered. My tone was one of utter unconcern in her cousin's history. "Miss Wade, will you take Bombay ducks with your curry?"

In public, I thought it wise under the circ.u.mstances to abstain from calling her Hilda. It might lead to misconceptions; people might suppose we were more than fellow-travellers.

"You have had relations in Burma?" Lady Meadowcroft persisted.

I manifested a desire to discontinue the conversation. "Yes," I answered, coldly, "my uncle commanded there."

"Commanded there! Really! Ivor, do you hear? Dr. c.u.mberledge's uncle commanded in Burma." A faint intonation on the word commanded drew un.o.btrusive attention to its social importance. "May I ask what was his name?--my cousin was there, you see." An insipid smile. "We may have friends in common."

"He was a certain Sir Malcolm Tepping," I blurted out, staring hard at my plate.

"Tepping! I think I have heard d.i.c.k speak of him, Ivor."

"Your cousin," Sir Ivor answered, with emphatic dignity, "is certain to have mixed with n.o.bbut the highest officials in Burma."

"Yes, I'm sure d.i.c.k used to speak of a certain Sir Malcolm. My cousin's name, Dr. c.u.mberledge, was Maltby--Captain Richard Maltby."

"Indeed," I answered, with an icy stare. "I cannot pretend to the pleasure of having met him."

Be exclusive to the exclusive, and they burn to know you. From that moment forth Lady Meadowcroft pestered us with her endeavours to sc.r.a.pe acquaintance. Instead of trying how far she could place her chair from us, she set it down as near us as politeness permitted. She entered into conversation whenever an opening afforded itself, and we two stood off haughtily. She even ventured to question me about our relation to one another: "Miss Wade is your cousin, I suppose?" she suggested.

"Oh, dear, no," I answered, with a gla.s.sy smile. "We are not connected in any way."

"But you are travelling together!"

"Merely as you and I are travelling together--fellow-pa.s.sengers on the same steamer."

"Still, you have met before."

"Yes, certainly. Miss Wade was a nurse at St. Nathaniel's, in London, where I was one of the house doctors. When I came on board at Cape Town, after some months in South Africa, I found she was going by the same steamer to India." Which was literally true. To have explained the rest would have been impossible, at least to anyone who did not know the whole of Hilda's history.

"And what are you both going to do when you get to India?"

"Really, Lady Meadowcroft," I said, severely, "I have not asked Miss Wade what she is going to do. If you inquire of her point-blank, as you have inquired of me, I dare say she will tell you. For myself, I am just a globe-trotter, amusing myself. I only want to have a look round at India."

"Then you are not going out to take an appointment?"

"By George, Emmie," the burly Yorkshireman put in, with an air of annoyance, "you are cross-questioning Dr. c.u.mberledge; nowt less than cross-questioning him!"

I waited a second. "No," I answered, slowly. "I have not been practising of late. I am looking about me. I travel for enjoyment."

That made her think better of me. She was of the kind, indeed, who think better of a man if they believe him to be idle.

She dawdled about all day on deck chairs, herself seldom even reading; and she was eager now to drag Hilda into conversation. Hilda resisted; she had found a volume in the library which immensely interested her.

"What ARE you reading, Miss Wade?" Lady Meadowcroft cried at last, quite savagely. It made her angry to see anybody else pleased and occupied when she herself was listless.

"A delightful book!" Hilda answered. "The Buddhist Praying Wheel, by William Simpson."

Lady Meadowcroft took it from her and turned the pages over with a languid air. "Looks awfully dull!" she observed, with a faint smile, at last, returning it.

"It's charming," Hilda retorted, glancing at one of the ill.u.s.trations.

"It explains so much. It shows one why one turns round one's chair at cards for luck; and why, when a church is consecrated, the bishop walks three times about it sunwise."

"Our Bishop is a dreadfully prosy old gentleman," Lady Meadowcroft answered, gliding off at a tangent on a personality, as is the wont of her kind; "he had, oh, such a dreadful quarrel with my father over the rules of the St. Alphege Schools at Millington."

"Indeed," Hilda answered, turning once more to her book. Lady Meadowcroft looked annoyed. It would never have occurred to her that within a few weeks she was to owe her life to that very abstruse work, and what Hilda had read in it.

That afternoon, as we watched the flying fish from the ship's side, Hilda said to me abruptly, "My chaperon is an extremely nervous woman."