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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"

"That reminds me
to tell you, Captain, how tremendously my daughter enjoyed her ride
with you yesterday. If you promise not to get conceited, I will tell
you what she said."
"I promise!" he said, with a mock gravity which concealed a very real
amusement.
"She said that in her opinion there wasn't a better horseman in Marut,
and that it was more pleasure to ride with you than any one else. Now,
are you keeping your promise?" She tapped him playfully on the arm.
Stafford bowed, looking what he felt, hot and uncomfortable. There are
some people who have the knack of making others ashamed of them and of
themselves. Mrs. Cary was just such a person.
"It was very kind of Miss Cary to say so," Stafford said stiffly. "I
am afraid her praise is not justified."
All this time Nehal Singh had been standing at Mrs. Cary's elbow, and
she had persistently ignored him. Deeper than her reverence for any
form of title was her wounded conviction that he had once laughed at
her and made her ridiculous, and to this injury was added the insult
that it came from a man whom, as an Englishwoman, she had the
privilege of "tolerating." A true parvenu, she had quickly learned to
suspect and despise the credentials of other intruders.
He turned away from her and for the first time there was something
hesitating and troubled in his manner. Hitherto there had been songs
and music for his entertainment; it was now the turn of the Europeans
to follow their usual form of pleasure, yet they looked at one another
questioningly.


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