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Updated: May 22, 2025
Tragic because to it might, actually if indirectly, be traced the breaking up of her childhood's home in the stately Indian pleasure palace of the Sultan-i-bagh at Bhutpur, her separation from her father and exile as she had counted it to Europe. It is among the doubtful privileges of highly sensitized natures, such as Damaris', that, in hours of crisis, vision and pre-vision go hand in hand.
He kissed her cheek. "By the way, though, does it ever occur to you to think of the Bhutpur Sultan-i-bagh and wish to go East again?" And Damaris, with still uplifted chin, surveyed him gravely and with a certain wistfulness, Miss Felicia's attempted poaching forgotten and an impression of Faircloth vividly overtaking her.
Turn where she would, join hands with whom she would in all good faith and innocence, this thing reared its head and, evilly alluring looked at her. Now it set its claim upon her well-beloved Sultan-i-bagh and what scene could in truth be more sympathetic to its display? She felt the breath of high romance. Imagination played strange tricks with her.
Her poor dear Nannie, in the plain quaker-grey cotton gown and black silk apron she used to wear, even through the breathless hot-weather days, at the Sultan-i-bagh long ago.
Yes, it should run thus, the theme embroidered with high-flashing colour of Eastern reminiscence the great subtropic garden of the Sultan-i-bagh, for example, its palms, orange grove and lotus tank, the call of the green parrots, chant of the well-coollie and creak of the primitive wooden gearing, as the yoke of cream white oxen trotted down and laboriously backed up the walled slope to the well-head.
"No, I was six years old, and I remember quite well. All my caring for people, all my thinking, begins there, in the palace of the Sultan-i-bagh at Bhutpur and the great compound, when my father was Chief Commissioner." Her snub duly delivered, and she secure it had gone home, Damaris unbent, graciously communicative as never before.
Agreeably conscious her clothes were not only very much "the right thing" but decidedly becoming, she had gone, with him, to pay a visit of ceremony at the convent school near the Church of St. Germain-les-Près where, as a little girl of six, fresh from India and the high dignities of the Bhutpur Sultan-i-bagh, she had been deposited by her father's old friend, Mrs.
For I was very ill, when you came again to the Sultan-i-bagh don't you remember? the night of the riots and great fires in the Civil Lines and Cantonments, just at the breaking of the monsoon." "Yes, I remember," he said.
Pereira, and for the Sultan-i-bagh, where I knew strangers lived now. For the lotus tank and orange grove, and all my little tame animals and my pretty play-places I should never, never see any more" Overcome by which intimate memories, Damaris' grave voice which had taken on a chanting cadence, at once novel and singularly pleasing to the young man's ear quavered and broke.
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