He was dressed in the most richly ornamented garments,
and he was an exceedingly pretty little fellow. He was conducted to the
viscount.
"Will your Lordship permit me to present to you and your friends my son
Dinshaw, in whose honor I am making this feast? This is Lord Tremlyn, my
son," said the father, who was evidently very proud of the boy.
"Sahib Dinshaw, I am very happy to make your acquaintance," replied his
lordship, as he rose and took the hand of the young gentleman, whom he
introduced to every member of his party.
They all followed the example of the viscount, and addressed him as "Sahib
Dinshaw," the title being equivalent to "Lord," or "Master," applied by the
natives to their employers, and to the English generally. All of them gazed
at him with intense interest, not unmingled with admiration. The hero of
the occasion spoke English as fluently as his father.
"How old are you, Sahib Dinshaw?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, who was strongly
tempted to kiss the little fellow; but she was afraid it would not be in
order, and she refrained.
"I am ten years old, madam," replied Dinshaw, with the sweetest of smiles.
"And you have been married this evening, sahib?" continued the lady.
"I should not ask him any questions in that direction," interposed Sir
Modava, afraid she would meddle with an interdicted subject; and the young
gentleman's father seemed to have a similar fear, for he gently led him
away.
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