"Oh, the
good man!" Hilda exclaimed, "My parcels!" and looked on equably, while
Arnold took them by their puckered ends. "I have been buying gold lace
and things from Chunder Dutt for a costume," she exclaimed. The bags
dangled helplessly from Arnold's fingers; he looked very much aware of
them. "Let me carry at least one," she begged. "I can perfectly with my
parasol hand;" but he refused her even one. "If I may be permitted to
take the responsibility," he said, happily, and she rejoined, "Oh, I
would trust you with things more fragile." At which, such is the
discipline of these orders, he looked steadily in front of him and
seemed deaf with modesty.
"But are you sure," said Hilda, suddenly considerate, "that it looks
well?"
"Is the gold lace, then, so very meretricious?"
"It goes doubtfully with your cloth," she laughed, and instantly looked
stricken with the conviction that she might better have said something
else. But Arnold appeared to take it simply and to see no gibe in it,
only a pleasant commonplace.
"It might look queer in Chowringhee," he said, "but this is not a
censorious public." Then, as if to palliate the word, he added, "They
will think me no more mad to carry paper bags than to carry myself, when
it is plain that I might ride--and they see me doing that every day.
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