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Page 88
Her feelings, however, were largely compounded of fear, and fear
strengthened her defense. The repulsive part of Ormuz Khan's
character became more apparent to her than did the fascination
which she had once experienced. She distrusted him, distrusted
him keenly. She knew at the bottom of her heart that this had
always been so, but she had suffered his attentions in much the
same spirit as that which imbues the naturalist who studies the
habits of a poisonous reptile.
She knew that she was playing with fire, and in this knowledge
lay a dangerous pleasure. She had the utmost faith in her own
common sense, and was ambitious to fence with edged tools.
When at last the car was drawn up before the porch of Hillside,
and Ormuz Khan, stepping out, assisted the ladies to alight, for
one moment Phil Abingdon hesitated, although she knew that it was
already too late to do so. They were received by Mr. Rama Dass,
his excellency's courteous secretary, whom she had already met,
and whom Ormuz Khan presented to Mrs. McMurdoch. Almost
immediately:
"You have missed Mr. Harley by only a few minutes," said Rama
Dass.
"What!" exclaimed Phil, her eyes opening very widely.
"Oh, there is no occasion for alarm," explained the secretary in
his urbane manner. "He has ventured as far as Lower Claybury
station. The visit was unavoidable. He particularly requested
that we should commence luncheon, but hoped to be back before we
should have finished."
Phil Abingdon glanced rapidly from the face of the speaker to
that of Ormuz Khan. But her scrutiny of those unreadable
countenances availed her nothing. She was conscious of a great
and growing uneasiness; and Mrs. McMurdoch, misunderstanding the
expression upon her face, squeezed her arm playfully.
"Cheer up, dear," she whispered; "he will be here soon!"
Phil knew that her face had flushed deeply. Partly she was glad
of her emotions, and partly ashamed. This sweet embarrassment in
which there was a sort of pain was a new experience, but one
wholly delightful. She laughed, and accepting the arm of Ormuz
Khan, walked into a very English-looking library, followed by
Rama Dass and Mrs. McMurdoch. The house, she thought, was very
silent, and she found herself wondering why no servants had
appeared.
Rama Dass had taken charge of the ladies' cloaks in the hall, and
in spite of the typical English environment in which she found
herself, Phil sat very near to Mrs. McMurdoch on a settee,
scarcely listening to the conversation, and taking no part in it.
For there was a strange and disturbing air of loneliness about
Hillside. She would have welcomed the appearance of a butler or a
parlourmaid, or any representative of the white race. Yes: there
lay the root of the matter--this feeling of aloofness from all
that was occidental, a feeling which the English appointments of
the room did nothing to dispel. Then a gong sounded and the party
went in to lunch.
A white-robed Hindu waited at table, and Phil discovered his
movements to be unpleasantly silent. There was something very
unreal about it all. She found herself constantly listening for
the sound of an approaching car, of a footstep, of a voice, the
voice of Paul Harley. This waiting presently grew unendurable,
and:
"I hope Mr. Harley is safe," she said, in a rather unnatural
tone. "Surely he should have returned by now?"
Ormuz Khan shrugged his slight shoulders and glanced at a
diamond-studded wrist watch which he wore.
"There is nothing to fear," he declared, in his soft, musical
voice. "He knows how to take care of himself. And"--with a
significant glance of his long, magnetic eyes--"I am certain he
will return as speedily as possible."
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