It was as though he had given some secret signal,
for in an instant the broad street was alive with dark, scantily clad
figures, who bowed themselves to the dust and raised cries of welcome
as the Rajah and his companion picked their way among them. It was a
picturesque scene, not without its pathos; for their joy was sincere
and their respect heartfelt. Beatrice glanced at Nehal Singh. A flush
had crept up under his dark skin, and his eyes shone with suppressed
enthusiasm.
"Is their homage so precious to you?" she asked.
"It is a sign that I have power over them," he answered, "and that is
precious to me. Without power I could not do anything. They believe
that I am God-sent, and so they obey blindly. Otherwise, these changes
would have been impossible." He paused, smiling to himself; then, with
a new amusement in his dark eyes, he looked at Beatrice. "My people
are not fond of an over-abundance of clothing," he observed. "Do you
consider a change in that respect essential?"
Beatrice stared at him, and then, seeing that he was laughing, she
laughed with him.
"Certainly not! If the poor wretches knew what we poor Europeans have
to suffer with our artificial over-abundance, their obedience would
stop short at such a request. What made you think of such a thing?"
"It was Mr. Berry who spoke to me about it. He said I ought to insist
on them having what he called decent attire. It seems he had been
using his influence in vain, and was very unhappy about it.
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