n, a slight friend of her
father, would."

"My dear Murray, we have only known you a few weeks, but that has been
long enough to make us esteem and trust--"

"Exactly; and it is preposterous."

"That means, you could never care for the lady well enough to ask her to
be your wife?"

"Never--certainly--never--impossible--that is--at least--no, no, no,
quite impossible. I am a bookworm, a naturalist, and I shall never
marry."

"I am sorry," said Mr Braine, thoughtfully, "for, to be frank, I rather
thought there was a growing liking on your part for Amy."

"A mistake, sir--a mistake, quite," said Murray, warmly.

"And it would have been a happy circumstance for us now, at this rather
troublesome time."

"Eh? Troublesome? What do you mean? Is anything more the matter?"

"Yes," said Mr Braine, with his brow full of lines. "I may be wrong--
we may be wrong. We have dreaded something of the kind might happen,
but years have gone on, and we have had no occasion to think anything
serious till now."

"You startle me. What do you mean?" said Murray, excitedly.

"Well, you see the rajah is a Mussulman."

"Yes, of course. Allah, Mahomet, and so on."

"He has several wives."

"Yes, whom he keeps shut up like birds in a cage. Well, what of that?"

"Last night we were all very much disturbed. It was before you came
in."

"Ah! Yes, I noticed you were all very quiet. Why was it?"

"The rajah had sent Amy a present. It was a magnificent specimen of
goldsmith's work--a large bangle of great value."

"Well?"

"Gentlemen, especially eastern gentlemen, do not send such presents as
that to ladies without having some ulterior object in view."

"What!" roared Murray, in so fierce a tone of voice that Hamet came
running in.

"Master call?"

"No, no: go away. Nothing.--Here Braine, you horrify me. That old
tyrant dare to--to think--to send her presents--to--oh, it is horrible.
The old scoundrel! He to presume to--oh!"

"We may be mistaken. It may be only a compliment."

"Nothing of the sort, sir. He meant an offer of marriage, which is sure
to follow, and--oh, the insolent, tyrannical, old scoundrel!"

Mr Braine looked at Murray with a grave smile.

"This indignation's all real?" he said.

"Real? I could go and horsewhip him."

"Then you do care for Amy Barnes, in spite of your short acquaintance,
Murray; and I tell you frankly I am very glad, for it may put a stop to
a terrible complication,