"Not yourself, by
any chance?"
"Certainly not. If I had any noble inclinations of that sort I should have
discovered them a long time ago. No, I content myself with taking the part
of a fairy godmother."
"I'm afraid I don't follow," Stafford put in. "What is the fairy godmother
going to do for us? Produce a club-house, a patron, or a cucumber?"
"A patron, and one, my dear fellow, whom I should have entirely overlooked
had it not been for you."
"For me!"
"It was you who made the discovery that the present Rajah is not, as we
thought, an imbecilic youth, but a man of many parts and splendidly
adapted to our requirements."
"I protest!" broke in Stafford, with unusual earnestness. "It was by pure
chance that, in an audience with the Maharajah Scindia, the late regent of
Marut, I got to hear that his whilom ward was both intelligent and
cultured. I believe it was a slip on his part, and, seeing that Rajah
Nehal Singh has shunned all English intercourse, I can not see that there
is any likelihood of his adapting himself or his purse to your plans."
"Oh, bosh!" exclaimed Travers impatiently. "You are too cautious,
Stafford. Other rajahs interest themselves in social matters--why not this
one? He is fabulously rich, I understand, and a little gentle handling
should easily bring him around."
There was a chorus of bravos, in which only one or two did not join. One
was Colonel Carmichael, who stood a little apart, pulling his thin grey
moustache in the nervous, anxious way peculiar to him, his kindly face
overshadowed.
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