sir arthur gerardine was stretched in a bamboo chair on the white terrace overlooking the garden, taking his ease luxuriously. he had had his shampoo after his ride, he had had tea, and had started his second cheroot. it was growing delightfully cool. he had the conviction of leaving a well-spent day behind him; and now, an immaculately conscienced, immaculately attired english gentleman of importance, felt himself entitled to his virtuous relaxation.

he was perilously near the sixties, but young-looking for his age in spite of his oriental experience; handsome still, with a smile that, upon first acquaintance, was found irresistibly fascinating; a genial easy manner—a way with him, in fact, that seemed to promise the utmost good-fellowship. it was only after experience that people felt the steel behind the velvet glove.

"uncle arthur," aspasia one day averred in an irrepressible burst of frankness, "is the sort of man the more you know him, the less you like him."

no one would have been more surprised than sir arthur himself had he been told that he was a tyrant. yet very soon those who were brought into contact with him discovered what a domineering spirit dwelt behind that sweet smile; how, without ever departing from a form of speech and manner that, with his own family was almost always caressing, with the rest of the world affable, no human being had ever been able to move him from the prosecution of his own purpose. such a character, combined with a mighty intellect, would have been an enormous power for good. unfortunately, it was upon the slightest premises and with limited reasoning faculties that sir arthur formed his unalterable views of life.

one of the problems that had most puzzled aspasia, since unexpected family misfortunes had driven her to seek a home with the lieutenant-governor (her uncle and guardian), was whether her beautiful new aunt did not really hate sir arthur; and, "if she didn't," as the child phrased it, "how she could?" but not even baby's shrewd young eyes could discover a flaw in the serenity with which lady gerardine listened to her husband's theories, or the grace with which she lent herself to the fulfilment of his wishes.

she now sat beside him with a half smile, her hands busied with some delicate work: a lovely picture of cool placidity.

sir arthur turned and gazed upon her with such an eye of condescending and complacent affection as that with which the grand turk may regard his last favourite.

"well, dear," he pursued, "i have finally rejected the rajah's request."

"indeed?"

she shot a look at him as if she would have added something; but upon the second thought dropped her long lids and resumed her embroidery, while aspasia, in her usual pose at her aunt's feet, broke into shrill protest:

"you never did? why, runkle, and everybody said the poor man was quite right! only last night i heard general staveley tell aunt rosamond that it was a mere case of justice, not to say one of expediency."

the lieutenant-governor's self-satisfaction waxed visibly to swelling point.

"ha! i dare say," he commented. "indeed, i flatter myself, my dear aspasia, that there is not another man in india that would have dared to take the responsibility. aha, rosamond, firmness! i was firm. very firm. discontented, disloyal set! i won't give them an inch more than the measure."

"oh lor!" ejaculated baby.

lady gerardine's eyelashes flickered a second.

"quiet!" she said, giving her niece a tap upon the shoulder.

baby subsided, growling to herself like a tiger cub:

"that nice prince...! if runkle does not start a new mutiny——!"

sir arthur surveyed his womankind a second with that singularly sweet smile of his. they were his womankind, part of his personal belongings; and therefore it never even dawned upon him that they could be anything but superlative of their degree; much less that they could form an independent opinion really unfavourable to himself. his niece's petulance affected him not otherwise than as an agreeable émoustillage in moments of relaxation such as these, as well as an opportunity for the display of his own indulgent wit and wisdom. he had a pride in her smart tongue as well as in her pretty looks; and aspasia's most earnest attempts produced no more effect upon her distinguished relative than would the gambols of a kitten. thus he now beamed upon her. in his early years of london society and successes, he had been noted for that beautiful smile. "the ass with the seraphic smile," a light-hearted st. james's comrade had dubbed him, little guessing that his country would, in the future, consider so well of "the ass" as to confide some of the gravest interests of the empire to his charge. in spite of which (all unknown to its distinguished wearer) the nickname stuck.

"i have given orders, my love," said the great man, once more addressing his wife, "for the cutting down of the group of banyan trees at the end of the garden. i know you and aspasia rather liked that little jungle, but it was really a nasty bit. now i propose to have the place concreted and a summer-house erected—something in a pretty artistic style, say early english—or a norwegian hut, perhaps, where you can sit without fear of snakes."

again baby felt a warning hand pressed upon her shoulder, and was fain, with crimson cheeks of wrath, to compress her lips in silence, while lady gerardine drew a strand of silk through her needle and made a pretty little speech of thanks to her husband for his thoughtfulness.

"why don't you carry the concrete down the garden walks," observed miss cuningham presently, with withering sarcasm, "and set up a rockery, with shells and things?"

sir arthur ignored the sally.

"you will be glad to hear, rosamond," he proceeded presently, "that i have been successful in a matter to which i attach great importance. i have found, i think, the exact person i have wanted so long: the native secretary, you know. all these young civil service fellows, with their translations, are no use to me. and my work was positively at a standstill."

irrepressible aspasia sniffed. a faint look of weariness crossed lady gerardine's well-trained countenance: this book of sir arthur's—a history of the provinces confided to his charge, beginning from the earliest possible date and to be carried down to the triumphant conclusion of his own rule—this great work which was (as he was fond of saying) to be the monument of his career in india, was a subject which the lieutenant-governor's circle had learned to dread.

"monument, indeed; it will be all our monuments!" had cried aspasia one day, and lady gerardine had not rebuked.

the quaintest part about the matter, perhaps, was that, while sir arthur employed some half-dozen experts in obtaining material for him, and spent a fair part of his time in discussion of the matter provided, not one line of the folios which already filled his nest of drawers, some of which had been actually passed for press, had been either conceived or penned by the official author. and the guileless phrase, which often dropped from his lips: "i must really go; macdonald (or it might be gray, or captain smith) is waiting to read out to me the last chapter of my book," had ceased even to provoke a smile.

"it has always been my aim to get at the spirit of the people," said sir arthur, "to draw water from the source that springs in the soil of the land itself." he looked sideways for a second, reflecting. "ah, not a bad phrase that; i must suggest it to macdonald."

"and what's the name of the particular native spring?" inquired the pert miss cuningham.

"his name"—sir arthur drew a letter from his pocket—"is muhammed saif-u-din, if it makes you much the wiser, my dear aspasia. it seems he's quite a remarkable individual. curiously enough, a pathan. pathans, a real fighting lot, don't as a rule take to the pen. yes, quite a remarkable individual. the son of a subadar—who thought it fine to let his son have an english education. thought it no doubt a form of loyalty that would pay. however it may have been, the fellow's as poor as a rat in spite of his learning—proud as lucifer, of course. drop of princely blood in him, it appears." the lieutenant-governor smiled pityingly. "they generally have, if you believe them—ha! read his letter, my dear," he went on, drawing a sheet from his pocket-book and tossing it in her lap; "it may amuse you to note the grandiloquence of the native style."

lady gerardine turned over the sheet with a languid finger. it was scored with beautifully regular copperplate writing, which presented certainly no difficulty to the decipherer. baby, whose young interest was more easily aroused, craned her neck to see also, and read aloud the opening phrase in a mock declamatory style:

huzur,—by your honour's gracious permission, your devoted servant muhammed saif-u-din. will your magnificence so condescend to my nothingness as to permit your heaven-illumined eyes to rest upon this unworthy document....

"oh, runkle, that's even finer than your phrase. hadn't you better pass it on to macdonald? you must let him have a finger in your pie—your monumental pie!"

sir arthur smiled with his benevolent air.

he drew a second letter from his pocket.

"another agreeable piece of news," said he; "lady aspasia is quite ready to give us ten days or a fortnight after her visit to calcutta."

"lady aspasia!" cried baby; "do you mean the horrid woman that went and had a name like that to make me a laughing-stock all my life?"

"lady aspasia, your own cousin, and the most agreeable woman i have ever met," rebuked sir arthur. "with one exception, of course," added the gallant gentleman, bowing towards his wife. "you ought to be very proud, dear child," he went on, addressing his recalcitrant niece, "not only of your connection with a noble house, but also to bear a name which is perhaps unique. had we had a daughter, rosamond, my love, i could not have allowed her to be christened otherwise. dear me," he went on, now throwing his remarks into space and inflating his chest with the breath of sentimental reminiscence, "dear aspasia, what a fine creature she was; and how much in love with her i used to be in my salad days. you're not jealous, dear," he cried suddenly, struck by his wife's abstraction.

"jealous?" she echoed with a start. her gaze was really pathetic, as she raised it to his face; and sir arthur, satisfied that she had undoubtedly felt a little hurt by his reminiscence, smiled sympathetically and once more considerately selected another topic.

"by the way," he said, knocking the ash off his cheroot with a squat nail pared and polished to the last possible point of symmetry, "i met quite an interesting fellow just now. he tells me he has already called on you. bethune his name is—major bethune, of the guides. i asked him to dine to-night. i knew you would like me to show him some attention. you must know all about him, my love; he went through all that unfortunate business with your poor husband. i knew," repeated the lieutenant-governor, with a most intimate smile of self-approbation, "i knew that you would like me to show him some attention."

baby, leaning against her aunt's pliant form, felt it suddenly stiffen into rigidity. but the needle poised in lady gerardine's fingers did not tremble; it hovered for a hardly perceptible moment, then resumed its languid course. sir arthur, after waiting for the expected tribute, threw down the stump of his cigar and looked round in surprise.

"i always wish to do the right thing about any friend of poor english," he insisted. "and bethune was flattered, of course, immensely flattered at my asking him. i knew it would please you, my dear rosamond."

lady gerardine finished the lilac petal, cut her silk, folded her work, and, then only, raised her eyes.

"thank you," she said gently; "you are always kindness itself."

those eyes of hers were so dark and encircled in her pale face that the affectionate husband was solicitously moved.

"you look tired, my love," he said, hoisting himself out of his lounge to approach her. "i trust you have not got a chill; i think we had better all adjourn. you must lie down an hour before dinner."

lady gerardine rose and stood, looking out across the still garden falling in terraces to the river edge, beyond the flaming masses of poinsettia, the heavy-headed babul, and the starred wide-flung hibiscus, towards the far-off hills, mauve and amethyst hued against a sky of translucent sapphire.

"i must go and say good-bye to my banyan trees," she said, almost as if speaking to herself.

sir arthur was horrified at the mere suggestion. down into the lower garden, at the moment when the mists were rising! he would not hear of such a thing. and she was not looking well. he took her face by the chin and turned it to the sunset light. even in that warm glow it showed wan; and the lids she dropped between her eyes and his gaze were bruised and shadowed, faintly purple like the petals of wood violets.

"i'll have to ask saunders to look at you," said the governor. "i hope and trust that you have not been so foolish as to throw off your vests again!" he slipped two fingers under the lace of her diaphanous blouse to satisfy himself. "i cannot afford to have you ill, dear," he wound up caressingly. "now, i'll just tell jani to measure you a couple of grains of quinine before you lie down."

benevolent, consequential, he hurried indoors. rosamond stood yet a moment, looking at the sky. baby, a thousand shades of exasperation and scorn upon her expressive countenance, now melted all into tenderness.

"if ever there was a woman killed by kindness," she exclaimed, "it is you, poor aunt rosamond!" and flinging her arms round the still figure: "oh, darling," she whispered, with the wail of an ever-renewed complaint, "why do you always, always give in?"

lady gerardine gently disengaged herself, bringing her eyes back from the distant loveliness with a perceptible effort.

"oh, baby," she said, in a tone of melancholy mockery, "when you have lived as long as i have, you will see how much simpler it is."

she trailed away, obediently, to seek quinine and couch. aspasia kicked over the work-basket as a relief, summoning a couple of supple hindoos to repair the damage; and, feeling that the balance of things was slightly re-established, she took her way also into the palace to select her attire for the evening.

in spite of her ruffled sensations, she was smiling to herself as she went, and the dimples were very deep in the pink cheeks. something was singing in her heart—a soft, pleasant little song: that it was good not to have lived long yet, and to have everything still before one; and that she was glad that the man with the light eyes and brown face was not going to drift out of her life. she hoped he would not be angry with her for not having succeeded yet.