"
"Now I understand. Thank you."
"As to the Rajah, I think you had better let him run before things go
too far. I'm afraid he has got one or two silly ideas in his head. You
had better make your engagement public."
"Thank you." She looked perfectly calm and collected. The red had died
out of her cheeks and left them their pale rose, which not even the
hottest Indian sun had been able to wither. Still, her tone had
something in it which startled even the self-possessed Travers.
"By Jove!" he began, "are you angry--?"
She passed over the question before he had time to finish it.
"I am going into the garden to look for my mother," she said. "The
band is just beginning. _Au revoir_."
Travers watched her curiously and admiringly as she walked across the
parquetry flooring to the door. It requires a good deal of
self-possession and carriage to walk gracefully under the scrutiny of
critical eyes, and this self-possession and carriage were the final
clauses to Beatrice's claim to physical perfection. There was a
natural dignity in her bearing and an absolute balance in all her
movements which Travers had never seen before combined in one woman.
At first sight an observer called her pretty, and then, as one by one
the perfect details unfolded themselves to a closer criticism,
beautiful. He was never disappointed, and even the most carping and
envious of Marut's female contingent had failed to find her vulnerable
point.
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