“They would say that.”
“It’s all over the town, and may injure your reputation. You know, everyone is by no means your supporter. I have tried all I could to silence such a story.”
“Don’t bother. Miss Quested has cleared out at last.”
“It is those who stop in the country, not those who leave it, whom such a story injures. Imagine my dismay and anxiety. I could scarcely get a wink of sleep. First my name was coupled with her and now it is yours.”
“Don’t use such exaggerated phrases.”
“As what?”
“As dismay and anxiety.”
“Have I not lived all my life in India? Do I not know what produces a bad impression here?” His voice shot up rather crossly.
“Yes, but the scale, the scale. You always get the scale wrong, my dear fellow. A pity there is this rumour, but such a very small pity—so small that we may as well talk of something else.”
“You mind for Miss Quested’s sake, though. I can see from your face.”
“As far as I do mind. I travel light.”
“Cyril, that boastfulness about travelling light will be your ruin. It is raising up enemies against you on all sides, and makes me feel excessively uneasy.”
“What enemies?”
Since Aziz had only himself in mind, he could not reply. Feeling a fool, he became angrier. “I have given you list after list of the people who cannot be trusted in this city. In your position I should have the sense to know I was surrounded by enemies. You observe I speak in a low voice. It is because I see your sais is new. How do I know he isn’t a spy?” He lowered his voice: “Every third servant is a spy.”
“Now, what is the matter?” he asked, smiling.
“Do you contradict my last remark?”
“It simply doesn’t affect me. Spies are as thick as mosquitoes, but it’s years before I shall meet the one that kills me. You’ve something else in your mind.”
“I’ve not; don’t be ridiculous.”
“You have. You’re cross with me about something or other.”
Any direct attack threw him out of action. Presently he said: “So you and Madamsell Adela used to amuse one another in the evening, naughty boy.”
Those drab and high-minded talks had scarcely made for dalliance. Fielding was so startled at the story being taken seriously, and so disliked being called a naughty boy, that he lost his head and cried: “You little rotter! Well, I’m damned. Amusement indeed. Is it likely at such a time?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure. The licentious Oriental imagination was at work,” he replied, speaking gaily, but cut to the heart; for hours after his mistake he bled inwardly.
“You see, Aziz, the circumstances … also the girl was still engaged to Heaslop, also I never felt …”
“Yes, yes; but you didn’t contradict what I said, so I thought it was true. Oh dear, East and West. Most misleading. Will you please put your little rotter down at his hospital?”
“You’re not offended?”
“Most certainly I am not.”
“If you are, this must be cleared up later on.”
“It has been,” he answered, dignified. “I believe absolutely what you say, and of that there need be no further question.”
“But the way I said it must be cleared up. I was unintentionally rude. Unreserved regrets.”
“The fault is entirely mine.”
Tangles like this still interrupted their intercourse. A pause in the wrong place, an intonation misunderstood, and a whole conversation went awry. Fielding had been startled, not shocked, but how convey the difference? There is always trouble when two people do not think of sex at the same moment, always mutual resentment and surprise, even when the two people are of the same race. He began to recapitulate his feelings about Miss Quested. Aziz cut him short with: “But I believe you, I believe. Mohammed Latif shall be severely punished for inventing this.”
“Oh, leave it alone, like all gossip—it’s merely one of those half-alive things that try to crowd out real life. Take no notice, it’ll vanish, like poor old Mrs. Moore’s tombs.”
“Mohammed Latif has taken to intriguing. We are already much displeased with him. Will it satisfy you if we send him back to his family without a present?”
“We’ll discuss M. L. at dinner.”
His eyes went clotted and hard. “Dinner. This is most unlucky—I forgot. I have promised to dine with Das.”
“Bring Das to me.”
“He will have invited other friends.”
“You are coming to dinner with me as arranged,” said Fielding, looking away. “I don’t stand this. You are coming to dinner with me. You come.”
They had reached the hospital now. Fielding continued round the Maidan alone. He was annoyed with himself, but counted on dinner to pull things straight. At the post office he saw the Collector. Their vehicles were parked side by side while their servants competed in the interior of the building. “Good morning; so you are back,” said Turton icily. “I should be glad if you will put in your appearance at the club this evening.”
“I have accepted reelection, sir. Do you regard it as necessary I should come? I should be glad to be excused; indeed, I have a dinner engagement this evening.”
“It is not a question of your feelings, but of the wish of the Lieutenant-Governor. Perhaps you will ask me whether I speak officially. I do. I shall expect you this evening at six. We shall not interfere with your subsequent plans.”
He attended the grim little function in due course. The skeletons of hospitality rattled—“Have a peg, have a drink.” He talked for five minutes to Mrs. Blakiston, who was the only surviving female. He talked to McBryde, who
