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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poppy + The Story of a South African Girl + +Author: Cynthia Stockley + +Release Date: May 18, 2011 [EBook #36138] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPPY *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img id="coverpage" border="0" src="images/frontcover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">Poppy<br /> +The Story of a South African Girl</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img border="0" src="images/frontispiece.png" alt="Frontispiece" /></div> + +<div> +<p class="caption">"IN HIS LOOMING ABOUT THE ROOM HE HAD STOPPED DEAD +BEFORE WATTS'S PICTURE 'HOPE' OVER THE MANTELPIECE"<br /> +From the painting by G. F. Watts, R.A.<br /> +<span style="float : right">(<i>See p. 336</i>)</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 id="booktitle">POPPY</h1> + +<p class="h3">THE STORY OF A SOUTH AFRICAN GIRL</p> + +<p class="h3">BY</p> + +<p class="h2">CYNTHIA STOCKLEY</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4">G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS<br /> +NEW YORK AND LONDON</p> + +<p class="h5">The Knickerbocker Press</p> + +<p class="h6">1910</p> + +<p class="h6"> +Published, March, 1910<br /> +Reprinted, March, 1910; May, 1910<br /> +July, 1910 (twice); August, 1910<br /> +September, 1910; October, 1910</p> + +<br /> + +<p class="h6">The Knickerbocker Press, New York</p> + +<br /> + +<p class="h5">To</p> +<p class="h4">Em</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[2]</span></p> + +<p class="h2">PART I</p> + +<blockquote><p>"... and some do say of poppies that they be the tears of the moon shed +in a land beyond the seas: and that they do bring forgetfulness and +freedom from pain." +<span style="float : right">(<i>From an old Irish Legend</i>.)</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[3]</span></p> + +<h2>POPPY</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">NOTHING more unlike a gladsome poppy of the field +was ever seen than Poppy Destin, aged nine, washing +a pile of dirty plates at the kitchen table.</p> + +<p>Pale as a witch, the only red about her was where she +dug her teeth into her lips. Her light lilac-coloured eyes +were fierce with anger and disgust. Her hair hung in +long black streaks over her shoulders, and her dark hands, +thin and bony as bird's claws, were each decorated with +a bracelet of greeny-yellowy grease.</p> + +<p>There had been curry for dinner. Horrible yellow +rings floated on the top of the water in the <i>skottel</i> and +Poppy hated to put her hands into it.</p> + +<p>She was hating her work more than usual that day +because she was hungry as well as angry. She had slapped +her little cousin Georgie for throwing a heavy hammer at +her which had cut a gash in her leg; and her punishment +for this crime had been two stinging boxes on the ear and +sentence to go without food all day. Fortunately the +incident had occurred after breakfast.</p> + +<p>Once or twice she looked longingly at the scraps on the +plates, but she did not touch them, because her aunt had +eaten from one and she was not sure which, and she knew +that to eat from anything her aunt had touched would +choke her.</p> + +<p>So she threw the scraps to Nick the black cat, under the +kitchen table, and went on hating her aunt, and washing<span class="pagenum">[4]</span> +up the plates. She would have liked to smash each plate +on the floor as she took it out of the water, and to have +thrown all the greasy water over the freshly-scrubbed white +shelves and dresser. And she would have done it too, only +that she did not like boxes on the ear.</p> + +<p>Presently she tried to fill her bitter little heart and her +empty little stomach by going on with the story inside her +head. She always had a story going on inside her head, +and it was always about just two people—a beautiful lady +and a man with a face like Lancelot. She used to begin at +the end to make sure they should be quite happy, and when +she had married them and they were living happily "ever +after," she would go back to the beginning—how they met +and all the sad things they had to go through before they +could be married. Afterwards she would make a little +song about them.</p> + +<p>That day she had a heroine with red gold hair for the +first time, because she had seen such a beautiful red-gold-haired +lady in the street the day before, dressed in brown +holland with a brown hat trimmed with pale green leaves. +Poppy dressed her heroine in the same fashion, instead of +the usual white velvet with a long train and a wreath of +white roses resting on her hair. Just as Lancelot was +telling the heroine that her eyes were as beautiful as +brown wine, a harsh voice called out from the dining-room:</p> + +<p>"Porpie! Haven't you done that washing-up yet? +Make haste there! You know you got to smear the +kitchen before you clean yourself and take the children +up to the Kopje."</p> + +<p>Poppy gritted her teeth and furious tears came into her +eyes; her aunt's voice always seemed to scrape something +inside her head and make it ache; also, she detested taking +the children up to the Kopje. It was such a long way to +carry Bobby—all up Fountain Street in the broiling sun<span class="pagenum">[5]</span>—and +she <i>had</i> to carry him, because if she put him into the +pram with his twin, Tommy, they kicked each other and +screamed, and when the children screamed, Aunt Lena +always got to hear of it and boxed Poppy's ears for ill-treating +them.</p> + +<p>Listlessly she dried the plates and stuck them up in +lines on the dresser, soaked the <i>fadook</i> and washed all round +the edges of the bowl, making the water swirl round and +round so that the grease would not settle again, then, while +the water moved swiftly, carried the basin to the back +door and emptied it with a great "swash" into the yard. +The fowls flew shrieking in every direction and the water +ran down in little rivers to where old Sara was doing some +washing under the shade of the biggest acacia tree. When +the little stream reached her bare black feet she clicked +her teeth, crying, "Aah," and moved round to the other +side of the stones on which she banged the clothes to make +them white.</p> + +<p>Poppy dried her basin out with the <i>fadook</i>, wiped the +table dry, and put the bowl upside down upon it. Then +she went into the yard again and approached an old pail +which stood in the forage-house. It was full of an atrocious +mess, slimy and thick, giving out a pungent odour that +made her nose wrinkle in disgust. Nevertheless she took +it up and carried it down to old Sara to get some soapy +water. The old Basuto in her red <i>kop-dook</i>, rolled the +whites of her eyes sympathetically and muttered in her +native tongue as she watched Poppy stir the green slime +with a stick. She was sorry for the child. She knew it +was Kaffir's work to smear floors. Black hands are hard, +and the little thorns and stones to be found in the wet cow-dung +do not hurt them; neither does the pungent smell +disgust black noses.</p> + +<p>"But the <i>old missis</i> had strange ways! Clk! It seemed +she liked the <i>klein-missis</i> to do Kaffir's work!" Old Sara<span class="pagenum">[6]</span> +shrugged her fat, wobbly shoulders, and flopped over her +wash-tub once more.</p> + +<p>Poppy went back to the kitchen. She had swept it just +before dinner, now she sprinkled it heavily with water, +then kneeling down on a folded sack beside the bucket, she +rolled up her sleeves, closed her eyes, and plunged her +hands into the sickening mess. Quickly she withdrew +them, flinging two handfuls on to the floor and began to +smear it with the flat of her right hand.</p> + +<p>Kitchens and verandahs (or stoeps) in old-fashioned +South African houses always have what are called "mud +floors," which means that they are just mother-earth with +all the stones picked out and the surface kept smooth and +level by constant smearing in or pasting on of wet cow-dung +once or twice a week. Smearing is a disgusting business, +but joy comes after. When freshly dry the floor looks +cool and green and fresh, and no longer does the <i>mis</i> smell +vilely; rather, there is a soft odour of grasses and flowers, +as though some stray veldt wind had blown through the +room.</p> + +<p>But Poppy had no time to enjoy the result of her labour. +After she had spread sacks upon the floor to prevent feet +from marking her work until it was dry, she stopped for a +moment to dig out a thorn from her thumb with a needle, +but immediately her aunt's menacing voice could be heard +from the front stoep, where now she sat drinking her after-dinner +cup of coffee with her husband, admonishing the +slowness of Poppy's proceedings, and demanding that she +should "makaste."</p> + +<p>Poppy ran into the bedroom which she shared with +her two elder cousins, and cleaned herself of all traces of +her recent occupation. Later she appeared on the front +stoep, in a print pinafore over her grey linsey dress, and an +old straw hat much bitten at the edges shading her pale +fierce little face.<span class="pagenum">[7]</span></p> + +<p>"My word, that child looks more like an Irish Fenian +every day!" was her aunt's agreeable greeting.</p> + +<p>Weak, good-looking "Uncle Bob," who was really no +more than a second cousin of Poppy's, laughed in a deprecating +kind of way. He was cutting a twist of tobacco +from a great roll that hung drying from the stoep roof.</p> + +<p>"Och, you're always going on at the girl, Lena!"</p> + +<p>"And good cause I have," retorted Mrs. Kennedy. +"Stand still, Ina, while I tie your cappie."</p> + +<p>Poppy said nothing, but if having black murder in your +heart makes you a Fenian, she knew that she was one.</p> + +<p>Silently she assisted her aunt to put their pinafores upon +the struggling twins, and to array Ina in her cape and bib—all +starched to stand about them like boards, to their everlasting +misery and discomfort. Mrs. Kennedy gloated +upon the fact that all the neighbours said, "How beautifully +kept Mrs. Kennedy's children are!"</p> + +<p>At last Tommy was in the pram; Bobby pranced astride +on Poppy's small bony hip, and Ina, who was just four, +clung toddling to her skirt. Thus Poppy set forth, pushing +the pram before her.</p> + +<p>"And mind you bring them in before sun-down, and +don't let them sit on the damp grass—" was Mrs. Kennedy's +last word shouted up the street after the procession.</p> + +<p>A little lane lined with syringa trees led from the house +and was shady and sweet to loiter in, but Fountain Street +glared and blazed under the afternoon sun. Poppy was +pale and sadly-coloured as some strange cellar-plant when +at last she brought her charges to a halt by the Kopje. +She put Bobby down from her hip with a bump, tilted the +pram and let Tommy scramble out the best way he could, +then sat down on a rock and covered her face with her +hands.</p> + +<p>Bobby was a heavy-weight, and though she changed +him from one hip to another all the way up the street, she<span class="pagenum">[8]</span> +never got to the Kopje without a pain in her stomach and +a feeling of deathly sickness.</p> + +<p>Nearly all the children of the town came to the Kopje +in the afternoons. It was only a slight hill, but it had +bushes and clumps of mimosa trees, and little quarried-out +holes and masses of rocks, and other fascinating features +dear to children. The Kaffir-girl nurses squatted under +the trees jabbering amongst themselves, and the children +congregated in small herds. Poppy was the only white-girl +nurse to be seen. She had a little circle of trees and stones +where she always took her brood, and if she found anyone +else in possession, she threw stones at them until they +retreated.</p> + +<p>When she had spread a rug for them to sit on, the +children were left to amuse themselves in whatsoever +fashion seemed good unto them. Poppy sat dreaming to +herself, wrapped in the veils of poetry and romance. +Near the Kopje was St. Michael's, a high school for girls +kept by an English sisterhood, and when Poppy and her +brood reached their haunt before three o'clock, she would +see all the girls coming out of the gates, passing by in their +nice dresses and hats with bags of books in their hands. +They would stare at Poppy, and sometimes laugh; then +the pain in her stomach would come into her throat and +almost choke her. No one ever spoke to her. They knew +quite well who she was, but she did Kaffir's work, and her +clothes were old and ugly, and she was altogether a person +to be despised and laughed at.</p> + +<p>But sometimes a little ray of human friendliness would +break through the hedge of snobbery. On this summer +day a girl called Edie Wyllie, who used to sit next to her in +Sunday-school, called out in quite a jolly way as she passed:</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Poppy Destin!"</p> + +<p>But her sister pulled at her arm at once and rebuked +her.<span class="pagenum">[9]</span></p> + +<p>"Edie! You know mother doesn't let us speak to +Poppy Destin."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" called out Poppy with the utmost scorn and +derision. "Who wants to speak to you? I hate you."</p> + +<p>She made fearful faces at them; but when they had all +gone past, she rocked on her stone and wept.</p> + +<p>"I hate them! I hate them!" she sobbed. "And I +hate God! God is a beast."</p> + +<p>Ina stood by and listened, with her pinafore in her mouth.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell mother that, what you say," she remarked +gravely.</p> + +<p>"'Tell-tale-tit, your tongue shall be slit.' Go away +from me, else I'll beat you," shouted Poppy, and Ina ran +for her life and hid behind some rocks. Poppy continued +her weeping, dry-eyed now, but sobbing spasmodically.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a voice behind her!</p> + +<p>"What's the matter little girl?"</p> + +<p>Turning round she saw that the beauteous lady in the +holland dress was sitting on a stone opposite her, smiling +kindly. Her hair was like sovereigns shining in the +sunlight, Poppy thought.</p> + +<p>"Do tell me what is the matter!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing's the matter," said Poppy defiantly.</p> + +<p>The lady laughed long and merrily as though she found +something refreshing in the child's sulky misery.</p> + +<p>"Well, but how silly of you to cry and make your eyes +red for nothing! You've got such pretty eyes, too!"</p> + +<p>Poppy stared at her, gasping.</p> + +<p>"Oh! If I only thought I had pretty eyes—" she said +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you have indeed. And they are most uncommon +too—just the colour of lilac, and 'put in with a smutty +finger' like an Irish girl's. Are you Irish?"</p> + +<p>Poppy was about to inform her that she was a Fenian, +but she thought better of it.<span class="pagenum">[10]</span></p> + +<p>"I was born here in Bloemfontein," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps your mother came from Ireland, for you +have <i>quite</i> an Irish face: only you're so thin, and you look +so cross—are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am always cross. I hate everybody."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! What a little savage! but you +shouldn't. It makes one so ugly to hate."</p> + +<p>"Does it?" Eagerly. "Do you think if I was never +cross I'd get beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"You are much more likely to," said the other encouragingly, +thinking in the meantime that nothing could ever +make harmonious and beautiful that small tormented face.</p> + +<p>"Is that why you are so beautiful?" was the next +question.</p> + +<p>The beauty smiled: a little complacently perhaps.</p> + +<p>"I expect so. I am never cross and never unhappy, and +I never mean to let anyone make me so." She opened her +brown holland sunshade lined with sea-green silk and got +up to go.</p> + +<p>"Now be sure and remember that," she said pleasantly. +"Never cry, never be unhappy, never hate anyone, and +never be cross and—you'll see how beautiful you'll +become."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I will, I will," cried Poppy ardently.</p> + +<p>"Now I must go," said the beautiful one. "I want to +take one last walk round your pretty Bloemfontein, because +I am going back to Cape Town to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Have you any little girls in Cape Town?" asked Poppy, +wishing to detain her a little longer. She laughed at that.</p> + +<p>"You funny child! Why I'm not even married. But +I'm going to be, and to the most fascinating man in Africa."</p> + +<p>"Is his name Lancelot?"</p> + +<p>"No. His name is Nick Capron. How old are you, +child?"</p> + +<p>"Nine."<span class="pagenum">[11]</span></p> + +<p>"Only nine! You look about thirteen, you poor little +thing. Well, good-bye, I must really go."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye; and thank you so much for speaking to +me," Poppy stammered. She felt that she could adore +the beautiful study in brown holland, who only laughed +at her again and went on her way.</p> + +<p>But Poppy, sitting on her rock had a gleam of hope and +happiness; for at last she knew the secret of being +beautiful; <i>and</i>—it had been told her—her eyes were +pretty.</p> + +<p>She sat thinking for a long time and making resolutions. +She even determined to strive to hate Aunt Lena less. +Minor resolutions were—not to be unkind to the children +when they made her angry and told tales on her; not to +quarrel with her two elder cousins, Clara and Emily; not +to scratch them and beat them with her fists when they +called her <i>Foelstruis</i>,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> because her legs were so long and +thin; not to fly into awful rages in which she could not +speak, only shake all over and bite her hands and lips till +the blood came; not to sit and think of Aunt Lena's ways +until a red curtain came down before her eyes and her heart +felt like a red-hot coal burning her to death.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Ostrich.</p></div> + +<p>These were a few of the terrible obstacles in the path to +beauty which she set herself to overcome. There were +other arts, too, she would practise to the same end. She +would brush her hair until it sprang into waves, even as +the hair of the beautiful one in brown. She would cut her +eyelashes, as Clara did, to make them thick and long. +She would run and jump, even when she was tired, to make +her body strong and her cheeks pink. She would walk +upright, even when she had the pain in her stomach, so +that she might grow tall and graceful. Furthermore, she +would find out from old Sara where that wonderful milky +cactus grew, which the young Basuto girls gathered and +<span class="pagenum">[12]</span>rubbed upon their breasts in the moonlight to make them +grow round and firm as young apples.</p> + +<p>Last, but most important of all, she evolved from her +dreamings and devisings a promise to herself that she +would never, <i>never</i> do mean things, for meanness she surely +knew to be the friend of hideousness. Meanness showed +in the face. Could not anyone see it in Aunt Lena's face? +The traces of mean thoughts and deeds showed in the +narrow space between her eyebrows, in the specks in her +pale eyes, were brushed into her sleek, putty-coloured hair +and crinkled her coarse thick hands. If you only looked +at the freckles and loose skin all round her wrists, her fat +fingers and the way her ears stuck out, you must see how +cruel and hateful she could be, thought Poppy. Whereupon, +forgetting the greatest of her resolutions in a moment, +she fell to hating her Aunt Lena again with a particular +malignancy. But presently she noticed that the trees were +casting long giant shadows towards the town, pansy-coloured +clouds were in the sky, and a certain dewiness +had come into the air. Hastily collecting the children she +departed with them. In the same order as they came, +they returned home down the long white street.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But it was hard in the house of Aunt Lena Kennedy +to attain beauty through virtue.</p> + +<p>On Saturdays Poppy even forgot that she had ever +made resolutions to that end. Upon that day of days, +Mrs. Kennedy subjected her house and all that therein +was to a scrubbing in which there was no niggardliness of +what she termed "elbow grease." Poppy was not exempt; +her turn came at ten o'clock at night; and that was the +hour of shame and rage for Poppy. When all the rest of +the children were comfortably in bed, sucking their weekly +supply of <i>lekkers</i>, Mrs. Kennedy would roll up her sleeves +and approach in a workmanlike manner the big pan-bath<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> +in the middle of the kitchen, wherein stood Poppy, lank, +thin-limbed, and trembling—but not with cold—under the +scrutiny of the speckled eyes she hated so well.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you bad-tempered little cat!" was the usual preliminary; +"why can't you be grateful to me for taking the +trouble to keep you clean? It isn't every aunt by marriage +who would do it, I can tell you. I suppose you'd like +to go about with the dirt ingrained in you! What are you +shivering and cringing like that for? Are you ashamed of +your own body?"</p> + +<p>"It is horrible to be naked, aunt," she would retort, +striving to keep tears from bursting forth and full of apprehension +that someone might come into the wide-open +kitchen doors.</p> + +<p>"Horrible! what's horrible about it, I'd like to know, +except in your own nasty little mind? A body like a +<i>spring-kaan</i>,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> that's what you've got ... and don't want +me to see it, I suppose! Dirty pride! the ugliest child <i>I've</i> +ever seen ... the longest legs ... and the skinniest +arms ... look what nice fat arms Clara and Emily's +got! ... one would think you never got enough to +eat ... pass me that other arm."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Grasshopper.</p></div> + +<p>With a rough flannel and blue mottled soap she scoured +Poppy's body and face as if it had been the face of a rock; +scrubbing and rubbing until the skin crackled like a fire +beneath her vigorous hand. Later came a scraping down +with a bath towel made of something of the same fibre as +a door-mat. At last Poppy crept to her bed, her eyes like +pin-points in her head from the scalding of the strong soap; +her hair strained back from her sore, glazed face and +plaited as tightly as possible into two pig-tails behind her +ears.</p> + +<p>On such nights she was far enough from the beauty she +so much coveted. To herself she appeared hideous<span class="pagenum">[14]</span>—<i>hideous</i>. +It gave her pain to look at herself in the glass. +And she believed that her aunt made her hideous with +malignant intent. Her cousins had their hair loosely +plaited, and it hung nicely over their faces, and they had +frills to their nightgowns. Poppy's nightgown of unbleached +calico had a tight narrow neck-band that nearly +strangled her when buttoned with a linen button the size +of a small saucer.</p> + +<p>Those were the nights when a thousand devils ate at +her heart and fought within her, and she knew she could +never be beautiful. She would lie awake for hours, just +to loathe her aunt and concoct tortures for her. In imagination +she cut slits in that hated body and filled them with +salt and mustard, or anything that would burn; dug sharp +knives into the cruel heart; saw the narrow hard face lying +on the floor and beat into it with a hammer until it was red, +red, red—and everything was red.</p> + +<p>"Scorpion! Scorpion!" she would rave.</p> + +<p>Worn out at last and half asleep she would choke and +groan and bite her pillow, thinking she had her enemy +under her hands, until her cousins in their big bed across +the room would call out:</p> + +<p>"Ma! I wish you would come and speak to Miss +Poppy here. She's calling you a 'scorpion'!"</p> + +<p>The chances were that Mrs. Kennedy, in no pleasant +temper after all her exertions, would fly into the room, +tear down the bedclothes, and administer two or three +stinging slaps on Poppy's bare body, crying out upon her +for an ungrateful, vile-tempered little fagot.</p> + +<p>"You want a <i>sjambok</i> round you, that's what you want, +my lady, and you'll get it one of these days. I shan't +go on with you in this patient way for ever."</p> + +<p>"I won't have a <i>sjambok</i> used on a child in my house," +Uncle Bob would mutter in the dining-room, asserting +himself in this one matter at least.<span class="pagenum">[15]</span></p> + +<p>But Clara and Emily would jeer from their beds, calling +her <i>Miss</i> Poppy in fine derision.</p> + +<p>"<i>Now</i> you've got it! How did you like that, hey? +<i>Lekker</i>, hey?"</p> + +<p>Some time after midnight Poppy would weep herself to +sleep.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Once Poppy used to go to St. Gabriel's Infant School, +where she had learned to read and write; but when the +twins arrived in the world, Aunt Lena could no longer +spare her from home, and her education languished for +three years. But at last there came a letter from her +god-mother in Port Elizabeth saying that she had sent +five pounds to St. Michael's Home, asking the Sisters to +give Poppy as much education as possible for that sum.</p> + +<p>Poppy was wild with delight. It had been beyond her +wildest dreams to go to St. Michael's and learn all sorts of +wonderful things with all the <i>grand</i> children of Bloemfontein. +She could not believe that such joy was to be hers. Mrs. +Kennedy made great objections to the scheme, and seemed +likely to get her way until her husband took the trouble +to insist. So Poppy went off one morning full of hope +and high ambition, in a clean, very stiffly starched overall +of faded galatea, her old straw hat freshly decorated with a +yellow pugaree that hung in long tails down her back.</p> + +<p>But school was only the beginning of a fresh era of +misery. The girls stared at her old boots and sneered at +her pugaree, and no one would be friends with her because +she wore white cotton stockings, which were only sixpence +a pair, and sold to Kaffir girls to wear on Sundays.</p> + +<p>Poppy gave back sneer for sneer and taunt for taunt +with great versatility; but her heart was sometimes near +bursting under the galatea overall. It seemed to her that +even the teachers despised her because of her shabbiness +and ugliness, and that when she worked hard at her lessons<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +she got less praise than the pretty girls. "Yes! it's because +I'm ugly, and everything I wear is ugly," she whispered +to herself as she walked home alone every day, hurrying +because she knew the children would be dressed and ready, +waiting to be taken to the Kopje as soon as she had bolted +her cold dinner. Clara's and Emily's dinner was always +kept hot. They went to the Dames' Institute, another +school of some importance where all the nice high Dutch +Boers sent their children: and they got home at two o'clock. +Mrs. Kennedy said she would keep no dinner hot later +than that hour, so that Poppy, arriving at three, found her +stewed mutton cold in a dish of fatty gravy, and sometimes +a bit of cold suet pudding. She would always have "filled +up" contentedly enough with bread, but Mrs. Kennedy +grumbled when too much bread was eaten, as she only +baked once a week.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when Poppy had been very unhappy at +school, she used to stop at the Kopje instead of hurrying +home, so that she could cry without being spied on by +Ina or the twins. She would lie down among the rocks +and the kind green leaves, and moan and cry out against +God and everybody in the world. Her little songs and +stories seemed to have died in her heart and been buried. +She would call out to God that He <i>might</i> have let her have +<i>something</i>—a kind mother, or golden hair, or brains, or a +white skin, or a happy home, or <i>something</i>; it wouldn't +have hurt <i>Him</i>, and it would have made all the difference +to her. Later she passed from argument to anger and +from anger to frenzy; shouting at the sky because she +was ugly and poor and horrible within as well as without, +so that no one loved her and she hated everyone.</p> + +<p>At last, tired out, hopeless, sick with bitter crying, she +would lay her head against an old mimosa tree that had a +curve in its trunk like the curve of a mother's arm, and the +soft odour of the fluffy round yellow blossoms would steal<span class="pagenum">[17]</span> +over her. Later, a land of peace and strength seemed to +come out of the tree to her, and she would have courage to +get up and go on her way.</p> + +<p>One of the teachers, Miss Briggs, was always scolding +her about her hands. She would draw the attention of the +whole class to them, covering Poppy with shame. They +were not big hands like Clara's and Emily's but they were +rough and coarse with housework and through being continually +in the water washing stockings and handkerchiefs +and plates; and in the winter they got horribly chapped, +with blood marks all over them, so that the teachers +couldn't bear to see them and the girls used to say "Sis!" +when she reached for anything. Her nails, too, were often +untidy, and her hair. She never had time in the mornings +to give it more than just one brush and tie it back in her +neck, and she used to have to clean her nails with a pin or a +mimosa thorn while she was hurrying to school, learning +her lessons on the way. It was the only time she had to +learn them, except in the afternoons when she took the +children out. If they were good and would stay happy, +she could get out her books from under the pram seat and +learn; but almost immediately Ina would want to be played +with, or Georgie would fall down and hurt himself and +whimper in her arms for half an hour. The fact was that +the children had been brought up to believe that Poppy was +in the world entirely for their comfort and convenience, and +they could not bear to see her doing anything that was not +for them.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell ma," was their parrot cry: and that meant +boxes on the ear.</p> + +<p>"I up with my hand" was a favourite phrase of Aunt +Lena's.</p> + +<p>In the evenings Ina must always be sung to sleep, and +sometimes would not go off for more than an hour. Then +Mrs. Kennedy would say briskly:<span class="pagenum">[18]</span></p> + +<p>"Now get your lessons done, Porpie!"</p> + +<p>But by then Poppy's head would be aching and her +eyes would hardly keep open, and what she did learn would +not stay in her head until the next morning.</p> + +<p>And after all, none of the teachers seemed to care much +whether she learned them or not. If by accident she did +them well, she got no praise; if she did them ill she was +scolded and the lesson was "returned"—that meant being +kept in on Friday afternoons until the lesson had been +learnt or rewritten. But when Friday afternoon came, +Poppy could not stay; there were the children to be taken +out, and her ears would be boxed if she were too late to do +that; she would get no tea, and the whole house would be +thoroughly upset. So the "returned" lessons had to go to +the wall. She would slink home when supposed to be taking +recreation in the play-ground before the "returned" bell +rang. That meant bad conduct marks, unpopularity with +the teachers, and as the deserted Fridays mounted up—all +hope lost of gaining a prize. After a while the teachers +said she was incorrigible, and gave her no more attention.</p> + +<p>"I wonder you bother to come to school at all, Poppy," +was the favourite gibe of Miss Briggs.</p> + +<p>When examination days came she did badly, except in +history and geography, which she liked and found easy.</p> + +<p>Break-up day was the worst of all.</p> + +<p>The girls all came in their pretty soft white frocks and +looked sweet. Only Poppy was ugly, in a piqué frock, +starched like a board, her hair frizzed out in a bush, her pale +face looking yellow and sullen against the over-blued white +dress; her long legs and her narrow feet longer and narrower +than ever in white stockings and elastic-sided boots.</p> + +<p>There was never any prize for her.</p> + +<p>She knew there never would be. She used to keep saying +inside herself:</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course</i> there isn't a prize for you"; and yet she<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> +was so silly, her ears were cracking and straining all the +time to hear her name read out of the list. And her heart +used to feel like a stone when the list came to an end without +her name being called; and her pale face would be +strangely red and burning like fire. Sometimes a little +extra piece would be read, that Poppy Destin's historical +essay or geography paper was the best, but the prize had +been passed on to the second best on account of this girl's +disobedience, untidiness, and the number of undone returned +lessons against her name. Then everybody would +look at Poppy Destin, and her heart would stop so still that +she believed she must fall down dead in one minute.</p> + +<p>But the entertainment would go on. The girls fetched +their prizes from the table covered with lovely books, and +curtseyed to Lady Brand, who spoke and smiled to each +one of them. Afterwards would come the recitations and +songs that everyone joined in but Poppy. She had been +turned out of the singing-class because she sang off the key. +Also, Sister Anna said, she moaned instead of singing; +though Poppy was aware that she had lovely tunes going +on inside her head all the time. It must have been true +about the moaning, for Ina used to say when Poppy sang +to her at nights:</p> + +<p>"Your songs always sound just's if you are crying all +the time, Poppy."</p> + +<p>She loved music, but was not allowed to learn it. Clara +learned and Emily could have if she had liked, but Aunt +Lena said she couldn't afford those "frills" for Poppy. +Once a lady named Mrs. Dale offered to teach the child +if she could be spared two afternoons a week, and Poppy +begged her uncle to let her go. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You must ask your aunt if she can spare you, Poppy."</p> + +<p>"Spare her!" shrieked Mrs. Kennedy. "Isn't she +away all day now? What help do I get from her, I'd like +to know? and now she wants to go gadding off in the<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> +afternoons, the only time she can be of a little use to take +the children off my hands. Music indeed! Gadding with +Nellie Dale is more like it."</p> + +<p>"Only twice a week, uncle," pleaded Poppy.</p> + +<p>"My girl, you must do what your aunt thinks best. +Can't you spare her two afternoons a week, Lena?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, let her go ... fine musician she'll make, <i>I'm</i> +sure," said that lady. And for two weeks Poppy went. +Then Mrs. Kennedy, storming and raving, refused to let +her go again. She missed her slave; so Poppy went back +to the old life of weariness; but she had something new +to think over. Mrs. Dale had known her mother quite +well, and remembered Poppy as a baby.</p> + +<p>"You were a sweet little thing," she said. "So beautifully +kept, and the apple of your mother's eye."</p> + +<p>This was most wonderful and shining news. Any illusions +Poppy might have had about her mother had long +since been scattered by such remarks from her aunt +as:</p> + +<p>"Your mother ought to be alive. She'd have skinned +you for your dirtiness—your deceit, your laziness" (whatever +the crime might be).</p> + +<p>Or:</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing your mother's lying cold in her grave, +my girl—she would have had murder on her soul if she had +had <i>you</i> to deal with."</p> + +<p>Now, to hear that her mother had been a gentle and kind +woman, not beautiful, but with wonderful Irish eyes and +"a laugh like a bird's song!"</p> + +<p>"Clever, too," said Mrs. Dale. "Though she was only +a poor Irish girl and came out here with the emigrants, she +had a lot of learning, and had read more books than anyone +in Bloemfontein. I think the priests must have educated +her."</p> + +<p>"But why has no one ever told me before?" asked Poppy<span class="pagenum">[21]</span> +in amazement. "No one speaks of her, or of my father, +to me! Why?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale shook her gentle head.</p> + +<p>"Ah well, my dear, she's at rest now and your wild +Irish father too. Her heart broke when he broke his neck +somewhere down on the diamond diggings, and she didn't +want to live any longer, even for you—her Poppy-flower +she always called you. One day, when I went to see her, +she said to me, looking at you with those eyes of hers that +were like dewy flowers: 'Perhaps my little Poppy-flower +will get some joy out of life, Mrs. Dale. It can't be for +nothing that Joe and I have loved each other so much. It +must bring some gift to the child.' And she told me that +the reason she had called you Poppy was that in Ireland +they have a saying that poppies bring forgetfulness and +freedom from pain; but then she took to weeping, that +weeping that is like lost melodies, and that only the Irishry +know.</p> + +<p>"'But I see,' she wailed, 'that she's marked out for +sorrow—I see it—I see it.' And three nights after that +she died."</p> + +<p>This was Mrs. Dale's story. Poppy treasured it in her +heart with the verbal picture of her mother, "eyes like a +dewy morning, black, black hair, and a beautiful swaying +walk."</p> + +<p>"It must have been like hearing one of those old Irish +melodies played on a harp, to see her walk along the +street," was the thought Poppy evolved from Mrs. Dale's +description.</p> + +<p>After that she never found life quite unlovely again. +But she longed to hear more, and whenever she could, +even at the risk of curses and blows, she would steal to +kind Mrs. Dale for another word. How ardently she +wished her mother had lived. How unutterably beautiful +to be called Poppy-flower! instead of <i>Porpie</i>! Her mother<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> +would have understood, too, the love and craving for +books which had seized her since she had more learning. +She would not have been obliged to creep into the fowls' +<i>hok</i> or the forage-house when she wanted to read some +book she had borrowed or found lying about the house, +or the old Tennyson which she had rescued from the ash-heap +one day and kept hidden under the chaff-bags in +the forage-house.</p> + +<p>"There's that Porpie with a book again!" was her +aunt's outraged cry. "Lazy young huzzy! For ever +squatting with her nose poked into a book reading some +wickedness or foolishness I'll be bound.... Anything +rather than be helpful ... no wonder your face is yellow +and green, miss ... sitting with your back crooked up +instead of running about or doing some housework ... +more to your credit if you got a duster and polished the +dining-room table or mended that hole in the leg of your +stocking." Oh, the thousands of uninteresting things +there are to be done in the world! thought Poppy. The +dusters and damnations of life!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She used to long to be taken ill so that she might have +a rest in bed and be able at last to read as much as she +liked. But when she broke her arm she was too ill to care +even about reading, and when she got scarlet fever she +could not really enjoy herself, for Ina sickened of it too, +and was put into bed with her, and was so fretful, always +crying unless she was told stories or sung to. So they +got better together and <i>that</i> was over.</p> + +<p>Before she was twelve Poppy's schooldays came to +an end. The five sovereigns had been spent and there +was no more to come. Wasted money, Mrs. Kennedy +said, and wrote and told the god-mother so. The fact +that never a single prize had been won was damning +evidence that the culprit was both idle and a dunce. It<span class="pagenum">[23]</span> +was quite true that she had learnt nothing much in the +way of lessons. History and geography or anything with +a story in it, or poetry, were the only things that interested +her. Grammar and arithmetic were nothing but +stumbling-blocks in her path, though she never spoke bad +grammar, being quick to detect the difference in the +language of her teachers and that of her aunt, and profiting +by it, and she learned to use her voice as they did too—softly +and low—never speaking the half-Dutch, half-English +patter used by Mrs. Kennedy and her children +to the accompaniment of "Och, what?" "Hey?" and +"Sis!" Her Uncle Bob had a sweet way of turning his +words in his lips, which made even the kitchen-Dutch +pleasant to the ear, and with great delight Poppy discovered +one day that she also had this trick. Not for years however, +did she realise that this was Ireland in her tongue; +her country's way of marking Bob Kennedy and Poppy +Destin as her own, in spite of Africa.</p> + +<p>Her ear was fine for beautiful sounds and her aunt's +voice scraped the inside of her head more and more as +time went on, and whenever the latter dropped an "h" +Poppy picked it up and stored it in that dark inner +cupboard of hers where was kept all scorn and contempt.</p> + +<p>She never made a remark herself without <i>thinking</i> it +first and deciding how it was going to sound, so afraid +was she of getting to speak like her aunt. Often she used +to practise talking, or recite to herself when she thought +no one was listening, but when overheard, fresh sneers +were thrown at her.</p> + +<p>"Was she going daft then? ... speaking to herself +like a crazy Hottentot ... concocting impudence, no +doubt ... the lunatic asylum was <i>her</i> place ... and +don't let me hear you again, my lady, or I'll up with my +hand ... etc."</p> + +<p>One day Ina fell very ill, and Mrs. Kennedy sent a<span class="pagenum">[24]</span> +messenger flying for the doctor. When he came he shook +his head gravely, and after a week or two announced that +the child had dropsy. It sometimes followed on scarlet +fever, he said ... especially if the child had taken +cold ... probably she had been sitting on the damp +ground. At once Mrs. Kennedy's imagination conjured +up a picture of Ina sitting on a damp stone on the Kopje +while Poppy amused herself reading a book. That was +quite enough to convince her as to who was the cause +of the child's illness. Thereafter she never ceased to +reproach Poppy with this new crime.</p> + +<p>"If it hadn't been for <i>your</i> wicked carelessness, my +child wouldn't be lying at death's door now," was her +eternal cry, followed by a long list of all the sins and +offences committed by Poppy since first the affliction of +her presence had fallen upon the Kennedys' home.</p> + +<p>"A thorn in my side, that's what you've been ever since +I first set eyes on your yellow face.... I don't know +what God lets such beasts as you go on living for ... no +good to anyone ... dirty, deceitful little slut ... nose +always in a book ... muttering to yourself like an Irish +Fenian ... ill-treating my children.... Your mother +ought to have been alive, that's what ... <i>she</i> would +have learned you ... etc."</p> + +<p>A fresh offence was that little Ina would have no one +else with her but the despised and evil one. The cry on +her lips was always, "Poppy, Poppy—come, Poppy!"</p> + +<p>She lay in her cot, white and swollen, and marbly-looking, +and at first the doctor steamed her incessantly; +a wire cage covered with blankets over her body, a big +kettle, with its long spout stuck into the cage, boiling at +the foot of the bed. She would moan and fret at the heat +and Poppy had to be singing to her always; even fairy +tales she would have sung to her. One day the doctor +cut three slits in the instep of each poor little foot while<span class="pagenum">[25]</span> +she lay in Poppy's arms, clinging and wailing, and Poppy, +quivering and sick, watched the sharp little knife and the +water spouting out almost up to the ceiling—no blood came. +After that, all Ina's marbly look was gone, and it was plain +to see that she was nothing but a little white skeleton; and +so weak she could hardly whisper to Poppy to sing to her—"There's +a Friend for little children," and "Snow-white +and Rose-red"—her favourite hymn and her favourite +fairy-tale.</p> + +<p>It had never occurred to Poppy that the child would +die; but one day the doctor stood a long time watching +her as she lay staring straight at the ceiling with her pretty +brown eyes all glazy, and her little ghost hands clutching +the bars of her cot, and presently he shrugged his shoulders +in a hopeless way and turned to Mrs. Kennedy.</p> + +<p>"I thought we might save her as she was so young, +but——"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Then he went away and did not come so often after. +And day by day Ina grew thinner and whiter, and her +eyes got bigger and shone more, and she never made a +sound except to whisper, "Poppy—sing, Poppy."</p> + +<p>Poppy's voice had gone to a whisper too, then, and she +could only make strange sounds in her throat; but Ina +did not notice that.</p> + +<p>The whole family used to creep into the room and stand +round the cot, while Poppy sat there with Ina's hand in +hers, whispering songs between the bars of the cot, while +her head felt as though there were long sharp needles +running through it, and her throat and body were full of +horrible pains. Sometimes the room seemed all cloudy +and she only faintly saw dead faces through the dimness; +Ina and she whispering together seemed to be the only +alive people in the world.</p> + +<p>Even Aunt Lena's tongue was still those days, and<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +forgot to abuse, but sometimes when Ina turned away +from her, moaning for Poppy, the mother's eyes could be +seen gleaming malignantly across the cot. Poppy glared +back, for she had come to love little Ina so passionately +that she could hardly bear anyone else to come near. No +one had ever wanted Poppy and loved her before, and +from her gratitude sprang a deep love for the sick child. +All through the day she sat by the cot, even taking her +food there, and at night she slept wrapt in a blanket on +the floor or sitting in a chair by the bed.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One evening at nine o'clock Ina died.</p> + +<p>Poppy had been singing a little Boer love song to her in a +dreadful rustling voice, with face pressed against the cold +bars and eyes shut, when she heard a gentle sigh that +seemed to pass over her face like soft white feathers. She +left off singing and peered down into the cot. The room +was very dim, but she could see the little white face with +the soft damp rings of hair round it, lying very still and +with eyes closed.</p> + +<p>"Ina," she whispered with a dreadful fear. "Ina, +speak to Poppy—open eyes, darling."</p> + +<p>But Ina never opened eyes or spoke again.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Immediately Mrs. Kennedy filled the house with her +lamentations, and mingled with them were cursings and +revilings of Poppy. She would kill her, she shrieked, even +as her child had been killed by that cursed Irish Fenian. +She was raving mad for the time, and no doubt she would +have killed Poppy, or attempted it, if her husband had not +been there to keep her by main force from violence. But +that Poppy should be driven from the house she insisted.</p> + +<p>"She shall not sleep under my roof with that innocent +little corpse," she screamed. "Go, go out of the house, +brute and beast and devil." And breaking loose from<span class="pagenum">[27]</span> +her husband's hands she caught hold of the ghost-like +child and flung her into the yard.</p> + +<p>When Poppy got up from the ground it was late and the +door was shut for the night. The world was black save +for a few pale stars. She wondered heavily where she could +go and lie down and sleep. She was like a man who has +walked unceasingly for hundreds of miles. She could +think of nothing but sleep. She groped for the forage-house +door, thinking how sweet it would be to rest there on +the bundles of forage, with the smell of the pumpkins coming +down from the roof, where they were ripening; but +the door was locked. The fowl-hok swarmed with lice in +the summer; even in her weariness her flesh crept at the +thought of spending the night there. She remembered the +Kopje and her old friend the mimosa tree, but there was a +certain gloom about the Kopje on a dark night. At last she +thought of the poplar trees by the Big Dam; they were her +friends—all trees were her friends. When her heart hurt +her most and her eyes seemed bursting from her head +because she could not cry, if she could get close to a tree +and press against it, and put the leaves to her eyes, some +of her misery seemed to be taken away: thoughts and +hopes would come into her mind, she could forget what +had made her unhappy and her little songs would begin +to make themselves heard.</p> + +<p>When she broke her arm she used to cry all night for +them to put green leaves on the place to stop the aching, +but they would not. Only the doctor, when he heard +about it, brought her a bunch of geranium leaves one +morning. She put them quickly under her pillow and +when no one was there laid them down by her side, because +she could not get them under the splints, and they eased +the pain, until they were withered and "Aunt Lena" found +them in the bed and threw them away: then the pain was +as bad as ever.<span class="pagenum">[28]</span></p> + +<p>The poplar trees grew in a long line of thirty or so by the +side of the Big Dam which lay just outside the town past +the Presidency. Poppy was sometimes allowed to take the +children there, when Clara and Emily went to help mind +the children, in case they climbed up the dam wall and fell +into the water. They were tall, grand trees, that never +ceased rustling in the breeze that crept across the big +expanse of water, even on the hottest days. Poppy had +climbed every one of them, and she never forgot the +moment of pure gold joy that she felt when she reached +the top of each and sat there silent and afar from the +world, cloistered round by the mysteriously whispering +leaves. But the seventh tree was her specially loved +friend. It belonged to her—and she had climbed to its +very tip, higher than anyone ever had before, and cut her +name in the soft pale bark.</p> + +<p>And this was the friend she turned to on that night of +dreadful weariness when Ina died.</p> + +<p>She never knew how she got through the town, silent +and dark, and over the little hill thick with <i>bessie</i> bushes +and rocks that lay between the Dames' Institute and the +Presidency. She did not even remember climbing the +tree, which had a thick smooth trunk and was hard to get +up for the first six or seven feet. But at last she was in her +seat at the top between two branches, cuddling up to the +mother-trunk with her arms round it and her eyes closed.</p> + +<p>Then, even though her heart took comfort, the darkness +and strange sounds of the night terrified her, and filled +her with dread and despair. There were wild ducks flying +and circling in long black lines against the pallid stars +over the dam, wailing to each other as though they had +lost something they could never, never find again. And +the wind on the water made a dreary pattering that sounded +like the bare feet of hundreds of dead people who had +come out of the graveyards close by, and were hurrying<span class="pagenum">[29]</span> +backwards and forwards on the dam. Then there would +be a mysterious rushing through the trees and all the +leaves would quiver and quake against each other, like +little ghosts that were afraid to be out in the dark night. +Poppy wondered if Ina's little ghost was with them.</p> + +<p>In the highest windows of the Dames' Institute there +were still a few lights showing, and a dim red glow came +from a window at one end of the Presidency, and when +Poppy opened her eyes these seemed like friends to her. +But they went out one by one, and with the last, light +seemed to go out of her mind too. She shut her eyes again, +and pressed her heart against the poplar tree, and called +through the darkness to her mother. She did not know +whether she really called aloud, but it seemed to her +that a long thin shriek burst from her lips, as a +bullet bursts from a gun, piercing through the air for +miles.</p> + +<p>"Mother! Mother! Mother, my heart is breaking." +She sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, gripping the little +ghostly leaves and pressing them to her eyes. But her +mother did not come, of course. No one came. Only the +little ghostly leaves shivered more than ever and the dreary +dead feet came pattering over the water. At this time a +sweet, sad cadence of words streamed into Poppy's head +and began to form a little song. Strange, that though its +burden was misery and wretchedness, it presently began to +comfort her a little.</p> + +<p>"My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea"—it ran.</p> + +<p>Yet Poppy had never seen the sea.</p> + +<p>Everyone in the world seemed to be sleeping except the +dead people and Poppy. Even the clock in the Government +buildings struck as though muffled up in blankets, +speaking in its sleep. When it was striking she raised +her head to listen and count the strokes, and forgetting +the horror of the night opened her eyes—and beheld a<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> +terrible, shroudy vision creeping over the world. It came +very slowly and stealthily, like a grey witch in a tale of +horror, and ate up little patches of darkness as it came, +swelling larger as it ate. Oh! the dead people swaying to +and fro on the water! She prayed they might be gone +back to their graves before the grey witch reached them +with her long, clutching fingers; she prayed in a frenzy +of fear for herself, calling to Christ and Mary Mother of +God, to save her from the grey witch. She rocked herself +backwards and forwards, praying and moaning, and almost +falling from the tree, and at last in reckless desperation +opened her eyes, and glared out over the dam—and saw +that the dawn had come. The grey witch had turned +into a lovely lady, all decked in palest pink, with her arms +spread wide in the sky, trailing long veils of sheeny lavender +cloud behind her.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A man and a boy with guns in their hands were creeping +along under the dam wall, trying to get near a covey of +wild duck on the water. Presently they stopped, and +crouching, took aim and fired. The birds rose in a swarm +and flew shrieking in long black lines, leaving two poor +little black bodies on the dam—one flapping the water +with a feeble wing, trying to rise, and falling back every time. +The boy threw off his clothes and went in after them, +while the man drew under the shadow of the dam wall, and +began to run, making for the far side of the water, where +the ducks seemed likely to settle again.</p> + +<p>Presently the lady of the sky grew brighter and streaks +of gold came into her pink and lavender veils; the grass +was all silvery with the heavy dew, and the earth gave up +a sweet and lovely smell. God seems to go away from +Africa at night, but He comes back most beautiful and +radiant in the morning. Birds began to chirrup and twitter +in the trees and bushes, and take little flying journeys in<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> +the air. The clock struck five—clear and bell-like strokes +now, that sang and echoed out into the morning.</p> + +<p>Poppy felt cold and stiff and hungry, and very tired, as +though she should fall down and die if she stayed in the +tree any longer.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do, and nowhere to go but home. +After all, Aunt Lena could only kill her once. Then +she would join Ina and see her mother, and hear Irish +melodies, and be where it was not cold or lonely any more. +She got down from the tree almost cheerfully and made her +way through the grass, plucking a few <i>crase bessies</i> by the +way and munching them as she walked. There was hardly +anyone about the town, except a few <i>boys</i> carrying pails +of water from the fountain. When she reached home, she +found that the house was still shut and locked, with all the +blinds down. So she sat on the kitchen step and waited +until old Sara, coming out to get wood for the fire, nearly +fell over her.</p> + +<p>"Tch! Tch! Tch!" she clucked. "<i>Arme kentze! +War vas sig gisterand?</i>" (Poor child! Where were you +last night?)</p> + +<p>"<i>Dar bij de dam. Ge koffi O'Sara. Ik is freeslik kow.</i>" +(Up by the Big Dam. Give me some coffee, Sara. I am +very cold.)</p> + +<p>"Jah! Jah!" said old Sara, and hurried away, clucking +and muttering, to make the fire and get the morning coffee. +Poppy went in and warmed herself, and presently got +down the cups and beakers and stood them in a row on the +kitchen table. Cups and saucers for aunt and uncle and +Clara and Emily, and beakers for the children. Old Sara +poured them full of steaming black coffee, added milk and +sugar and a home-made rusk in each saucer, and carried +them away to the bedrooms. Poppy sat down with a +beaker full, dipping a rusk into the coffee and eating it +sopped, because the rusks are too hard to eat any other<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> +way. Presently old Sara came and squatted on her +haunches by the fire too, drinking her coffee from a white +basin with a blue band round it (blue that it gave Poppy +a pain to look at, it was so cold and livid), and making +fearful squelching noises, she sopped and ate. Rolling +her big black and white eyes at Poppy, she whispered all +that had happened after she had gone. Aunt Lena had +screamed and cried for hours, raving that she would not +have her child's murderess in the house again. She could +go and live in the fowls' <i>hok</i>, or the forage-house, until +another home was found for her, but if Poppy came into +her sight again, she would tear her limb from limb. Afterwards +she had coughed and spat up blood. Old Sara +wagged her head, giving this piece of information as one +who should say: "Serve her right, too." The doctor had +come and said that "something was broken inside." Old +Sara patted her wobbly stomach. "She must go to bed +and not move for a month or she would go too." Old +Sara pointed sanctimoniously upwards.</p> + +<p>It was even so. Aunt Lena lay for weeks on her bed, +but still ruling her house from it. Poppy was not allowed +to eat or sleep under the house roof. A blanket was given +to her, and she slept on the bales of chaff in the out-house +with a bundle of forage for a pillow. Old Sara brought to +her there such meals as she was allowed to receive.</p> + +<p>The twins were not allowed to speak to her: a strange +girl was hired to take them out—Poppy did not mind that. +Clara and Emily passed her in the yard as though she +was a jackal or some unclean beast—she minded that +even less. The only thing she minded at all, was not being +allowed to see Ina before she was buried.</p> + +<p>On the day of the funeral, the little cold form in the coffin +was not more cold and numb than one lying out in the +out-house between two bales of chaff. Despair of mourning +had Poppy by the throat. She could have wailed like a<span class="pagenum">[33]</span> +banshee. Indeed, if her voice had not gone from her, it is +probable that she would have relieved the pressure on +her heart and brain in this fashion. As it was, she was +the only person in the place who gave no outward sign of +mourning. Her old blue galatea overall, with the pattern +worn faint in front, and the sleeves in rags, might have +grown to her back. But old Sara was given a dark dress of +Aunt Lena's, and a new black <i>dook</i> to wear on her head. +Clara and Emily had new black alpaca dresses, with tucks +round the bottom and black ribbon sashes. Eight little +girls came dressed in white, with their hair down and long +floating white muslin veils hanging behind, and bunches +of white flowers in their hands. They were to carry the +coffin in turns, four carrying and four walking behind, +because it was a very long way to the graveyard. Mr. +Kennedy and Georgie and Bobby walked behind them, and +then a great many men. But the saddest mourner of all +watched from the crack of the forage-house door, and +thought how sad and beautiful it all was, and how it would +have been spoilt if she had gone out and joined it in her +blue overall; and after the procession was out of sight, lay +there on her face on the chaff, and could not cry; and +seemed to have swallowed a stone, that stuck in her +throat and gave her dreadful pains all across her chest; +and whose heart kept saying: "I hate God! I hate +aunt!" And when she tried to scream it aloud, found +that she had no voice.</p> + +<p>In the evening when the sun was set, but before it was +dark, a figure stole out of the back yard, crept through +the empty <i>spruit</i>, slipped through a private garden and +came out by the cathedral steps; then up past the big +church bell that tolled for the dead, and so to the graveyard.</p> + +<p>All the way she gathered wild flowers and grasses—rock-maiden-hair, +<i>rooi gras</i>, moon-flowers, and most especially +shivery-grass, and the little perky rushes with a flower<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> +sprouting out of them, which the children call <i>tulps</i>. Ina +had always loved these. Some "four o'clocks" too, stolen +from a front garden as she passed, were added, and even +a <i>stink bloem</i> graced the great bunch with which Poppy +entered the churchyard.</p> + +<p>She found a new little heap of red earth that she knew +must be Ina's grave, for it was all covered with wreaths +and the bunches of flowers the eight girls had carried. +Scraping them all to the foot of the grave, Poppy laid hers +where she thought Ina's hands would be, whispering +down through the earth:</p> + +<p>"From Poppy, Ina—Poppy who loves you best of all."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Some nights old Sara would come sneaking softly over to +the forage-house, to sit a while with Poppy; sometimes +she had a rusk to give the prisoner; most often she had +nothing but an end of candle, but that was very welcome. +Lighting it, and sticking it on a side beam, she would squat +on the floor, and taking off her <i>dook</i>, proceed to comb +her wool. Poppy was glad of company, and interested +in the frank way old Sara attended to the business of +catching and killing her <i>chochermanners</i>; besides, there +were a lot of interesting things in old Sara's wool besides +<i>chochermanners</i>: there was a little bone box full of snuff, and +a little bone spoon to put it in the nose with; and a piece +of paper with all old Sara's money in it; and a tooth +belonging to old Sara's mother, and several small home-made +bone combs and pins and charms.</p> + +<p>Old Sara's Dutch was poor, and Poppy could not speak +Basuto, so that much conversation did not ensue, but +black people can tell a great deal without saying much.</p> + +<p>Once Poppy asked her why she did not go to her <i>kraal</i> +and live with her children instead of working for white +people.</p> + +<p>Old Sara took snuff and answered briefly:<span class="pagenum">[35]</span></p> + +<p>"<i>Ek het nê kinders, oor Ek is ne getroud.</i>" (I have no +children, because I am not married.)</p> + +<p>This was good, but not infallible logic, as Poppy even +in her few years had discovered.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you get married when you were young, +old Sara?" she queried.</p> + +<p>Old Sara rolled her eyes mournfully at the child, and +muttered some words in her own language. Then slowly +she undid the buttons of many kinds and colours which +adorned the front of her dress. From the left bosom she +took a large bundle of rags, and placed them carefully on +the floor, then opening her bodice wide, she revealed her +black body bare to the waist. Poppy's astonished gaze fell +upon a right breast—no object of beauty, but large and +heavy; but where the left breast should be was only a +little shrivel of brown skin high up out of line with the +other.</p> + +<p>That was old Sara's only answer to Poppy's question. +Afterwards she quietly replaced her bundle of rags, and +rebuttoned her dress.</p> + +<p>As for Poppy, she pondered the problem long. At last +she made a little song, which she called:</p> + +<p>"The woman with the crooked breast."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One night old Sara brought news.</p> + +<p>Poppy's box was being packed. In two days she was +going to be sent away in the post-cart. Poppy thrilled +with joy, and had no foreboding until next day when she +overheard Clara and Emily whispering together in the +yard. It transpired that though they envied Poppy the +journey to Boshof in the post-cart, they did not envy her +subsequent career under the protection of their mother's +sister, Aunt Clara Smit.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember that time ma sent us there when +Ina had the diphtheria? We never got anything but<span class="pagenum">[36]</span> +bread and dripping, and she was eating chops and steaks +all the time."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Clara, "and remember how she used to +beat <i>Katzi</i>, the little Hottentot girl, in bed every night +for a week until the blood came, just because she broke +a cup."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" they chirruped, "won't Miss Poppy get it +<i>just</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and mammer's going to give her something before +she goes, too. She sent me to buy a <i>sjambok</i> this morning, +because pa's hidden his away, and when he's gone out to +the 'Phœnix' to-night, she's going to have Poppy across +the bed in front of her. You're to hold her head and me +her feet."</p> + +<p>"Tlk! Won't she get it!"</p> + +<p>This interesting piece of news determined Poppy on +a matter which had long been simmering in her mind. +She decided at last that she would take no more beatings +from Aunt Lena, and neither would she sample the quality +of Aunt Clara Smit's charity. She would run away.</p> + +<p>All that afternoon she lay turning the matter over, and +later she took old Sara into her confidence for two reasons: +old Sara must commandeer some food for her, and must +also get for her the only thing she wanted to take away +with her—a round green stone brooch which had belonged +to her mother, and which Aunt Lena kept in her top +drawer.</p> + +<p>Poppy felt sure that with her mother's brooch on her +she need fear nothing in the world; it was green, and +therefore kindly disposed, as all green things were, being +akin to trees.</p> + +<p>It took a long while to beguile old Sara to obtain the +brooch, for the old woman was very honest and she thought +this looked too much like a stealing matter. Eventually +she was persuaded, and a little after seven o'clock she<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> +brought it stealthily to the forage-house, together with a +pocketful of food-scraps saved from her own portion of +the evening meal.</p> + +<p>After this, Poppy did not dare wait another instant. +She knew that as soon as he had finished his supper, her +uncle would light his pipe and stroll off to spend a cheerful +evening in the billiard-room of the "Phœnix Hotel"; +then they would come to fetch her indoors!</p> + +<p>With a hasty farewell to old Sara, her only friend, +she slipped out through the dark yard and ran swiftly up +the street. Her direction was towards the <i>Uitspan</i>, a big +bare place about half a mile from the town where wagons +halted for a night before starting on a journey, or before +bringing their loads into town in the morning. There +was a big <i>Uitspan</i> out beyond St. Michael's, and she made +for that one, remembering there were always plenty of +wagons there.</p> + +<p>When she stole near it in the darkness, she counted +eight wagons, four of which were loaded to depart, since +their dissel-booms were turned away from the town.</p> + +<p>There were several fires burning, and the fume of coffee +was on the night air. Someone was making <i>as-kookies</i> +(ash-cakes) too, for a pleasant smell of burnt dough assailed +Poppy's nose. Four Kaffir <i>boys</i> were sitting round a three-legged +pot, dipping into it and jabbering together, and by +the light of another fire a white woman and three children +were taking their evening meal. The wagon behind them +was loaded with furniture and boxes, and by this Poppy +was sure that they were a family on the move. She crept +nearer to them, keeping in the shadow of the close-growing +bushes. The dull red fires and the stars gave the only +light there was.</p> + +<p>"Ma," said one of the children at the fire, "I see a +spook over there by the bushes." The mother's response +was: "Here, you make haste and finish your coffee and<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +get into the wagon. It's time you children were asleep. +They're going to inspan at eleven and you'd better +get a good sleep before the wagon starts creaking and +jolting."</p> + +<p>This was useful information to Poppy. Her plan was +to follow the wagon when it started and keep near it until +late the next day, when too far from Bloemfontein to be +sent back.</p> + +<p>She crouched lower among the bushes, and presently +began to munch some of her oddments of food, while still +she watched the family she meant to adopt. When they +had finished their meal they first washed up their tin +beakers and plates with water from a small <i>fykie</i> which +hung under the wagon; then everything was carefully put +away into a wooden locker, and they prepared to retire +for the night. The mother was a round-faced, good-natured-looking, +half-Dutch colonial, evidently. She +climbed sturdily into the tented wagon by the help of the +brake and a little <i>reimpe</i> ladder. Across the tent was +swung a <i>cartel</i> (thong mattress) and atop of this was a big +comfortable mattress with pillows and blankets arranged +ready for use. By the light of the lantern which the woman +fixed to the roof of the tent, Poppy could see that the +sides of the tent were lined with calico bags with buttoned-over +flaps, all bulging with the things that would be needed +on the journey. The woman proceeded to store away +more things from a heap in the middle of the bed, some +she put under the pillows, some under the mattress, and +many were tied to the wooden ribs of the tent so that it +presently resembled a Christmas-tree. Meantime the +children clustered on the brake and the <i>reimpe</i> ladder, +fidgeting to climb into the snug-looking nest. The mother +talked while she worked:</p> + +<p>"Here, Alice! I'll put this pair of old boots into the +end bag, they'll do for wearing in the veldt——"<span class="pagenum">[39]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, sis, ma! I hate those old boots, they hurt me—" expostulated +Alice.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, how can they hurt you? You keep your +new ones for Pretoria, anything'll do on the veldt. Now +you all see where I'm putting the comb—and this beaker +we'll keep up in your corner, Minnie, so we don't have to +go to the locker every time we're thirsty. I hope that +boy will hang the <i>fykie</i> where we can reach it. Begin to +take your boots off, Johnny. I'm not going to have you +in here treading on my quilt with those boots; no one is +to get in until they're <i>carl-foot</i>."</p> + +<p>"I'll get <i>deviljies</i> (thorns) in my feet if I take them off +out here," says Johnny. "Can't I sit on the edge of the +bed?"</p> + +<p>"All right then, but keep your feet out. Minnie, take +off that good ribbon and tie your hair with this piece of +tape," etc.</p> + +<p>Eventually they were all in the tent, lying in a row +crossways, the mother by the opening as a sort of barricade. +They did not undress—only loosened their clothes.</p> + +<p>Everyone wanted to lie across the opening. They +couldn't see anything at the back of the tent, they complained; +only had to lie and stare at the things bobbing +overhead.</p> + +<p>"You never mind that," said the mother, arguing. +"You've got three or four weeks to see the veldt and the +oxen in. I'm going to lie here so that I can keep you +children from falling out while we're trekking. Why I +knew a woman once who let her baby lie on the outside, +and in the middle of the night she woke up and heard an +awful crunching under the wheels, and when she felt for +the baby it wasn't there!" This story caused a great +sensation, but presently Johnny asked how the baby's +bones could crunch under the wheels "if it fell out behind +the wagon!"<span class="pagenum">[40]</span></p> + +<p>The mother considered for a moment, then said:</p> + +<p>"It was the wheels of the wagon behind, of course, +<i>dom-kop</i>."</p> + +<p>But Johnny pointed out that a whole span of oxen +would come before the wheels of the next wagon, and that +the baby would be all trodden to bits before the wheels +reached it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>Kgar! Sis!</i>" cried the sisters; and at this his +mother told him amiably to shut his mouth and go to +sleep.</p> + +<p>But though she put out the lantern the talk still went +on intermittently until replaced by snores.</p> + +<p>The <i>boys</i> and the transport-drivers all lay wrapped in +their blankets, snoring too. Only afar the oxen could be +heard moving as they grazed, and the bell on the neck of +one of them clanked restlessly. The fires had died down +to dim red spots. The watcher in the bushes was the only +one awake in the camp. She feared that if she slept the +family in the wagon might be up and away. Her mind +was made up to accompany that good-natured-looking +woman and her family to Pretoria, since that was where +they were bound for. She would follow the wagons and +join them when a long way from Bloemfontein, and her +tale would be that she belonged to a wagon which had gone +on in front. She would pretend that she had got lost, and +ask to be taken on to rejoin her relations in Pretoria.</p> + +<p>At about eleven o'clock the moon rose, but no one +stirred in the camp. Suddenly the figure of a man arose, +took a long whip from the side of a wagon, unwound it, +walked a little way from the camp, swung it whistling +softly round his head for a moment, then sent a frightful +report ringing across the veldt. Afterwards he lay down +again until a great crackling and trampling and shouting +told that the oxen were in the camp with their herders +hooting and yelling round them. In a moment other still<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> +figures were on their feet; a clamour arose of voices +shouting, wooden yokes clattering, dissel-booms creaking; +bullocks were called at by their names and sworn at +individually:</p> + +<p>"<i>Rooi-nek! Yoh Skelpot! com an da!</i>" (Redneck! You +tortoise! come on there!)</p> + +<p>"<i>Viljoen! Wat makeer jij?</i>" (Viljoen! What's wrong +with <i>you</i>?)</p> + +<p>Loud blows and kicks were heard and demands for +missing oxen.</p> + +<p>"<i>Jan, war is de Vaal-pans?</i>" (John, where is the +yellow-belly?)</p> + +<p>"<i>Ek saal yoh net now slaan, jou faarbont.</i>" (I'll strike +you in a minute, you baseborn.)</p> + +<p>"<i>De verdomder Swart-kop!</i>"</p> + +<p>Each wagon had a span of eighteen or twenty oxen, +and as soon as the last pair was yoked, a small black boy, +the <i>voerlooper</i>, would run to their heads, seize the leading +<i>rein</i> and turn them towards the road. Then came a +tremendous crack of the driver's whip, a stream of oaths +and oxen's names, intermingled and ending in:</p> + +<p>"<i>Yak!</i>"</p> + +<p>One by one the four wagons took the road, raising clouds +of red dust, the drivers and boys running alongside.</p> + +<p>Usually passenger-wagons go first in the line, but the +wagon with Poppy's adopted family in it, started last, +because <i>Swart-kop</i>, a big black-and-white ox, had been +particularly fractious, and had delayed the operation of +inspanning, putting the driver into a terrible passion. +Poppy waited until his cursings and revilings were only +faintly heard on the air, then slipping quietly through the +camp which had returned to peaceful sleeping, she plunged +into the clouds of dust.</p> + +<p>Throughout the night hours she padded along, her +throat and ears and mouth filled with the fine dirt, her<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +eyes running and sore; afraid to get too near the wagons +for fear of being seen; afraid to be too far behind for fear +of she knew not what.</p> + +<p>Towards dawn they passed through a narrow <i>sluit</i>. The +water was filthy at the <i>drift</i> when all the wagons had gone +through it, but she left the road and found a clean place +higher up where she thankfully drank and laved her +begrimed face. As the dawn broke she could see that the +veldt was well-bushed with clumps of rocks, and big ant-heaps +here and there; there would be plenty of hiding-places +when the wagons stopped.</p> + +<p>Presently there were signs of a coming halt. The oxen +slackened pace, the drivers began to call to each other, and +the man who was evidently the <i>Baas</i> of the convoy went +off the road and inspected the ground.</p> + +<p>Then a long loud:</p> + +<p>"<i>Woa! An—nauw!</i>" passed along the line, each wagon +took to the veldt, drawing up at about fifty yards from the +road.</p> + +<p>Thereafter came the outspanning, with the identical +accompaniments of the inspanning. When the oxen had +gone to seek water and food in charge of their herders, the +<i>voerloopers</i> departed to gather wood and <i>mis</i> (dry cow-dung) +for the fires, and the drivers unrolled their blankets +and lay upon them resting, but not sleeping, until a meal +had been prepared; someone began to play a concertina +at this time. Afar from the encampment Poppy had +found a big dry hole in the heart of a clump of bushes. +The thorns tore her face and her clothes as she struggled +through them, but in the hole at last she fell down and +succumbed to the passion for sleep which overwhelmed her. +She lay like a stone all through the day, hearing nothing +until the loud clap of a whip pulled her out of her dreams.</p> + +<p>"<i>Yak—Varns!</i>"</p> + +<p>Half dead with weariness—stiff, wretched, hungry<span class="pagenum">[43]</span>—she +crept from her hiding-place and stumbled on her way, +wrapped once more in the impenetrable dust.</p> + +<p>On the night of the second day she discovered herself +to the family in the tented wagon. Staggering from the +bush at the side of the road she climbed on to the brake +of the slowly moving wagon and appeared before the comfortable +contented occupants—a filthy, tattered, unkempt +vision; her face peaked and wan under the dirt, her eyes +glazy. "Give me food and water," she whispered—her +voice had never returned since Ina's death.</p> + +<p>After one long stare, and amidst screams from the +children, the woman pulled her up into the tent, bade +the children make room, and quickly found water and +biscuits.</p> + +<p>Poppy ate and drank ravening, then lay back and cried +weakly, the big hot tears washing white streaks down her +cheeks. The woman with an eye to her clean bedclothes, +proceeded to sponge her face with water in a tin beaker, +and told Alice to take off the tattered boots and stockings. +She questioned Poppy the while, but Poppy cared for +nothing but sleep. She lay back and slept even as they +washed her. About noon she awoke and found herself still +lying on the big bed, and the woman was standing on the +brake with coffee and a plate of stew.</p> + +<p>"Wake up and eat this, girl; and now you are better +tell me where you come from and where you're going, +hey?"</p> + +<p>Poppy, between eating and drinking, recited her tale: +she was travelling with her father and brothers and sisters +to the Transvaal; had wandered away from the wagons +and got lost on the veldt—believed she had been wandering +for a week; her name she fancifully gave as Lucy Gray +(it seemed to wake no echoes in the minds or memories of +her listeners); no doubt, she said, these wagons would +catch the others up in a few days. She begged the woman<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> +to take care of her in the meantime. She would help with +the cooking and the children—she wouldn't eat much.</p> + +<p>The woman regarded her suspiciously once or twice, but +she was stupid as well as good-natured and had not the +wit to find flaws in the well-thought-out tale. She consented +to fall in with Poppy's request—in common humanity +she could do little else—found some clean clothes for +her and a pair of old boots, and gave her <i>fat</i> to smear on +her wounds and sore feet.</p> + +<p>But first Poppy had to be passed before the <i>Baas</i> of the +wagons—the big fierce-looking Boer who fortunately was +not at all fierce, only very stupid, and although he refused +to believe her tale, turning to Mrs. Brant and remarking +briefly: "<i>Sij lê!</i>" (she lies!) he could not offer any suggestion +as to what the truth might be; nor did he make +any objection to Mrs. Brant's plans; so Poppy was outcast +no more. She became one of a family, and speedily made +herself so useful to Mrs. Brant that the good woman was +glad to have her.</p> + +<p>Followed many long happy weeks. Happy even when +the wet-season swooped down on them and they had to +wait on the banks of swollen rivers fireless for days; or +remain stuck in a mudhole for hours, until their wheels +could be dug out or pulled out by three spans of oxen +combined, while mosquitoes bit and swarmed over them, +leaving a festering sore for every bite they gave; even under +the heavy sweltering <i>sail</i> that was flung over them at +nights to keep rain out, and which also kept the air out +and made the small tent like a pest-house; even when the +food gave out and they had to rely on what they could get +at the scattered farms.</p> + +<p>In spite of all the mishaps, everyone was kind and good-natured. +No one offered blows or taunts to Poppy, and +her starved heart revived a little and began to hold up its +head under the gentle rain of kindliness and friendliness.<span class="pagenum">[45]</span> +Then, the glamour of travel was upon her for the first +time. Never before had she seen the hills, the mountains, +the great rolling spaces of veldt, the rivers sweeping and +boiling down their wide ravines. It was most wonderful +and beautiful, too, to wake every dawn and step out of +the wagon to a fresh world. Where last night had been +a hill, to-morrow would be a rushing river, befringed with +mimosa, whose odour had been sweet on the breeze all the +day before. The next day would find them on a bare +plain, with no stick or stone to give shelter from the burden +of the sun or the rain, and the next they would lie in the +purple shadow of a mountain, on which were scarlet +geraniums as tall as trees, and strange flowers shaped like +birds and insects grew everywhere.</p> + +<p>And oh! the fresh glory of the morning dews! The +smell of the wood smoke on the air! The wide open empty +world around them and the great silence into which the +small human sounds of the camp fell and were lost like +pebbles thrown into the sea! Happy, rain-soaked, sun-bitten +days! Bloemfontein and misery were a long way +behind. Poppy's sad songs were all forgotten; new ones +sprang up in her heart, songs flecked with sunlight and +bewreathed with wild flowers.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But a cloud was on the horizon. The convoy of wagons +drew at last near its destination. Poppy began to be +haunted at nights with the fear of what new trouble must +await her there. Where would she go? What would +she do? How could she face kind Mrs. Brant with her +tale of parents and friends proved false? These frightful +problems filled the nights in the creaking wagon with +terror. The misty bloom that had fallen upon her face +during the weeks of peace and content, vanished, and +haggard lines of anxiety and strain began to show.</p> + +<p>"Child, you look peaky," said good Mrs. Brant.<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> +"What'll your ma say? I must give you a Cockle's pill."</p> + +<p>But Poppy grew paler and more peaky.</p> + +<p>Two days' <i>trek</i> from Pretoria she was missed at inspan +time. Long search was made. The wagons even waited +a whole day and night for her; the <i>boys</i> called and the +drivers sent cracks of their great whips volleying and +echoing for miles, as a signal of their whereabouts in case +she had wandered far and lost her bearings. At night they +made enormous fires to guide her to their camping-places. +But she never returned. It was then and for the first time +that two little lines of verse came into the memory of Alice, +the eldest girl, who had been at a good school. She recited +them to the family, who thought them passing strange and +prophetic:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p>"But the sweet face of Lucy Gray<br /> +Will never more be seen." +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Unfortunately, after leaving the wagons and hiding herself +in a deep gulch, Poppy had fallen asleep, and that +so heavily after her many nights of sleepless worry, that +she did not awake for more than fourteen hours. When +she did wake she found that some poisonous insect or reptile +had stung one of her feet terribly: it was not painful, but +enormously swollen and discoloured, and she found it +difficult to get along. The wagons had gone and she +could never catch up with them again, even if she wished. +On the second night she heard, many miles away, the +cracking of the whips and saw little glow-worms of light +that might have been the flare of fires lighted to show her +the way back to the wagons; and her spirit yearned to be +with those friendly faces and kindly fires. She wept and +shivered and crouched fearsomely in the darkness.</p> + +<p>The next day it rained: merciless, savage, hammering +rain. Sometimes she wandered in it, fancying herself<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> +wandering in a forest of trees, all with stems as thick as a +rain-drop; sometimes it was so strong she could lean +against it; sometimes she thought she was a moth beating +against glass, trying, trying to get out.</p> + +<p>Another night came.</p> + +<p>Through most of that she lay prone on her face, thinking—believing—hoping +that she was dead and part of the +earth she lay on.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the greater part of her was mud.</p> + +<p>She had long ago lost the road. She supposed she must +be in the Transvaal somewhere; but at this time, half-delirious +from pain, hunger, and terror, she believed herself +back near Bloemfontein—seemed to recognise the hills +outside the town. Terrified, she took another direction, +falling sometimes and unable to rise again until she had +slept where she lay. Whenever she saw bushes with berries +or fruits on them she gathered and ate.</p> + +<p>Sometimes from her hiding-places she could see Kaffirs +pass singly, or in small parties; but after searching their +faces, she let them pass. Even in her delirium something +warned her not to make herself known.</p> + +<p>One night, it seemed to her weeks after she had left +the wagons, she was suddenly dazzled by the sight of a +red light shining quite near her. She gathered up her +last remnants of strength and walked towards it; she +believed she urged and ran—in reality she merely drifted +by the help of a friendly wind that happened to be blowing +that way. At last she saw that it was not one—but many +lamps and candles shining through the windows of a house. +But the windows themselves could be only dimly seen +through the leaves of a tree, which overhung the house +and threw long claw-like shadows everywhere. Next, her +broken feet knew gravel under them: white walls were +before her, too—and green doors and green window-shutters, +all laced and latticed with the shadows of one<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> +great tree that stood like a monster in the path by the +big door. The lights that shone out and dazzled showed +her that the tree was very, very green, with a myriad +strange scarlet eyes glowing in it; eyes that glowed with an +alert brightness that was not friendly. Poppy had always +loved trees and believed them to be her friends, but this +tree frightened her. Nevertheless she crept closer to the +biggest, brightest window of the house, and peered in +through the glass panes, a little dulled and dimmed by the +ever-beating, everlasting rain. She saw a man sitting at +a table spread with beautiful shining vases of flowers, dishes +of food, plates and glasses that glittered, fruit—two black +<i>boys</i> waited on him, dressed in white uniforms, and through +an open doorway a tan-skinned old woman with a white +<i>dook</i> could be seen speaking to one of the <i>boys</i>—handing him +a dish that flamed with little blue flames. The man at the +table leaned back in his chair and faced the window. If it +had not been that she believed herself dying, or perhaps +already dead, Poppy would rather have gone back to the +veldt than into the house where that face was master, for it +terrified her even as the faces of the Kaffirs on the veldt +had done. The man was not ugly; but his mouth was +cruel and bitter, and his eyes were of the same hard, cold +blue as the stripe on old Sara's coffee-basin. And across +his face, from the left eye to the corner of his mouth, was +a long, raw, newly-healed scar.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Poppy that while she stood watching this +man, something inside her shrivelled up and blew away +from her like a leaf in the wind. It came into her head +then that, after all, she would not stay here at this house; +it would be better to go back to the veldt. Wearifully she +stepped down from the high steps she had climbed, reached +the green door, and then her hobbling feet would go no +further.</p> + +<p>She sank on the steps and her head knocked against<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> +the door. At once dogs barked inside, voices came near, +the door opened, letting strong light fall across the face of +Poppy, now lying on the floor. She saw black faces around +her and heard native voices crying, "Wha!" in astonishment. +Then someone lifted her up very strongly and +held her under a hanging lamp and looked at her. She saw +through failing eyes that it was the man with the scar.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, child?" he asked, and his voice was quite +kind and friendly.</p> + +<p>Again the feeling of terror and panic swept over the +child's heart; but she was very tired. She believed she +was already dead. Her head fell back.</p> + +<p>"My soul is like a shrivelled leaf," is what she answered.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[50]</span></p> + +<p class="h2">PART II</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>"I never saw anything like the way a poppy lives with its heart +and soul every second of the day.</p> + +<p>"It is the most joyful flower in the world. Not a joy of strength, +for it is fragile, but just sheer delight in existence and devil-may-care. +I would much rather have poppies on my coffin than stupid affected +lilies and white roses.</p> + +<p>"Then the sheer cheek of a poppy, and the way it dies quickly, without +any bother, when picked! It is such a definite vivid thing, whether it +is braving the sun, or sleeping folded under the stars. A wild, fresh +individuality; not a banal neutral-tinted affair out of the garden, or +something with a smile on its face and a claw underneath, like a rose."<br /> +<span style="float : right">(<i>Extract from a letter.</i>)</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">THE girl, with a little curling motion, leaned back in +the rickshaw and gazed with fascinated eyes at the +moving picture before her, seen through the hazy heat +of a summer day.</p> + +<p>Above the wide main street of Durban the sun blazed +and glared like a brazen image of itself in the high ardent +blue. Men in loose white ducks and flannels sauntered +along, or stood smoking and talking under the shop +awnings.</p> + +<p>Carriages and rickshaws flew past, containing women +in light gowns and big veils, with white and sometimes +scarlet sunshades. Black boys at the street corners held +out long-stalked roses and sprays of fragrant mimosa +to the passers-by, beguiling them to buy. Coolies with +baskets of fish on their heads and bunches of bananas +across their shoulders, shambled along, white-clad and +thin-legged. One, with a basket of freshly-caught fish +on his arm, cried in a nasal sing-song voice:</p> + +<p>"Nice lovely shad! Nice lovely shad!"</p> + +<p>Two water-carts, clanking along in opposite directions, +left a dark track behind them on the dusty road, sending +up a heavy odour of wet earth which the girl snuffed up +as though she had some transportingly sweet perfume at +her delicate nostrils.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure there is no smell in the world like the smell +of wet Africa," she cried softly to herself, laughing a little. +Her eyes took on a misty look that made them like lilac +with the dew on it.<span class="pagenum">[54]</span></p> + +<p>Her black hair, which branched out on either side of +her forehead, had a trick of spraying little veils of itself +over her eyes and almost touching her cheek-bones, which +were pitched high in her face, giving it an extraordinarily +subtle look.</p> + +<p>She was amazingly attractive in a glowing ardent fashion +that paled the other women in the street and made +men step to the edge of the pavement to stare at +her.</p> + +<p>She looked at them, too, through the spraying veils of +her hair, but her face remained perfectly composed under +the swathes of white chiffon which she wore flung back +over her wide hat, brought down at the sides and twisted +round her throat, with two long flying ends.</p> + +<p>The big Zulu boy between the shafts, running noiselessly +except for the pat of his bare feet and the "Tch-k, +tch-k, tch-k" of the seed bangles round his ankles, became +conscious that his fare was creating interest. He began +to put on airs, giving little shouts of glorification, taking +leaps in the air and tilting the shafts of the rickshaw backwards +to the discomfort of its occupant.</p> + +<p>She leaned forward, and in a low voice spoke a few edged +words in Zulu that made him change his manners and give +a glance of astonishment behind him, crying:</p> + +<p>"<i>Aa-h! Yeh—boo Inkosizaan!</i>" behaving himself thereafter +with decorum, for it was a disconcerting thing that +an <i>Inkosizaan</i> who had come straight off the mail-steamer +at the Point should speak words of reproof to him in his +own language.</p> + +<p>Presently he came to the foot of the Berea Hill, which +is long and sloping, causing him to slacken pace and draw +deep breaths.</p> + +<p>A tram-car dashed past them going down-hill, while +another climbed laboriously up, both open to the breeze +and full of people. The road began to be edged with<span class="pagenum">[55]</span> +fenced and hedged-in gardens, the houses standing afar +and almost hidden by shrubs and greenery.</p> + +<p>The girl spoke to the rickshaw-puller once more.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Inkos</i> at the Point told you where to go. Do you +know the house?"</p> + +<p>He answered yes, but that it was still afar off—right +at the top of the Berea.</p> + +<p>She leaned back again content. It delighted her to be +alone like this. It was quite an adventure, and an unexpected +one. A malicious, mischievous smile flashed +across her face as she sat thinking of the annoyance of +the <i>Inkos</i> left behind at the docks. He had been furious +when he found no closed carriage waiting for them.</p> + +<p>There was one on the quay, but it was not theirs, and +on approaching it and finding out his mistake, he stood +stammering with anger. But she had flashed into a waiting +rickshaw, knowing very well that he could not force +her to get out and go back to the ship without making a +scene.</p> + +<p>Nothing would induce him to make a scene and attract +the attention of people to himself. He had indeed told +her in a low voice to get out and come back with him to +wait for a carriage, but she merely made a mouth and +looked appealingly at him, saying:</p> + +<p>"Oh Luce! It will be so lovely in a rickshaw. I have +never ridden in one like this yet."</p> + +<p>"Well, ride to the devil," he had amiably responded, +and turned his back on her. She had called out after him, +in an entrancingly sweet voice:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know, Luce; but what is the address?"</p> + +<p>"It was a shame," she said to herself now, still smiling; +"but really I don't often vex him!"</p> + +<p>A man and a woman passed, as she sat smiling her +subtle smile through her spraying hair, and looked at her +with great curiosity.<span class="pagenum">[56]</span></p> + +<p>Afterwards the man said excitedly:</p> + +<p>"That girl takes the shine out of Mary——"</p> + +<p>The woman, who looked well-bred with a casual distinguished +manner, agreed with him, but did not tell him +so. She said:</p> + +<p>"Her eyes look as though they were painted in by +Burne-Jones, and she is dressed like a Beardsley poster; +but I think she is only a girl who is glad to be alive. Mary, +however, is the most beautiful woman in Africa."</p> + +<p>The girl heard the words "Burne-Jones eyes," and knew +they were speaking of her.</p> + +<p>At last she arrived at the gates of her destination. +Big, green iron gates, that clanged behind her as she +walked quickly forward down a winding path into a deep +dim garden. There was no more to be seen but trees and +tangles of flowering shrubs and bushes and stretches of +green grass, and trees and trees and trees. Some of the +trees were so tall and old that they must have been growing +there when Vasco da Gama first found Natal; but there +were mangoes and sweetly-smelling orange arbours, that +could only have been planted a mere twenty or thirty +years. The magnolia bushes were in bud, and clots of red +and golden flowers were all aflare. Cacti, spreading wide +prickly arms, and tall furzy grasses. Cool wet corners +had grottos frondy with ferns; other corners were like +small tropical jungles with enormous palms trailed and +tangled over with heavy waxen-leaved creepers and +strangely shaped flowers.</p> + +<p>At last, deep in the heart of this wild, still garden, she +found the house. A tall rose-walled house, its balconies +and verandahs, too, all draped and veiled with clinging +green. One lovely creeper that clothed the hall-porch was +alive with flowers that were like scarlet stars.</p> + +<p>She broke one of them off and stuck it in the bosom of +her gown, where it glowed and burned all day.<span class="pagenum">[57]</span></p> + +<p>Then she rang the bell.</p> + +<p>After a minute, someone came bustling down the hall +and the door opened, discovering a stout and elderly +coloured woman in a tight dress of navy-blue sateen with +large white spots. Upon her head she wore a snowy <i>dook</i>. +At the sight of the girl she shrieked, and fell back into a +carved oak chair that stood conveniently at hand.</p> + +<p>"Poppy!" she cried; "and no carriage sent for Luce! +What time did the steamer come, in the name of goodness +me?"</p> + +<p>"It's no use asking that question now, Kykie," said the +girl grimly. "The only thing to do is to send a carriage +down at once."</p> + +<p>Kykie departed with amazing alacrity, while the girl +examined the hall, and opening the doors that gave off it, +peeped into several rooms.</p> + +<p>"Most of the old furniture from the farm!" she commented +with a look of pleasure. Presently she came to +a flight of three stairs, and directed by the sound of +Kykie's voice, she stepped down them and found herself +in a large white-washed kitchen lined with spotless deal +tables and broad shelves. An enormous kitchen range, +shining and gleaming with steel and brass, took up the +whole of one side of the kitchen. Wide windows let in +a flood of cheerful sunshine.</p> + +<p>Kykie, having loaded three Zulu boys with imprecations +and instructions and driven them forth, had sunk into a +chair again, panting, with her hand pressed to her heart, +and an expression of utter misery on her face.</p> + +<p>"Don't be so excited, Kykie," said the girl. "You +can't escape the wrath to come; what is the use of making +yourself miserable about it beforehand?"</p> + +<p>Kykie rolled her big eyes heavenwards; the whites of +them were a golden yellow.</p> + +<p>"His first day home!" she wailed. "They told me at<span class="pagenum">[58]</span> +the shipping office the steamer wouldn't be in before +three. May their mothers——"</p> + +<p>Poppy walked round the kitchen, looking at everything.</p> + +<p>"You've got all the same nice old copper things you +had at the farm, haven't you, Kykie? But it is a much +bigger kitchen. Which table will you let me have to mix +the salads on?"</p> + +<p>Kykie's face became ornamented with scowls.</p> + +<p>"My salads are as good as anyone's," she asserted.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! you know Luce always likes mine best. +Come upstairs now and show me my room."</p> + +<p>"Me? With the lunch to get ready!" screamed Kykie, +and jumping up she ran to the stove and began to rattle +the pots.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will find it myself," said Poppy, going towards +the door, "and I think you're very unkind on my first +day home."</p> + +<p>But Kykie gave no heed. As a rule she was of a sociable +turn of mind and under other circumstances would have +hung about Poppy, showing her everything and bombarding +her with questions; but now she was in the +clutches of despair and dismay at the thought of her +neglect of her adored master, Luce Abinger, and her very +real fear of the storm that would surely break over her +head when he arrived.</p> + +<p>Kykie called herself a "coloured St. Helena lady," +but by the fat gnarled shape of her, it is likely that she +was more than half a Hottentot. Also the evidence of +her hair was against her: it was crisp and woolly, instead +of being lank and oily as a proper "St. Helena lady's" +should be. However, she always kept it concealed beneath +a spotless <i>dook</i>. Her real name, as she often informed +Poppy in aggrieved accents, was Celia Frances Elizabeth +of Teck Fortune; but Luce Abinger had brutally named +her Kykie, and that was all she was ever called in his<span class="pagenum">[59]</span> +house. By way of retaliation it was her agreeable custom +to address her master and Poppy Destin by their Christian +names; but Luce Abinger only laughed, and Poppy +didn't mind in the least. The old woman was quite +ignorant and uneducated, but she had lived all her life as +a servant amongst civilised people, and she spoke correct +and fluent English, tacking many curious expressions of +her own to the tails of her remarks with an air of intense +refinement.</p> + +<p>She was often crabbed of temper and cantankerous of +tongue, but the heart within her wide and voluptuous +bosom was big for Luce Abinger and all that pertained +to him. She had served him during the whole of his +twenty-five years of life in South Africa; and she was a +very pearl of a cook.</p> + +<p>Poppy found her room without any difficulty. On +opening the first door on the first landing and looking +in, she recognised her books, and the faded yellow silk +counterpane with the border of red poppies worked by +Kykie in past days. She took off her hat and surveyed +the room with contentment. Her cushions were in her +chairs; her books in their accustomed book-shelves; +her long mirror with the slim gilt frame hung between +two windows that gave upon the balcony; her writing-table +stood opposite the mirror where she could look up +and see herself as she wrote. Her brown print of <i>Monna +Lisa</i> was above her dressing-table, and her silver cross +with the ivory Christ nailed to it hung over her head—</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:12em"> +<p>"To keep a maid from harm!"</p> +</div> + +<p>There were no pictures on the pale gold walls: only +three wonderful drawings of herself, done in grey and +blue and scarlet chalk on sheets of rough-edged common +brown paper and fastened up by drawing-pins. These +were the work of Luce Abinger.<span class="pagenum">[60]</span></p> + +<p>She observed that all the bowls and vases were filled +with green leaves—no flowers. Kykie and the <i>boys</i> knew +that green leaves were dearer to her than flowers.</p> + +<p>Presently she rose and went to the mirror on the wall. +Her hair did not quite please her, so she took out two little +gold side-combs and ran them through it, until it branched +out characteristically once more. She performed this +ceremony on an average of twenty times a day, and always +with a look of the frankest pleasure at the sight of herself.</p> + +<p>"How nice my hair is!" she thought, "and how glad +I am that it branches out in that fascinating way that +just suits my face! If it were any other kind of hair, +sleek, or smooth, or curly, I should not look nearly so +charming."</p> + +<p>Later she stepped into the balcony. The sun still glared, +but the place was full of dim coolness, for its roof was +massed with clematis and Virginia creeper, and heavy +curtains of creeper hung from roof to rail; but long openings +had been cut in the greenery to afford a view of the town +and sea. Over the tops of the trees, far away below, +beyond many white houses and gardens and a shining +beach, was the Indian Ocean. It lay very still and splendid: +a vast sheet of Sèvres enamel with a trivial frill of white +at its edges, like the lace froth at the bottom of a woman's +ball-gown. When storms sweep the Natal coast, that +still shining sea can boom and roar and flash like a thousand +cannons bombarding the town; but on the day that Poppy +Destin first looked at it from her balcony, it was as still and +flat as a sea on a map.</p> + +<p>Long, long thoughts were hers as she stood gazing there; +and the best of them all was that she was back once more +in the land where the roots of her heart were planted deep.</p> + +<p>While she stood lost in her reveries, Luce Abinger +passed through the garden below, walking noiselessly +across the green lawns. He saw her dreaming there, in<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> +her white gown with the scarlet flower flaming at her +breast, and his tormented face became even less lovely. +At that time his mood resembled the mood of Job when +he desired to curse God and die.</p> + +<p>Poppy, becoming hungry, went down to look for lunch. +She found the master of the house already seated, beating +and jangling his forks together, a habit of his when he was +impatient. He never touched his knives. Poppy had +come to the conclusion that, like James I, he had some +reason to hate and fear naked blades.</p> + +<p>"The g-gong has been sounded twice for you," he began +agreeably. "Were you afraid the view wouldn't be there +after lunch?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Luce. I didn't know you were in, +and I never heard a sound of the gong. Kykie, you should +beat it louder."</p> + +<p>Kykie was at the sideboard decanting whiskey. She +resembled a person who had recently taken part in a +dynamitic explosion. Her <i>dook</i> was pushed to the back +of her head, her eyes stuck out, and perspiration beaded +her nose and cheek-bones. Several of the buttons of her +tight dress had come undone.</p> + +<p>"Heavenly me!" she retorted in shrill staccato, "you +never hear anything you don't want to, Poppy." With +that she banged the decanter down and floundered from +the room.</p> + +<p>"What can be the matter with Kykie!" said Poppy +in a wondering voice. What she was really wondering +was, whether the fireworks had all been exhausted on +Kykie's devoted head or whether there would be a +detonation in her own direction shortly.</p> + +<p>Babiyaan, a <i>boy</i> who had been in Luce Abinger's service +for ten years, waited upon them with deft, swift hands. +Poppy gave an inquiring glance at him; but though +he had also received a generous share of obloquy and<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> +vilification, his face was as serene and impassive as an +Egyptian's.</p> + +<p>Some delicious fish was served, grilled as only Kykie +could grill, followed by cutlets and green peas, and a +salad of sliced Avocado pears, delicately peppered, and +with a ravishing dressing.</p> + +<p>Luce Abinger always preferred Poppy to mix the salads. +He said that she combined all the qualifications demanded +by the old Spanish receipt for the maker of a good salad—a +spendthrift for the oil, a miser for the vinegar, a +counsellor for the salt, and a lunatic to stir all up. It +appeared that she sometimes fell short in the matter of +salt, but she assured him that he had a fine stock of that +within himself to fall back on, and acids too, in case of a +lack of vinegar.</p> + +<p>Kykie's salad was very good, and Poppy told Babiyaan +to tell her so. Later, she also sent a message of praise +concerning the <i>omelette au Kirsch</i>. Except for these +remarks the meal was partaken of in silence. Poppy, +while she ate, observed and approved the old-rose walls, +the few beautiful mellowy pictures upon them, the dark +polished floor and the Persian praying-rugs spread sleekly +down the room. She looked everywhere but at the face +of Luce Abinger, for she knew that his devils were at him; +and as the possessor of devils of her own, she both felt +compassion and exhibited courtesy in the presence of +other people's. She never looked at Luce Abinger's face +at any time if she could help it, for the sight of unbeautiful +things always gave her intense pain; and his face had +the added terror and sadness of a thing that has once been +beautiful. Its right side was still strong and fine in line; +and it was easy to see that the mouth, before it was dragged +out of drawing by the scar and embittered and distorted +by its frightful sneer, must have been wonderfully alluring. +The scar had left his eyes untouched, except for a slight<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> +pulling-down of the outer corner of the left one where +the disfigurement began. They must have been strikingly +beautiful blue eyes once, but now a sort of perpetual +cold fury at the back of them gave them an odd and startling +light. Apart from that, they were eyes which it +was not good for women to search in. Poppy sometimes +thought of them as dark and sinister pools from which +it was best to retreat, for fear of drowning and strangling +in strange waters.</p> + +<p>Presently Babiyaan brought in the little silver urn +and placed it before Poppy, and she lighted the spirit-lamp +under it and made the coffee as she was always used +to do in the old white farm. Cigars and cigarettes were +put before Abinger.</p> + +<p>Abinger drank his coffee as he had eaten, in absolute +silence. Then, getting up suddenly, he bit off a word of +apology with the end of his cigar, and left the room, +Babiyaan following him.</p> + +<p>Poppy immediately helped herself to a cigarette, put +her elbows on the table and began to smoke. Later, she +took her coffee and sat in the verandah. It was shady +and full of deep comfortable chairs. From thence she +presently saw Abinger emerge from the front door and +depart into the garden; the closing clang of the gate +told her that he had gone out. The heat of the day was +oppressive. She lay back, staring at the lacy green of +the trees against the blue, and considering the horrible +affair of Luce Abinger's devils.</p> + +<p>"It is bad enough for me to have to live with them—what +must it be for him!" was her thought. She had +seen his torment coming upon him as they neared Africa. +Day by day he had grown more saturnine and unsociable. +At last he spoke to no one; only Poppy, as a privileged +person had an occasional snarl thrown in her direction. +It was plain to her that returning to Africa meant to him<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> +returning to purgatory; especially since he did not intend +to go back to seclusion, but to take up his residence in +this house in Durban, where he had often lived in past +years. Poppy had gathered from Kykie that before he +"got his mark," as she curiously expressed it, and went +to live at the old white farm, Abinger had kept house in +Johannesburg and Durban; had lived for a part of the +year in each house, and was well known in both places. +So that coming back would cause him all the torture of +meeting old friends who had known him before his disfigurement. +He would have to run the gauntlet of familiar +eyes grown curious and questioning.</p> + +<p>"Why should he have chosen to come back at all to +the place of his torment?" Poppy wondered. "It would +surely have been simpler and easier to have settled in +Italy or somewhere where he knew no one, and would +not be noticed so much. It can only be that Africa has +her talons in <i>his</i> heart, too; she has clawed him back to +her brown old bosom—he <i>had</i> to come."</p> + +<p>As Poppy sat in the verandah thinking of these things, +she heard the <i>boys</i> in the room behind her clearing the +luncheon-table, and talking to each other in their own +language. Either they had forgotten her or they thought +she could not hear.</p> + +<p>"Where has <i>Shlalaimbona</i> gone?" asked Umzibu; and +Babiyaan answered without hesitation:</p> + +<p>"He has gone to the <i>Ker-lub</i> to make a meeting with +<i>Intandugaza</i> and <i>Umkoomata</i>."</p> + +<p>Few things are more amazing than your Kaffir servants' +intimate knowledge of your affairs, except it be their +absolute loyalty and secrecy in these matters outside +your own walls. Abroad from home their eyes and ears +and tongue know nothing. They are as stocks and stones. +They might be fishes for all the information they can give +concerning you and yours.<span class="pagenum">[65]</span></p> + +<p>Also, whether they love or hate or are indifferent to +him they serve, they will infallibly supply him with a +native name that will fit him like his own skin. Sometimes +the name is a mere mentioning of a physical characteristic +but usually it is a thing more subtle—some peculiarity +of manner or expression, some idiosyncrasy of speech—a +man's secret sin has been known to be blazoned forth +in one terse Zulu word.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed, however, that South African +natives are as deep in mysterious lore as the Chinese, or +as subtle as Egyptians. The fact is merely, that like all +uncivilised peoples they have a fine set of instincts; an +intuition leads them to nearly the same conclusions about +people as would a trained reasoning power. Only that +the native conclusion has a corner of the alluring misty +veil of romance thrown over it, while the trained reason +might only supply a cold, hard, and perhaps uninteresting +fact.</p> + +<p>Instances are, where the meaning of a native nickname +is too subtle for the nominee himself—though any Zulu +who runs may read and understand. If Luce Abinger +had asked his servants why they called him <i>Shlalaimbona</i>, +they would have shrugged shoulders and hung their heads, +with a gentle, deprecating gesture. Being questioned, +they would look blank; being told to get out and go to +the devil, they would look modest. Afterwards they +would exchange swift dark glances, and smiling, repeat +among themselves with a gesture of stabbing: "<i>Shlalaimbona!</i>" +Literally this word means—<i>stab when you see +him</i>. What they meant by applying this name to Abinger, +God and themselves knew best. Poppy had often pondered +the reason, but she had never made any inquiries +for fear it might have something to do with Abinger's +scar. For another thing, Abinger desired her never to +talk to the <i>boys</i>.<span class="pagenum">[66]</span></p> + +<p>"Keep them at a distance: they will be all the better +servants," was his command; and in this, as in most things, +Poppy found it wiser to obey him.</p> + +<p>Babiyaan continued to give interesting information to +Umzibu.</p> + +<p>"Just as <i>Shlalaimbona</i> was going to get into the carriage, +<i>Umkoomata</i> came to the docks and fell upon him with +great friendliness. Afterwards they went to an hotel to +drink. Then <i>Umkoomata</i> made a plan for meeting at the +<i>Ker-luk</i> when <i>Intandugaza</i> would be there and others—<i>Baas +Brookifield</i>, he with the curled hair and the white +teeth; and that other one, <i>Caperone</i>, whose wife is like a +star with light around it; and <i>Port-tal</i>, who is always gay +with an angry face."</p> + +<p>At this juncture Umzibu missed Poppy's coffee-cup, +and coming into the verandah to seek it, the presence of +Poppy was revealed to him. He immediately communicated +the fact by sign to Babiyaan, and a silence fell. +Thereafter no more confidences; Poppy was left to speculate +upon the identity of the person who wore so fascinating +a title as <i>Intandugaza</i>, which name she translated to herself +as <i>Beloved of women</i>. The word <i>Umkoomata</i>, too, had +a charm of its own.</p> + +<p>"That means someone who is very reliable, literally +<i>Sturdy One</i>. I should like to know that man," she thought.</p> + +<p>At about this time it occurred to her that she was tired +and would go to rest in her room a while. She had risen at +five that morning to watch the African coast and revel +in the thought that she would soon have her foot on her +own land again. The excitement of the day had tired +her more than she knew. When she looked in her glass +to rake the little gold combs through her hair, she saw that +she was pale. The only colour about her was her scarlet +ardent mouth and the flower at her breast.</p> + +<p>She flung off her gown and plunged her arms and face<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +into cold water, then let down her hair with a rush and +pulling her chair opposite her mirror, she sat down in company +she had never so far found uninteresting—the +company of her own reflection.</p> + +<p>She did not put on a wrapper. For one thing the day +was warm, for another she found great pleasure in seeing +her bare pale arms and shoulders, and the tall pale throat +above them, so slim and young. Indeed, there are few +more beautiful things in the world than a young throat—be +it girl's or boy's, bird's or beast's.</p> + +<p>The scarlet flower she had plucked at the door she wore +now between her breasts. She looked at the girl in the +glass a long, long time, and the girl looked back at her. +But it was not the look of the woman who counts and +examines her weapons, for Poppy Destin was heart-whole; +she had never yet looked into her glass to see how she +was reflected in some man's eyes. Always she looked +to wonder. The transformation of herself from what +she had been only six years ago to what she was now at +eighteen, never ceased to fascinate and amaze her. When +she thought of the tormented, tragic features she had +feared to catch a glimpse of, and looked now into that +narrow scarlet-lipped, lilac-eyed subtle face, crowned with +fronds of black, black hair, she believed she must be witnessing +a miracle. When she remembered her aching, thin, +childish body, beaten, emaciated, lank, and beheld herself +now, long-limbed, apple-breasted, with the slim strong +grace and beauty of a Greek boy, she could have shouted +for joy and amazement at the wonder of it all.</p> + +<p>Yet in the old white farmhouse where she had found +refuge and a remarkable education, she had been able +to watch with her own eyes the change of the famished, +wretched little two-leaved seedling into a beautiful +flowering plant.</p> + +<p>She had often thought of herself as one set alone in an<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +arid waste to travel where and how she could, with no help +from anyone, and who, in her terrible travelling had found +hidden gifts by the wayside, and little pools of consolation +to lave her wounds and her weary heart, little patches of +flowers to refresh her senses—all left there for her by the +loving forethought of those who had travelled that way +before her; her beauty, her voice, the grace of her body, +her clear understanding, grace of tongue, had come upon +her as she travelled to womanhood—all so unexpectedly; +all wonderful gifts hidden deeply away until she came +suddenly upon them, one by one.</p> + +<p>At last, through long thinking and piecing together of +many broken ends of memory and disjointed scraps of +information concerning her family history, she had come +very close to realising the truth—that she owed much of +what she was to the sweet simple Irish-women who had +been her maternal ancestors. If your grandmother has +worn a shawl over her head and walked barefoot on the +bitter coast of Clare with a smile on her lips and a melody +in her heart, she had something better to bequeath to you +than money or possessions: her song and her smile will +come down through the years and make magic in your +eyes; her spirit will trample your troubles underfoot. +If your mother has laid her heart in a man's hands, and +her neck under a man's feet, and died for want of his +kisses on her mouth, she, too, will have had something +to bequeath: a cheek curved for caresses, lips amorously +shaped, and sweet warm blood in the veins.</p> + +<p>And there was more that Poppy Destin did not know. +She was only eighteen and could not know all her gifts +yet—some women never know them at all until they are +too old to use them! She had unwittingly left uncounted +her biggest asset, though it was signed and sealed upon +her face—the sign and seal of Ireland. Ireland was in +the frank, sweet eyes of her; in the cheek-bones pitched<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +high in her face; in her branching black hair; in her soft +sad voice, and her subtly curved lips. Though she had +never seen that sad, lovely land, she was one of its fair +daughters: there lay her beauty; that was her magic.</p> + +<p>Presently she left her glass and going to the load of +trunks which had been piled up inside the door, she took +her dressing-case from the summit of the pile, and unlocking +it, extracted a little white vellum-covered note-book. +Sitting down before her writing-table she opened the book +at random and kissed its pages with a rush of tears and +a passion that always surged in her when she touched it. +For it contained the story of her childhood, sung in little +broken, wretched songs. Her blurred eyes looked from +one heading to another:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:16em"> +<p>"My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea!"<br /> +"My soul is like a shrivelled leaf!"<br /> +"The woman with the crooked breast."</p> +</div> + +<p>This was the title of old Sara's story made into a little +song.</p> + +<p>Poppy Destin dreamed of being a great writer some +day; but she knew, with the sure instinct of the artist, +that even if her dream came true she could never surpass +these little studies in misery; these cries of wretchedness +wrung from a child's heart by the cruel hands of Life.</p> + +<p>Nothing had ever yet been able to wipe from her mind +the remembrance of those days. For six years she had +lived a life in which fresh events and interests were of +daily occurrence; and like a blighted seedling transplanted +to a warm, kind climate, she had blossomed and bloomed +in mind and body. But the memory of those days that +had known no gleam of hope or gladness hung like a dark +veil over her youth, and still had power to drive her into +torments of hatred and misery. Her soul was still a +shrivelled leaf, and her heart as cold as a stone in the sea. +She was very sure that this should not be so; she knew<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> +that she was incomplete. The instincts of her artist +nature told her that somewhere in the world there must +be someone or something that would wipe this curse of +hatred from her; but she had never been able to find it, +and she knew not where to seek it. Art failed her when +she applied it to this wound of hers that bled inwardly. +Despairingly she sometimes wondered whether it was +religion she needed; but religion in the house of Luce +Abinger was a door to which she found no key.</p> + +<p>Often, abroad, she had stolen away and knelt in quiet +churches, and burnt candles in simple wayside chapels, +trying, praying, to throw off the heavy, weary armour +that cased her in, to get light into her, to feel her heart +opening, like a flower, and the dew of God falling upon it. +She had searched the face of the Madonna in many lands +for some symbol that would point the way to a far-off +reflection in herself of</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:16em"> +<p>"The peace and grace of Mary's face."</p> +</div> + +<p>She had knelt in dim cathedrals, racking her ears to +catch some note in gorgeous organ strains or some word +from the lips of a priest that would let loose a flood of +light in her and transform her life. But always, when the +ecstasy and exaltation had passed off, and the scent of +incense no longer wrapped her round, she could feel again +the cold of the stone and the rustle of the leaf in her breast. +She could hear without annoyance the bitter fleers of +Abinger at religion and priests and churches, and though +they offended her taste, could listen serene-eyed. She +understood very well what ailed Luce Abinger, for she +was touched with the blight that lay thick upon him. +His nature was warped, his vision darkened by hatred +and evil memories. His soul was maimed and twisted +in the same cruel fashion that his face had been scarred +and seamed, and he terribly hated God. Poppy often<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> +thought of it as an ironical trick of fate, that she and Luce +Abinger—just the two people in all South Africa, perhaps, +who could do least for each other's peace and healing—should +be thrown together to live under the same roof +for many years. In some ways they had served each +other well. He had made his house a refuge for her from +persecution, and had been the means of educating and +bringing her to fine womanhood. She, on the other hand, +had come into his life at a time when he was on the verge +of madness and when it meant everything to him to have +some interest that would tear his thoughts from himself and +his disgust of life.</p> + +<p>The solitude of the quiet old farm, chosen for its isolated +position, was lightened by the presence of the young +girl. Abinger had been diverted to watch the change and +development in the small, shipwrecked vagabond. Afterwards +it had first amused, then interested him, to feed +her eager appetite for learning. For three years he had +taught her himself, in strange desultory fashion it is true, but +it happened to be the fashion best suited to her needs and +temperament. He imported from England huge weekly +packages of books of both modern and classical literature, +together with every variety of journal and magazine. +He allowed Poppy the free run of all; only, always she +must recount to him afterwards what she had read. A +sort of discussion ensued, so dominated by his mordant +cynicism and biting wit that she certainly ran no danger +of developing any <i>mawkish</i> views of life. This for two or +three hours daily. The rest of time was hers to read in +or wander for hours in the lovely silent country, knowing +a peace and tranquillity she had never dreamed of in her +early wretched years. The part of the Transvaal they +were in was but thinly populated—a few scattered Boer +farms, and a native mission-house with a chapel and school +instituted by a brotherhood of French priests of the Jesuit<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> +order. These were their only neighbours, and they not +close ones.</p> + +<p>Abinger had chosen his retreat well.</p> + +<p>After three years it had occurred to him to leave the +farm and go back to the world. He had tired of seclusion, +and longed, even while he feared, to be amongst his fellows +again. He was not yet prepared, however, to go back to +the African haunts that had known him in the past, but +made for the big open world beyond the seas; and Poppy +went with him as his sister. Wherever they went he never +allowed her to make any friends; only when they reached +any city or place where he cared to stay for any length +of time, he at once engaged masters and mistresses for +her, to continue the education that he had by now tired +of superintending, but which, for reasons of his own, he +wished to perfect.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[73]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">AT five o'clock Kykie appeared with a tea-tray. She +had assumed an air of calm, and her afternoon dress, +which afforded a fine display of roses trellised on a bright +blue background, and gave her the appearance of a large +and comfortable ottoman. She cast an outraged look +about the room.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you unpacked yet, for gracious' sake, Poppy?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't. Bring the tea over here, Kykie."</p> + +<p>She was lying on her bed, which was long and narrow +as the path to heaven, and yet seemed to have grown too +short for her, since she was obliged to perch her feet upon +the brass bar across the end.</p> + +<p>"Then what have you been doing, in the name of goodness +me?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing ... just thinking ... pour it out and +come and sit by me here.... I haven't had a word +with you yet."</p> + +<p>Kykie poured out the tea, and put some little toasted +cakes on a plate, using her fat, yellow hands with extraordinary +delicacy. Afterwards she sat in a chair with the +things in her lap, waiting until Poppy should be ready.</p> + +<p>"What is it like here in Durban, Kykie?... How +long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>Kykie became very important, waggling her shoulders +and rolling her eyeballs.</p> + +<p>"More than six months getting this house ready for +habitation ... men working in the garden day and<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +night, for it was a wilderness and the poor old place all +gone to pot, dearest me."</p> + +<p>"It looks all right now; I should think Luce was +pleased?"</p> + +<p>"Never so much as a thank you extremingly."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, you know his ways ... but I am sure he +appreciates all you do. He has often said to me while we +were away that he wished you were with us."</p> + +<p>Kykie looked well pleased at this, but having passed +the tea, she waved her hands deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"You're just buttering me up to heaven, Poppy!"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. And he will eat again now he has you to +cook for him. Abroad he used to eat frightfully little, +but to-day I noticed he made an excellent lunch."</p> + +<p>Smiles wreathed Kykie's wide and dropsical face, and +every tooth in her head was revealed.</p> + +<p>"Dearest me, now Poppy, really? Well! but then I +don't suppose they know how to cook very well abroad +in London, do they?"</p> + +<p>"Not so well as you, of course," said Poppy smiling and +munching toast.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Kykie's face became dolorous.</p> + +<p>"Did they look at his mark much, for heavenly goodness?" +she inquired in a dismal whisper.</p> + +<p>"Not so much. You know, Kykie, the world is full +of all sorts of strange-looking people—especially France +and Italy. In Naples, now, they didn't take the slightest +notice of him."</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake there must be some sights there!"</p> + +<p>"More tea. It is lovely to be home again and have +you waiting on me."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I expect you liked it best abroad in that London, +now Poppy?"</p> + +<p>"Never. I <i>thought</i> I should, but I had forgotten that +my roots were planted out here. As soon as I got out of<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> +sight of Africa they began to pull and hurt ... you've +no idea of the feeling, Kykie ... it is terrible ... +and it always came upon me worst in cities. I used to be +sick with longing for a glimpse of the big open spaces +with nothing in view but land and sky ... for the smell +of the veldt, <i>you</i> know, when it is baking hot and the +rain comes fizzling down on it; and the early morning +wind, when it has blown across a thousand miles of sun-burnt +grass and little stalky, stripy, veldt-flowers and +stubby bushes, and smells of the big black patches on +the hill-sides where the fires have been, and of the <i>dorn +bloems</i> on the banks of the rivers ... and the oozy, +muddy, reeking, rushing rivers! Oh Kykie, when I thought +of Africa, in some prim blue-and-gold continental hotel, +I felt like a caged tiger-cat, raging at the bars of the +cage!... In Paris and London I couldn't bear to go +to the big open parks for fear the sickness would come +upon me.... It was like being a wild ass of the desert, +knee-haltered in a walled-in garden."</p> + +<p>Kykie might have been an amazingly-arrayed copper +idol representing Africa, so benign and gratified was her +smile.</p> + +<p>"Tell me some more, Poppy. Where else did you think +of Africa?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Palermo nearly drove me wild. It has the same +hot moist air as Natal, and the flowers have the same +subtle scents. The big spotted mosquitoes bit like terriers +and followed us as high as we could go; but I couldn't +even hate <i>them</i>, Kykie, they were so like the wretches +we have out here—there's been one biting my instep +all the afternoon." She pulled up her foot, and began +to rub the spot gently through her stocking.</p> + +<p>"I think Norway was the worst of all. The men there +have beards and the same calm eyes as the Boers, and +the people are all simple and kind, just as they were on<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> +the farms in the Transvaal ... and sometimes on the +top of a steep still hill I could close my eyes and pretend +that I was on a wild mountain krantz and the hush of the +waterfalls all round one was the hush of the tall veldt +grasses waving in the wind.... But when I looked, +and saw only the still green waters of the fjords and afar +off a glacier thrust out between two hills like the claw +of some great white monster ... oh Kykie, I could +have torn the heart out of my breast and thrown it into +the waters below."</p> + +<p>"Heavenly me! And were there coloured people there +too?"</p> + +<p>"Not in Norway; but America is full of them, and +I hate them for cheats and frauds ... for I was always +listening and waiting to hear some Kaffir or Dutch word +from their lips ... and they never spoke anything +but mincing, drawling American, through their noses, like +this, Kykie:</p> + +<p>"'Oh say, would <i>you</i> tell <i>me</i> what time this <i>kyar</i> is +due to start?'</p> + +<p>"Once I saw a boy in an elevated-railway car, who, +though he was magnificently dressed in navy blue serge +and wore a brimmer hat, looked so <i>exactly</i> like Jim Basuto +who ran away from the farm, that I said to him in Kaffir:</p> + +<p>"'You had better make haste and come back to the +farm, Jim, and mind the sheep!'</p> + +<p>"He simply stared at me, and said to another <i>boy</i>, who +might have been a Zulu chief except for his clothes:</p> + +<p>"'Say, this one looks to me as if she is dippy. I think +she is the new star at Hammerstein's that <i>ky-ant</i> speak +anything but French.'</p> + +<p>"Luce was so furious, he used fearful language at the +Kaffir, and made me leave the train at the next station, +and wouldn't speak to me for a week."</p> + +<p>Having finished her tea and eaten all the bread-and-<span class="pagenum">[77]</span>butter +and cakes, the girl lay back on her pillow and closed +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"For gracious' sake, and so you have seen the world!" +said Kykie. "And now you have come back to the old +quiet life?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Kykie. I'm going to persuade Luce to go +about here, and meet people, and let me do the same."</p> + +<p>"He'll never do it," said Kykie vehemently. "I can +see that he is worse than ever about his mark."</p> + +<p>"But he knows a lot of people here. I don't see how +he can keep them from coming to the house; and I heard +the <i>boys</i> saying that he had gone to the Club this afternoon. +Surely that is a sign that he is not going to shut himself +up again?"</p> + +<p>"He may go to the Club, but he won't let anyone come +here. He has given me strict orders that no one is to +come in the front gates; they are to be locked and he will +keep the key. Everything is to come by the back entrance +and that, too, is to be locked."</p> + +<p>Poppy's face clouded.</p> + +<p>"Oh Kykie! I wouldn't mind if we were back in the old +farm with the free veldt all round us; but to be shut up +in a house and garden—(and with Luce's devils," she +added to herself),—"even if it <i>is</i> a lovely garden!"</p> + +<p>Kykie's face expressed lugubrious sympathy, but she +held out no hope.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to amuse yourself like you did before, +with your music, and your reading, and writing, and be a +good child," she said.</p> + +<p>"But I'm not a child any longer. Can't you see how +I've grown up?"</p> + +<p>"I can see that you won't have to go and find milk-cactus +to rub on your breasts any more," said Kykie, +eyeing her with the calm candour of the native.</p> + +<p>Poppy coloured slightly, and made occasion to throw<span class="pagenum">[78]</span> +a corner of the quilt over her bare shoulders and arms.</p> + +<p>"For the sake of grace you needn't mind me," remarked +Kykie. "Haven't I watched you many a +moonlight night stealing down to where it grew by the old +<i>spruit</i>?"</p> + +<p>The girl's colour deepened; she gave a wistful little +side glance at the old woman.</p> + +<p>"I <i>did</i> so want to be beautiful. I would have dived +to the bottom of the filthiest hole in that old <i>spruit</i> a +dozen times a day to make myself the tiniest atom less +ugly than I was. Do you remember that deep part where +the water was so clear and we could see hundreds of crabs +pulling pieces of flesh off the leg of the dead horse?"</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>sis</i> yes! I wondered how you could go and look +at the stinking thing day after day."</p> + +<p>"I used to be pretending to myself that it was my aunt +they were eating. Oh Kykie! I have some dark caves +in my soul!"</p> + +<p>"And no wonder, surely to goodness. Never will I +forget the night we opened the door and you fell into the +house, all blood and mud, and your eyes like a <i>mal-meit's</i><a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> +flaring and flickering like the sulphur on a match."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Mad-maid.</p></div> + +<p>Poppy covered her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about it——"</p> + +<p>At this time a telephone bell began to ring somewhere +in the house, and Kykie on her feet in an instant, flew from +the room at top speed. She came back later to say that +Luce Abinger had called up to tell her he would not be +home to dinner. Poppy was delighted.</p> + +<p>"Oh Kykie! that means that he is dining with old +friends; and it will do him <i>so</i> much good, and he'll want +to be cheerful and sociable with all the world again, and +we shan't be locked up any more," she cried all in one +breath. "And now you needn't bother about dinner,<span class="pagenum">[79]</span> +but come and help me unpack, and I'll show you all my +clothes and the nice things I've brought back for you."</p> + +<p>"For me, gracious saints!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for you, you wicked old thing; silks and satins +of every shade of the rainbow. You need never dress in +anything else any more."</p> + +<p>They spent an engrossed hour unpacking, and afterwards +Poppy dined alone, and betook herself to the garden. +She knew that she had the whole place and the whole +long evening to herself, without disturbance, for it was a +peculiarity of Kykie's that she could not keep her eyes +open after nine o'clock at night. As for the <i>boys</i>, after +they had performed their duties in the kitchen and stables, +their time was their own, and they made the most of it +elsewhere than within reach or sight of their employers.</p> + +<p>It was early still, and though the darkness had fallen, +the moon was at the full, and showed to advantage the +solemn splendour of the trees, the long soft stretches of +sward, and the festooned jungle-like arbours and arcades. +In many a winding path she lost her way (for the place was +of enormous extent), and had difficulty in locating once +more the house or the gate or any point she was acquainted +with. Coming to the gate once she tried it, and finding it +securely locked she shook it with the sudden fury of a +wild thing that finds itself caged. Then she stood still, +and presently two great tears rolled down her face; but +afterwards her wanderings became curiously systematised. +Taking the gate as her starting-post she commenced a +<i>détour</i> of the wilderness, keeping to its outskirts and examining +as she travelled every inch of the enclosing walls. +The part which gave on to the main road she found to +be hopelessly impregnable; it had first a high stone wall +with a cresting of particularly sharp and jagged bottle-glass; +and further, was backed by a species of laurel that +grew both tall and bushy, and rattled aggressively if<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +anyone so much as looked at it. Then came a long +side-stretch of thick-set green bushes of what she judged—after +pinching the leaf and smelling it—to be quince, +with an undergrowth of pink pepper. After penetrating +this, in a weak spot, and discovering that the outside +rampart consisted of galvanised iron, standing lengthways +and painted dark green, she did not feel so confident, +but she went bravely on, until at last she came to a gate; +it also was made of iron and painted green, but though +it was unlocked, Poppy did not go through it, for she saw +beyond, the stables and iron houses that were evidently +the quarters of the black servants. She could hear their +voices and the sound of a concertina. Plainly this was the +back compound, through which all trades-people must +make their way to the house. No doubt there was an +entrance at the other side—but it was not for Poppy! +She proceeded. The wall continued of the same quality, +monotonously familiar; then occurred an impassable jungle +that it would have taken a herd of buffalo to make any +impression upon. After beating round this for some +time, to the detriment of her trailing white gown, Poppy +pursued her way with a frowning brow and a quivering +under-lip. Next came a hedge of prickly-pear; she turned +her head away from this in disgust. Farmers plant +prickly-pears round their gardens to keep out cattle. +It is the most perfect barrier in the world. Certainly, a +human being <i>might</i> cut his way through it; but he would +spend the rest of his life picking from his festering flesh +tiny invisible white thorns. On and on she marched; it +seemed to her that the large pale hands of the pear-hedge +flapped mockingly at her. Sometimes she was obliged +to make a wide <i>détour</i> to avoid a clump of trees, or a +rockery, or a summer-house with a pergola leading to it, +smothered with vines and passion-flowers and roses. It +seemed that she walked miles and miles. Suddenly she<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> +saw light glimmering through a trellised opening, and ran +forward. Her hands touched cold wrought-iron. It was +the front gate! This time, when she shook it, she did not +cry. Her gown was torn, her hair was loosened, there was +a scratch on her cheek and blood on her hands, but she +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my <i>very</i> dear Luce Abinger," she said, "we shall +see if you can keep a creature of the veldt behind a +padlock."</p> + +<p>Immediately she recommenced a fresh tour of the garden, +and though the long hot day and all its incidents +must have told upon her strength, she seemed to have +suddenly acquired fresh life and buoyancy. She had +that within which urged her on—a taste for liberty. At +that time it seemed to her that the whole world was too +small a place for a free spirit; and that if this were indeed +the world, she would somewhere find some desperate +edge and leap over, even if it should be into the abyss of +nothingness. On this tour she included the arbours and +the summer-houses in her itinerary. The third one she +came to was only a small hut of a place, but it had a long +spire to its roof, and from thence trailed and hung long +lines and stalks of the passion plant—everyone knows it: +vine-leaved, with great round cream-coloured flowers, +a purple outer ring divided into ten thousand tiny leaves, +signifying the crowd that gathered to listen to Christ +on the Mount; and in the centre, mysteriously arranged, +like the dishes upon the table of some oracle, the three +loaves and the five fishes! They call it the grenadilla +in Africa, and eat its fruit with port wine and cream. +Poppy dived in under the trailing vinery, and entered the +hut. All round it had a low seat running, but everything +was old and damp and rotten she could feel by the touch, +and in one place the wood crumbled under her fingers, and +thrusting her arm forward, she was able to feel that it<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> +was part of the wall itself; there was no further barrier +beyond.</p> + +<p>She had found an exit.</p> + +<p>For a time she sat still on the cool mossy floor of the +arbour, trembling a little at the thought of the spiders +and strange beasts that might be dropping upon her from +above. At last she nerved herself to the point of pushing +and urging and disentangling the thick partition of green +that kept her in. Her idea was to make an opening +without making a gap; something she could re-arrange +afterwards, leaving no sign of disturbance.</p> + +<p>At length she was through, and behold! she found +herself in another garden. Was it a maze too, she wondered +rather drearily? A maze without an opening? +But no, there was a pleasing openness of view about the +place. A few bushes and trees, a straggly flower-bed +or two. Almost immediately she came upon a gravelled +path; but she did not walk on it, choosing rather to +follow its direction by way of the grass and soft earth which +enflanked it. In the natural course of events a house was +discovered. Quite a simple affair of galvanised iron, +painted green, with a verandah running all round it and +heaps of shrubs and bushes and creepers to hide its nakedness. +Its front verandah was full of pale, heavenly light +that was certainly not contributed by the moon; nor +could the words that came floating over the bushes into +the garden, be, by the wildest and most poetic imagination, +endowed with a heavenly meaning.</p> + +<p>"Oh, damn it, I'm sick of this rotten typewriter and +everything else in the world. I wish Brookie would type +his own beastly law-papers."</p> + +<p>Poppy approached with the utmost gentleness, and +through the screen of a bush covered with tiny pink +flowers that smelt of musk she surveyed the scene.</p> + +<p>The room itself was terrible as an army with banners.<span class="pagenum">[83]</span> +It contained "gypsy-tables," antimacassars, "what-nots," +plush fans upon the walls, indescribable villainies of +wool and paper, a crewel-worked mantel-border, and every +atrocity under the moon. In the midst of all was a good +solid mahogany table, with a typewriting-machine on it, +and seated before this was a girl. For pity of herself +Poppy was glad to see another girl; and more especially +a girl who, like herself, appeared to have reason to be +bored with her surroundings and the general management +of the universe. In the enthusiasm engendered by a fellow-feeling, +she had an inclination to march in and take the +girl to her heart, but after a further survey she changed +her mind.</p> + +<p>In a large, ripe fashion, the girl was very good-looking +indeed, with a tall and generous figure of the kind that +attracts prompt and frank attention from the generality +of men, but is not deeply admired by other women. Her +face was of a familiar Colonial type, large-featured but +well-shaped, with big brown eyes, rather inclined to roll, +suggestive of what is known as "a dash of colour"; a +mouth of the kind that expresses nothing at all until the +twenties, when by the aid of a <i>retroussé</i> nose, grown unaccountably +coarse it suddenly expresses things which should +be left unexpressed; a round, rather plump chin, and +masses of dark hair which had been sadly maltreated by +curling-irons, and had a dusty appearance. On the +whole a handsome girl, probably good-natured enough for +the ordinary purposes, and of a personality pleasing enough +for an ordinary acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Certainly not a girl to be made a friend of, thought +Poppy, and decided that she would go no further.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait and see first if Luce is going to let me out +to meet nice people," she thought. "If he doesn't, this +girl may help to pass away an idle hour sometimes, and +she might serve as one of the characters in my novel.<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> +At any rate she could teach me to use the typewriter, and +I could teach her not to live in a chamber of horrors."</p> + +<p>With these reflections she stole back soft-footed in +her tracks, and through her little exit-hole, which she +covered up with the greatest care and skill, for fear that +in the future it should prove to be her only mode of entrance +into the world of men and women she longed to know.</p> + +<p>For a whole week she refrained from broaching to the +tyrant of the house the subject which lay uppermost in +her thoughts. For one thing she thought it would be +well to allow him to regain some semblance of good +humour; for another she wished to give him full opportunity +and time to make daily excursions into the town +and lunch and dine with his friends, so that she might +have some grounds for the reproaches she meant to level +at him when she demanded freedom. In the meantime +she was absorbed in affairs which included the inspection +and re-arrangement of every room in the house, excepting +only Abinger's, which she never ventured near. Touches +of her personality soon lay upon everything, from the +chintzes in the drawing-room which she had chosen herself +at Waring's, and sent out to Kykie for the making, down +to the curtaining of Kykie's own bedroom windows with +some cobwebby snowy muslin she had bought in Shanghai. +She spent several hours every day at the piano, playing +old Irish melodies, for which she had a passion, and of +which she had made an enormous collection; but she +always waited until Luce was out of the house, for he had +a peculiar aversion to melodies of any kind and more +especially Irish melodies. He said:</p> + +<p>"There may have been something in them when the +strolling poets played them on their harps, but since that +fellow Moore made them pretty, I consider them damned +mawkish."</p> + +<p>So Poppy kept her melodies to herself. The rest of<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +her time was divided between studying literature, writing, +dreaming and wandering in the garden, which became +dearer to her day by day.</p> + +<p>At last, one evening, on hearing from Kykie that Abinger +would be dining at home, she made herself look as charming +as possible in a pale maize satin gown with a wreath of +green leaves on her hair, and went down prepared to do +battle.</p> + +<p>Luce Abinger was already in the drawing-room, standing +at one of the French windows, staring out into the garden—a +sombre, solitary figure. She noticed, as often before, +how tall and well-built he was, and the fine line of his head +under the smooth, fair hair. He always looked distinguished +and well-born in evening-dress. At the sound +of Poppy he turned, and the lights shining on his maimed +and distorted face, showed her that he was entertaining +at least seven devils. A mental shiver passed through +her and hope fell several degrees; but she advanced with +a serene smile and a gay word. She had long ago learnt +to control the expressions of her face, so that he might +not guess the mingled terror, pity, and repulsion he often +roused in her; and though she knew that in most things +he had intuition as cruel as the grave, she believed that +in this, at least, she was able to deceive him.</p> + +<p>The second gong had not yet sounded. She sat down +at the piano and ran her fingers up and down the keys +by way of bracing up her nerves.</p> + +<p>"Luce," she began, "I hope you are in a good temper, +for I want to talk to you very seriously about something."</p> + +<p>He gave a croaking sort of laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh certainly. I am at my very b-best. It is only +necessary for you to p-play an Irish melody to have me +p-purring at your feet. <i>Il ne manquerait plus que +ça.</i>"</p> + +<p>This was inauspicious, but Poppy refused to be daunted;<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> +and the gong sounding at this moment, she rose and put +her hand upon his arm, saying cheerfully:</p> + +<p>"That's right, come along then, we'll talk it over in +the dining-room."</p> + +<p>His smile was grim. They sat down to dinner, and +Babiyaan and Umzibu, arrayed in white, hovered over +them like guardian angels. Abinger ate little and said +nothing. Only when the <i>boys</i> were not in the room he +fixed his eyes on Poppy in a curious way that caused in +her a sensation of indescribable discomfort and annoyance. +Once, for some unknown reason, she found herself remembering +how she had covered herself up with the bed quilt +from Kykie's eyes, and wishing that she had it round +her now. She had never felt like that in a low gown before, +and she could not understand it at all. For a time it +quite unfitted her for the task she had in hand, but the +idea occurring to her that this was perhaps what Luce +intended, she plucked up heart again, and with the fruit +fired her first shot.</p> + +<p>"Luce, what are you going to do about getting me a +chaperon?"</p> + +<p>He gave a little jerk of his fruit-knife, so that she knew +that he was taken unawares, otherwise he remained undisturbed +by what she supposed must be something in the +nature of a bomb-shell going off under his nose. He +did not, however, proceed with the business of peeling +his peach, and on giving him a swift side-glance, she found +that he was smiling at her. Now, his smile was at no +time an alluring affair, but when it was field day for his +devils——!</p> + +<p>"Am I not a sufficiently p-proper and responsible +p-person to have the care of your young white s-soul?" +he inquired blandly.</p> + +<p>She knew <i>that</i> mood. Perhaps, after all, it would be +better to postpone the discussion; but then, sometimes<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> +these fits of fury and rudeness lasted for months. It was +impossible to wait all that time.</p> + +<p>"I am not particularly concerned about my soul," +she answered carelessly, dipping her fingers in the fine +Venetian bowl before her and drying them delicately. +One of Abinger's devils betrayed itself by laughing loudly +and with character, but she did not even wince.</p> + +<p>"Your young white b-body, then?" He pushed back +his chair from the table with a horrible scrench on the +polished floor.</p> + +<p>"You talk like some odious sultan, but you forget that +I am not a slave," she flashed back at him.</p> + +<p>She pushed her chair from the table also, and loosening +from her wrist a little painted inlaid fan which she had +bought from a street-seller in Algiers, she essayed to cool +her flushed face.</p> + +<p>"Cigarettes, Babiyaan!" she said. "It is very hot; +I think I will smoke out in the garden," she finished coldly +to Abinger.</p> + +<p>But he had risen too, and lounged in the doorway leading +to the verandah.</p> + +<p>"Oh, p-pray let us finish this interesting discussion."</p> + +<p>They stood looking at each other for a moment: she, +quite collectedly; he, smiling with his eyes and sneering +with his mouth. Babiyaan, well aware that she was not +allowed to smoke, knew better than to hand her the cigarettes, +but placed them on the table and discreetly retired.</p> + +<p>"There is no discussion, Luce," she said quietly, though +her voice contained a tremor. "I simply want you to +realise that it is impossible for me to go on living like this +for ever. It isn't fair...." she added petulantly. He +said nothing, only smiled. She regained her dignity and +spoke more gently:</p> + +<p>"I am a woman now, Luce, and it is only natural that +I should wish to know other women—and men too."<span class="pagenum">[88]</span></p> + +<p>At that he laughed raspingly.</p> + +<p>"Why d-drag in the women?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him scornfully. It was ridiculous of +him to pretend that men meant more to her than women.</p> + +<p>"It is unreasonable of you to expect me to spend my +youth in secrecy and seclusion, just because you—" she +stopped hastily.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" he said with a devilish gaiety. "'Just because +<i>you</i> happen to have a face like a mutilated b-baboon'—was +that what you were going to say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh Luce, you <i>know</i> it was not! Because ... because +..." she stood stammering with distress, while he stood +grinning. "Because <i>you</i> don't happen to care for the +society of other people—was what I was going to say.... +Don't think," she went on appealingly, "that I don't +appreciate all you have done for me. I remember it +every day and every night.... I shall never forget +it ... and though I know I can never repay you, I will +show you all the rest of my life how grateful I am.... +But I don't see what difference it would make to you to +let me know a few people ... you have so many friends +... surely you know some nice women who would call +on me——"</p> + +<p>He broke out in a harsh voice, smiling no longer. "You +are mistaken; I have no friends. The whole thing is out +of the question and impossible."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why it should be at all," she pursued +valiantly; "if you get me some pleasant woman as a +chaperon."</p> + +<p>"In God's name what do you want with women?" +he burst out. "A g-girl like you will never find a friend +amongst them. They will hate you for your face, and your +brains, and your youth.... They are d-devils all—lock, +stock and barrel.... They'll rip you open and +tear the story of your life out of you; if they once find<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> +out that you are a South African they'll never rest until +they have nosed out the whole thing, and then they'll fling +the t-tale to the four winds and the first thing you know +you'll have your Bloemfontein aunt bearing down on +you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh Luce! I don't believe they're as bad as all +that——"</p> + +<p>"Then don't believe it," he retorted, with the utmost +rudeness. "But understand one thing, I'll have no she-devils +round this house."</p> + +<p>"Very well, let them be he-devils," she flung back at +him. "I am accustomed to those."</p> + +<p>At that he stamped away from her towards the other +door, gesturing with rage, and throwing broken words in +her direction.</p> + +<p>"Isn't my life bad enough already?... Oh Hades!... +I wouldn't stand it for a minute ... curse all +women ... don't ever talk to me about this again ... +I tell you.... It's monstrous ... a lot of thieves and +blackguards.... You're driving me out of my own +house ... I shall go to the Rand to-morrow ... why, +by God, I!..."</p> + +<p>The door closed with a crash behind him.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[90]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">AT two o'clock one afternoon Sophie Cornell walked +into her sitting-room and flung upon the table by +the side of her typewriter a great roll of MSS. She +was gorgeously attired in a hat massed with roses of a +shade that "never was on land or sea," and a furiously +befrilled gown of sky-blue silk-muslin. But her face was +flushed and heated, and her eyebrows met in a scowl of +decided ill-temper. Opening a door that led through a +long passage to the kitchen, she shouted:</p> + +<p>"Zambani! Zambani! <i>Checcha</i> now with my lunch. +Send Piccanin to lay table. <i>Checcha wena!</i>"</p> + +<p>She flung her hat into one chair and herself into another, +and stared at a telegram which she spread out before her.</p> + +<p>"'Sorry can't come,'" she read, muttering; "'something +better turned up; you understand!' Yes, I understand +well enough! Just like the rotter to study her own +convenience and throw me over at the last moment. What +am I to do <i>now</i>, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>She lolled in her chair and glared angrily at a small black +<i>boy</i> in a blue twill tunic and short blue knickers above his +knees, who was laying a cloth on one end of the table.</p> + +<p>"Is there any soda in the house, Piccanin?" she demanded; +and when he signified yes, ordered him to fetch it +then and be <i>checcha</i>. In the meantime, she rose and +unlocked from the sideboard a bottle of whiskey.</p> + +<p>Lunch was a slovenly meal, consisting of burnt mutton-chops, +fried potatoes, and a beet-root salad liberally<span class="pagenum">[91]</span> +decorated with rings of raw onion. Miss Cornell, however, +ate heartily, and enjoyed a whiskey-and-soda. She then +proceeded to attack a wobbly blanc-mange beringed with +strawberry jam. Occasionally she demanded of some +invisible personage:</p> + +<p>"And what am I going to do <i>now</i>, I'd like to know?" +and the scowl returned to her brows.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, upon the front door which stood slightly ajar +fell a soft knock. Miss Cornell's hands slipped to her hair, +the scowl disappeared from her face, and in a high affected +voice she called:</p> + +<p>"Come in!"</p> + +<p>Entered, with a shy and demure air, a girl dressed in the +simplest kind of dress made of thin black muslin, with a +white fichu over her shoulders falling in long ends below +her waist. Her large white-straw hat had round it a +wreath of lilac, which was of exactly the same colour as her +eyes. Her lips were amazingly scarlet.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," she said in a soft, entrancing voice. +"I am sorry to disturb you at your lunch——"</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Sophie affably; "I'm just done. +Do sit down!"</p> + +<p>The girl seated herself daintily. Sophie, observing that +she wore no jewelry of any kind except a ring, in which +the diamond was so large that it must surely be paste, +decided that her visitor must be "hard up." She (Sophie) +had not much of an opinion of that "black rag of a gown" +either, but she thought she detected the faint murmur +of a silk lining as her visitor moved. The lilac eyes looked +at her winningly.</p> + +<p>"I heard that you had a typewriting machine," she +said, "and I wondered if you would be so good as to do a +little typing for me—" She indicated a tiny roll of writing +which she held in her hand. Miss Cornell sat up with an +air.<span class="pagenum">[92]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't take in work!" she said perkily. "I +couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing. I'm <i>sekertary</i> +to a gentleman who has an office down town."</p> + +<p>"Lilac Eyes" regarded her calmly and did not seem +overwhelmed by the importance of this communication.</p> + +<p>"What a bother!" said she serenely.</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell became languid.</p> + +<p>"I get an enormous salary, and I have more work than +I know how to get through already. Indeed, I am trying +to get an assistant."</p> + +<p>"Really?" said the other girl. "I wonder if I would suit +you?"</p> + +<p>"You!" Miss Cornell's face lit up with sudden interest +and eagerness. She surveyed the other again. <i>Of course</i>, +she was only a "hard-up" girl looking for work, and that +air of gentle insolence that Sophie had been conscious of, +was, after all, only "side" stuck on like the rose in the +front of the simple black gown to hide poverty. Upon +these reflections Miss Cornell's air became exceedingly +patronising.</p> + +<p>"You? Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Can you type?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. But I daresay I could soon learn."</p> + +<p>"Oh well! I couldn't give you much salary if you are +only a beginner."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't want any salary," said "Lilac Eyes"; but +added quickly, as she saw the other's look of amazement: +"At least, not for some months. If you would allow me +to use your machine for my own work sometimes I should +be repaid."</p> + +<p>At this Sophie had neither the wit nor the patience to +conceal her satisfaction. Her haughty air departed and +she beamed with delight. She had suddenly seen a clear +way through a very difficult <i>impasse</i>.</p> + +<p>"You'll suit me down to the ground," she declared +joyfully. "When can you move in?"<span class="pagenum">[93]</span></p> + +<p>"Move in?" the other gave her a wondering smile. +"Oh, I couldn't come to live—only for a few hours every +day."</p> + +<p>Sophie's face clouded again, but in a moment her eyes +took on the absorbed look of a person who is rapidly +reviewing a difficult situation. Presently she said:</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps that wouldn't matter so much if you +wouldn't mind <i>pretending</i> sometimes that you live here."</p> + +<p>The other girl looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, if there's any chance of you're doing as I ask +you, I'll explain," said Sophie; "but, of course, I don't +want to talk about my private affairs if it's no good. +There's nothing in the reason for <i>pretending</i> that you need +object to," she added boldly. "What is the reason you +can't come and live? Got a sick mother, or an old aunt, +or something?"</p> + +<p>The other hesitated for a moment, then her lovely lilac +eyes took on a curious expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have an aunt," was her odd answer, but Sophie +was no acute reader of eyes or odd answers.</p> + +<p>"More fool you," said she cheerfully. "I'd like to see +the old aunt who'd get <i>me</i> to support her. Well, all +right now, if you think you'll come I'll tell you the whole +thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I'll come. But as I have said, it will only +be for a few hours daily; sometimes in the mornings, more +often in the afternoons."</p> + +<p>"That'll do all right. Have a whiskey-and-soda and +we'll talk it over."</p> + +<p>"I don't care for whiskey, thank you," said "Lilac Eyes"; +"but I am very thirsty, and will have some soda, if I +may."</p> + +<p>Sophie shouted to Piccanin to bring another glass, and +pushed the soda and lemons across the table.<span class="pagenum">[94]</span></p> + +<p>"Make yourself at home," said she affably; "but I +hope you're not one of those asses who don't drink!"</p> + +<p>"No, I drink if I want to—but not spirits."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know—those old Cape pontacs. Save me from +them!" Miss Cornell looked piously at the ceiling. The +other girl, who had never tasted Cape pontac in her life, +only smiled her subtle smile.</p> + +<p>Sophie seated herself in a lounge-chair, opposite her +visitor, and crossed her legs, incidentally revealing her smart +French-heeled shoes and a good deal of open-work stocking +through which to lilac-coloured eyes her legs looked as +though they were painted red. Piccanin meanwhile removed +from the room the luncheon débris, his bare feet +cheeping on the pale native matting and his long black +eyes taking interested glances at the visitor whenever she +was not looking his way.</p> + +<p>"And now let's get to business," said Miss Cornell. +"First of all, you haven't told me your name yet."</p> + +<p>The lilac eyes were hidden for a moment under white +lids, and a faint colour swept over the pale skin.</p> + +<p>"Rosalind Chard."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall call you Rosalind, of course, and you can +call me Sophie if you like. Sophie Cornell's my name. +Rather pretty, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very," said Miss Chard in her gentle, entrancing voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, now I'll tell you: I come from Cradock, in the +Cape Colony, but I've been living all over the place since +I left home. First, I went to stay with my sister in Kimberley. +Have you ever been to Kimberley? <i>Man!</i> I tell +you it's the most glorious place—at least, it used to be +before everybody went to Jo ... you know Jo-burg, +<i>of course</i>?"</p> + +<p>Miss Chard shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Never been to Johannesburg?" Sophie's tone expressed +the utmost pity and contempt. "Well, but<span class="pagenum">[95]</span> +you're an English girl, I can see. Not been long out +here, have you?"</p> + +<p>"Only a week or so."</p> + +<p>"Great Scott! you've got a lot to learn!"</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket +and lit one. She then offered the packet to Miss Chard, +who did not, however, take one.</p> + +<p>"Don't smoke either? Och, what! You're not <i>half</i> +a good fellow! Well, take off your hat, then. Do be +sociable."</p> + +<p>Miss Chard unpinned her floppy white hat and wore it +on her knee for the rest of the interview. Sophie noticed +the piled-up crown of black, black hair; also, the peculiar +branching way in which it grew above the girl's brows. +("I wonder if she uses bay-rum to make it all dry and +electriccy like that?" was her inward comment. "And +I'll bet she wears a switch.")</p> + +<p>"Well, to continue my tale—I had a lovely time in +<i>darling</i> old Kimberley: dances, theatres, suppers, everything +you can think of; then my sister's husband must +needs go off and buy a rotten old farm at the back of nowhere—Barkly +East, if you love me! They wanted <i>me</i> +to come, too, but I said, Dead off! No, <i>thanks</i>! I want +something more out of life than mountain scenery."</p> + +<p>Rosalind Chard looked at her and could well believe it. +At the moment Sophie reminded her of nothing so much +as a full-blown cabbage-rose, dying to be plucked.</p> + +<p>"And so you came here instead?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no; first I went to Jo-burg, and I <i>must</i> say I +had a heavenly time <i>there</i>; but—well—it didn't suit my +health, so I became <i>sekertary</i> to an old snook called Johnson. +He had been in Rhodesia, poking about in some +ancient ruins there, and—oh, my garden flower!—the +stuff he used to give me to write and type! And the way +he used to bully me when I didn't get through it! And<span class="pagenum">[96]</span> +then complained of my spelling, if you please. I didn't +stay with <i>him</i> any longer than I could help, you bet, though +the screw was good. But I <i>must</i> tell you, such fun—just as +I was going to leave him I discovered from his correspondence +that he was going up to Zanzibar to make some +researches for some rotten old society or other, so I stuck +to him for another month. I thought I might as well get +a passage to Durban for nix. So I started with him from +the Cape, but when the boat touched here, I said, Good-bye, +Johnnie! Oh crumbs! The row he made when he +found me trekking!"</p> + +<p>The listener's sympathy happened to be with the old +snook, but Sophie was not asking for an opinion.</p> + +<p>"And do you mean to say," demanded the latter unexpectedly, +"that you would rather live with your old aunt +than in a sweet little house like this, with me?"</p> + +<p>Miss Chard did not mean to say anything at all as far +as her own affairs were concerned.</p> + +<p>"Never mind about me, Sophie," was her reply. "Tell +me some more of your interesting adventures, and how you +came to live in this sweet little house."</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell's glance shifted from her new friend. She +looked out of the window, round the room, at the pictures +on the wall, at the typewriter—anywhere but into the two +clear wells of lilac light opposite her, as she answered:</p> + +<p>"I rent it, of course. I told you, didn't I, that I am +<i>sekertary</i> to a man down town, named Brookfield. He +thinks the world of me, and gives me a big salary; and then +I get other work from a man called Bramham. Oh, I have +more to do than I want, and I really <i>had</i> to get help, so I +wrote last week to a pal of mine up in Jo-burg, and told her +to come and join me. She promised, and I expected her +right up till to-day, when I got a telegram, if you please, to +say that she'd got something better. Wasn't that a low-down +trick? And after I had told Brookfield and Bram<span class="pagenum">[97]</span>ham and all! +Brookie gave me the morning off to go and +meet her, and I waited for the train and found she wasn't +in it, and when I got back to the office there was the telegram! +Fortunately Brookie was gone from the office when I got +back, so he doesn't know that she hasn't come."</p> + +<p>"But why should it matter to him and to the other man +whether she comes or not?"</p> + +<p>Again Miss Cornell's glance took flight.</p> + +<p>"Because of the work, of course—there's such tons +to do ... and I can't get through it all by myself."</p> + +<p>Miss Chard watched her narrowly.</p> + +<p>"Well, but why do you wish me to pretend that I live +here, and am your friend from Johannesburg?"</p> + +<p>"You see, it's this way ... Brookie and Mr. Bramham +take an interest in me.... They don't think that +I ought to live alone here, and all that sort of rot—and +if I could show <i>you</i> to them they'd think it was all right."</p> + +<p>Miss Chard looked startled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I couldn't promise to meet strange men! I didn't +suppose you would want me to do that or——"</p> + +<p>An exasperated look came over Miss Cornell's face.</p> + +<p>"You're not going to back out now, after me telling you +everything?" she demanded angrily, but Miss Chard's +scarlet lips took a firm line.</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to meet strange people," she said. To her +surprise, the other girl at once became propitiatory and +beseeching.</p> + +<p>"Well, but I won't ask you to meet anyone else. I'll +keep you a deadly secret. And I can assure you that +Brookie and Bramham don't matter in the least. Brookie +is—well, to tell you the truth, he is entirely my property; +he's crazily in love with me, and he won't bother you at +all. Neither will Brammie, if it comes to that. He is an +<i>awfully</i> nice man—everybody likes him, and he's fearfully +rich too. He's married, and his wife lives in England for<span class="pagenum">[98]</span> +her health, they say, but of coarse that must be all rot. +Anyway, he never goes into society at all—only has men +friends."</p> + +<p>"Well, what does he want here?" asked Miss Chard +calmly, watching the flushed face before her.</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing at all. It's only a matter of business, +and a friendly interest in me, and all that—and, you +see, as he employs me as well as Brookie, I have to be civil +and ask him to tea sometimes."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Miss Rosalind Chard that there was more +in this than met the eye, but she was not able to fathom +it at present. However, after listening to another long +description of Mr. Bramham's inoffensiveness, she consented +at last to be at the house one afternoon when he +called.</p> + +<p>"As for Brookie——" began Sophie, ready to open up +another chronicle of guilelessness.</p> + +<p>"No, no! I won't meet Brookie, I absolutely jib at +Brookie!"</p> + +<p>Sophie became lugubrious. "But he knows that you +were to have arrived to-day——"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Miss Chard decidedly. "Tell him that +I came, but that I am as ugly as a monkey and as old as +the sea. And now I must go, or my—aunt will be looking +for me. I shall try and come in to-morrow and take a +lesson on the typewriter. What time will be best?"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to teach yourself, my dear. I go to the +office every morning at ten, and I lunch in West Street, and +don't get back until above five in the afternoon. But I'll +bring you all the MSS. there is no immediate hurry for—and +you can do it one day and I'll take it back the next. +We shall get along like one o'clock."</p> + +<p>"That's all settled then; good-bye!" Miss Chard had +stepped out of the room into the verandah and was gone +before Sophie could remove her high heels from the bars of<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> +the chair in front of her, where she had hooked them for +extra ease and comfort. Inadvertently she listened for +the click of the gate. But the gate did not click. Miss +Chard, having got out of view of both house and gate, made +a dash for the tall green hedge on the right side of the garden. +Stooping down, she instantly disappeared.</p> + +<p>A few moments later Poppy Destin sat in the passion-leaved +summer-house, delicately smoking a cigarette and +brushing all traces of dust from her thin black muslin gown. +Between little puffs of smoke she presently spoke to herself.</p> + +<p>"Certainly she is a terror ... a common mind, +terrible clothes, Colonial slang ... I don't know that I +can put up with her at all ... and those awful Brookies +and Brammies! ... but it will be useful to be able to go +through her garden whenever I want to make a little excursion +into the world ... and, of course, I couldn't be +there without some right or reason ... besides, it will be +splendid to learn typewriting, and do all my own writing +ready to send to the publishers ... but what a room! ... and +those roses in her hat! Can such things be?... +I must go and see whether Kykie has my tea ready."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A few days later it would have been hard to recognise +the sitting-room of Sophie Cornell's little green bungalow. +Books had spread themselves about the room, the tawdrinesses +had been removed, flowers were everywhere, +and a fine vine in a long glass crept delicately up the side +of the mirror above the mantel. When Poppy had hinted +that she would like to change the room a little, Sophie had +good-naturedly given her <i>carte-blanche</i> to do anything she +wished, saying:</p> + +<p>"It was not <i>my</i> taste either, you know; but the place +was furnished when I came into it and I haven't bothered +to do anything since."</p> + +<p>The only things Miss Cornell would not allow to be<span class="pagenum">[100]</span> +banished were the photographs of her numerous admirers, +which she insisted on ranging along the narrow wooden +ledge running round the room above the dado. They +were in all degrees of preservation—some of them yellow +with age or exposure, some quite new; all were autographed +and inscribed. Some of the inscriptions ran thus: "From +your loving Jack"; "To the best girl I know"; "To one +of the best from one of the worst," etc. It was to be +observed that the most ardent <i>mots</i> were merely initialled. +But Sophie was equally proud of them all, and would exhibit +them on the smallest provocation, giving a short +narrative-sketch of each person which included the most +striking features of his character, together with a thrilling +account of his passion for her and the reason why she did +not marry him.</p> + +<p>"Now, isn't <i>he</i> good looking? Such a dear boy too ... and +<i>generous</i>! My dear, that man would have +given me the boots off his feet ... but there—he had +no money; what was the good?... He's in Klondyke +now ... I do hope he'll have luck, poor boy...."</p> + +<p>"This is Captain Halkett. No, I don't know his regiment, +and he never would give away his photos in uniform, +though he had some perfectly lovely ones.... Someone +told me he was a 'cashier' in the Army ... but that +was silly, of course ... there are no such things as +cashiers in the Army, <i>are</i> there? ... he simply adored +me ... he gave me this bangle ... such a darling ... but +he was married—or, <i>of course</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that</i> is Jack Truman, of Kimberley. Everyone +knows <i>him</i> ... a fearful devil, but most fascinating.... +Isn't he handsome? ... such eyes ... you simply +couldn't look into them, they made you blush all over. +The women were all crazy after him, but he told me he +didn't give a pin for any of them except me.... He +wanted me to run away with him ... but he had a wife<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> +in a lunatic asylum ... obliged to allow her forty pounds +a month, and he was <i>dreadfully</i> in debt ... they tried to +arrest him at Cape Town, but he got away dressed like a +woman ... and now he is in the Australian Mounted +Police, they say.</p> + +<p>"And, <i>of course</i>, you know who this is? One of the +biggest men on the Rand ... with <i>thousands</i>, my dear.... +Och! you should see him in riding kit ... you never +saw any one look so perfectly <i>noble</i> ... he was <i>madly</i> in +love with me ... everybody said so ... he told me I +was the only girl who could ever keep him straight ... +but he behaved rather badly.... I always believe some +snake of a woman made mischief ... and when he went +to England, one of those English girls snapped him up ... +they live out at Jeppestown now ... and they say she's +the <i>living image</i> of me ... funny, isn't it?... but I +think it just proves how he adored me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>Listeners of defective vision and an over-developed +sense of credulity might have believed that Helen of Troy +II had come to town—unless they had been long enough +in South Africa to realise that the best way to enjoy a little +quiet humour is to take a Cape-Colonial girl at her own +valuation.</p> + +<p>Poppy listened to all with tranquil eyes. She was willing +to believe that it might be true that Sophie was admired +and adored and desired. But in the type of men who +formed the army of admirers and adorers and desirers she +could not pluck up the faintest kind of interest. It seemed +to her that it was impossible that any man worth knowing +could forgive the size of Sophie's hands and the shape of +her feet, the look about her mouth, the paint on her face, +and the dust in her hair.</p> + +<p>She was aware, however, that life in South Africa is +too busy and too eventful to allow men much time for +digging into personality—and that it has to suffice, as a<span class="pagenum">[102]</span> +rule, if the surface-metal shines pleasantly and looks like +the real thing. Sophie's surface, no doubt, had an attractive +glitter, but Poppy felt sure that if anyone with the time +and inclination for such occupation had ventured to go +a-quarrying into the nature of Sophie Cornell, the output +would be found to be surprising, even in a land where surprises +are every-day fare and the unexpected is the only +thing that ever happens.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[103]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IN the meantime all went well. Secure in the knowledge +that Abinger was away for some weeks, that +Kykie would never search for her except at meal-times, +every day found Poppy spending four or five hours at her +new occupation—typewriting. She had determined that +she would master this art before she went adventuring +further into the world that lay beyond Sophie Cornell's +gate.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she would arrive before ten in the morning, +in time to see Sophie depart, gloriously arrayed, with the +air of one due at the same garden-party as royalty.</p> + +<p>When she inspected the huge rolls of work which Sophie +invariably brought back, she would sometimes wonder if +the latter had indeed been to a garden-party and never +put in at the office at all, except to fetch the MSS.</p> + +<p>The little house in the morning hours was always calm +and peaceful. Through the trees of the garden Poppy +could hear the world go buzzing by—the grating of the +tram-cars on the lines, the clatter of horses, and the hiss +of wheels going down hill, and an occasional street cry. +No one ever came down the little pathway. Only the +click of the machine, the voices of Zambani and Piccanin, +busy with the pots and the pans in the kitchen and yard, +broke the silence; or Poppy's trilling whistle as she corrected +her proofs. By half-past twelve there would be +piles of neat manuscript ready for Sophie to take back the +next day, and Poppy would be speeding home through<span class="pagenum">[104]</span> +her own garden to luncheon. Sometimes in the afternoon +she would finish early, and, going out into the kitchen, +would toast buns and prepare the tea, and Sophie, coming +home at five o'clock, would find it laid cool and dainty +among flowers on the long table.</p> + +<p>One day, when Poppy had arrived almost directly after +lunch, with the idea of getting in a long afternoon at her +own work, she was disagreeably surprised to find Sophie +stalk in a few moments later, flushed and handsome, and +bringing with her a large bale of papers and the faint but +unmistakable odour of good cigars.</p> + +<p>Poppy's little nose went up and a warmth ran through +her; the smell of a good cigar unaccountably roused in her +a vivid interest in life. For a moment she slightly envied +Sophie, but a glance at the brilliant languid eyes and +heavy mouth changed her mind, and singularly inspired +her with the thought that good cigars were probably often +smoked by hateful men.</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to order you a cup of tea, Sophie?" +she asked presently.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks!" said Sophie, languidly stretching herself +in a chair. "I couldn't drink tea. I've had a most +tiring morning. Brookie brought Nick Capron in, and +they simply <i>wouldn't</i> let me work."</p> + +<p>After which calmly contradictory statement, she closed +her eyes and fanned herself with a legal-looking document, +chosen for its stiffness from among the papers she had +brought, and which were now at sixes and sevens upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>At the name "Nick Capron," Poppy gave a little start. +How well she remembered the day she had heard that +name from the lips of a beautiful woman in Bloemfontein! +Could this Nick Capron possibly be the "most fascinating +man in Africa" whom the gold-haired heroine was going +to marry? She must try and discover.<span class="pagenum">[105]</span></p> + +<p>"I think a cup of tea would refresh you, Sophie," she +presently said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Och ni vat!</i> I can't eat or drink when I get worn out +like this—I become a perfect wreck."</p> + +<p>Poppy surveyed the healthy, not to say opulent proportions +stretched before her, and could not forbear to +smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you should keep up your strength," she said, with +irony entirely thrown away.</p> + +<p>"The only thing that would be the <i>slightest</i> use to me, +now," announced Sophie, "is a glass of champagne—and, +of course, I can't have that."</p> + +<p>Poppy began to pore over her manuscript. She was in +the mood for work and hated not to take advantage of +it.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were rich enough to drink champagne whenever +I am tired," was Miss Cornell's next contribution; +and Poppy laughed without being amused.</p> + +<p>"You'd soon be bored with that."</p> + +<p>"Never!" said Miss Cornell fervently; then relapsed +into languor.</p> + +<p>"I hope those papers are not important, Sophie, they +are blowing all over the room."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they're <i>very</i> important. They're all about a +Malay abduction case which a friend of Brookie's is defending +in the Courts next week. It's the greatest fun, +Brookie and Capron were shrieking over it this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Capron a lawyer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—he isn't anything; just a pal of Brookie's. +He's a Johannesburger, but he has a house here as well, +and <i>tons</i> of money, and a lovely wife—a perfect stunner, +my dear—Brookie says she is the loveliest woman in +Africa; but Capron has always got his eye on some other +woman. By the way, Rosalind, to-day he was describing +a girl he had seen in a rickshaw, and from the description<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> +I feel sure it was you. Your particular style of beauty +appears to have struck him all in a heap."</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell made this statement as though she thought +it humorous, which, indeed, she did, for that anyone should +admire a girl so unlike her own type, and her own idea of +beauty which that type represented, seemed to her really +funny and incredible. Yet she looked intently now, and +observed, so far as in her lay, "with the seeing eye," and +for the first time since they had met—the girl before her. +Nick Capron's unmistakable enthusiasm had made a great +impression upon her.</p> + +<p>"He said that you were alone in a rickshaw," she told +Poppy, "and that he and Mrs. Portal were walking together +and met you. And Mrs. Portal said you looked like a +Burne-Jones dressed like a Beardsley poster. What rot +these society women talk! Who can understand a thing +like that?"</p> + +<p>"What is Mrs. Portal like?" asked Poppy, remembering +now the well-bred-looking woman who had been talking +about Burne-Jones to the man with the dissipated eyes +on the day of her arrival.</p> + +<p>But Sophie took no heed of the question. She was +closely and furtively regarding Poppy, and thinking: +"Has she any attraction for men, I wonder? She's not a +bit smart ... and so pale ... and yet, and yet ..." +Here Sophie's expression of thought gave out. If she +could have expressed it, she would have added: "She is +pale, and yet glows as though something within her is +alight."</p> + +<p>"I hope you did not tell him anything about me?" +asked Poppy suddenly.</p> + +<p>"No, I did <i>not</i>!" said Miss Cornell emphatically, and +her annoyed look as she said it brought a ring of laughter +from Poppy and a lovely mischievous glimmer to her +eyes.<span class="pagenum">[107]</span></p> + +<p>Suddenly Sophie sprang up.</p> + +<p>"Great Scott! I <i>quite</i> forgot to tell you—Brammie is +coming to tea. That's why I came home so early. Do +buck up, old girl, and make things look nice. Your papers +are all over the place. I want the room to look as nice as +possible for old Brammie."</p> + +<p>"Oh! blow Brammie," thought Poppy crossly. "I +was just going to write something extraordinarily fine; +now it will be lost for ever!"</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she put her papers away with a good +grace, tidied the room, laid the tea-things—as only she +could—and went out to pluck fresh flowers for the vases. +Sophie stood in her bedroom door buttoning a plaid silk +blouse over her richly-endowed bosom.</p> + +<p>"That's ripping," she said approvingly. "Och! but +you <i>can</i> arrange flowers—I'll say that for you, Rosalind. +Wouldn't you like to run home and change your dress, +though?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Poppy, her head slightly on one side as +she surveyed a great flaming hibiscus-blossom she had just +put by itself amidst a heap of green on the mantlepiece. +"Why should I change my gown?" she asked. "This +is quite all right. And the man's coming to see you, +Sophie, not me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he really <i>wants</i> to see you, and I think you ought +to try and look nice. I'll lend you one of my silk blouses, +if you like."</p> + +<p>"No, no, thank you," hastily. "It's awfully good of +you, Sophie, but I think my gown is quite presentable."</p> + +<p>She looked absolutely charming in a pale-blue linen, +perfectly laundered by Kykie; but Sophie considered +anything less than silk very ordinary wear indeed.</p> + +<p>Poppy began to arrange her hair at the mantel-mirror, +pulling out her little side-combs, running them through +strands of hair, then plunging them in deeper, so that great<span class="pagenum">[108]</span> +waves leaned out on either side of her face and delicate +fronds fell veil-wise just over her eyes. Then she took a +bunch of green leaves and fastened them under her throat +with a big, old malachite brooch she had.</p> + +<p>"Well, put some colour on your cheeks, or something," +said Sophie discontentedly.</p> + +<p>Poppy flew into one of the fierce little rages that sometimes +seized her. "I will <i>not</i>, Sophie! Why on earth +should you suppose that because <i>you</i> have a violent colour +no one admires pale women? Do not make the mistake +of thinking that everyone adores your type because <i>you</i> +do!"</p> + +<p>Sophie, utterly taken aback, was about to make a tart +rejoinder, when there came a light tap with a crop on the +front door.</p> + +<p>"Anyone at home?"</p> + +<p>Sophie flew to her room to complete her toilette, leaving +Poppy to swallow her rage and open the door. A big, +grey-eyed man, with a kind smile, was standing in the +verandah. He was in riding-clothes and carried a crop in +his hand.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said Poppy, without enthusiasm; adding: +"Miss Cornell will not be long."</p> + +<p>"Are you Miss Chard?" said he pleasantly, and came +in.</p> + +<p>He looked round in a friendly, boyish way that rather +charmed her.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! How pretty you've made this place look! +It's quite different."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I suppose you were here before, when it was a +chamber of horrors," said Poppy coolly. "I never saw a +more impossible place in my life."</p> + +<p>He looked at her curiously as though greatly surprised. +Then he said carelessly, and rather curtly she thought:</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I have been here before."<span class="pagenum">[109]</span></p> + +<p>He sat down in one of the easy chairs and Poppy began +to put in order some books that had fallen from the book-case +on to the floor. When she turned she found him still +staring at her in that curious fashion, but without his +smile. She missed it because it was a singularly heart-warming +smile.</p> + +<p>"The last people here were rather addicted to antimacassars +and glass-shades and things," she said, appearing +not to notice his curious look; "and as it seemed to +me a pity to let such things spoil a pretty room, I put +them out."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" was all he vouchsafed. She felt chilled. But +here Sophie burst into the room, very magnificent and +highly coloured.</p> + +<p>"How <i>sweet</i> of you to come, Mr. Bramham," one hand +up to her hair and the other outstretched, while her body +performed the Grecian bend.</p> + +<p>"Rosalind, <i>do</i> see about tea, there's a dear. I'm sure +Mr. Bramham must be <i>parched</i>."</p> + +<p>Correctly estimating this as a hint to leave them alone, +Poppy retreated to the kitchen, and did not reappear until +she followed Piccanin in with the tea-tray. Sophie was +saying, "<i>Do</i> bring him around, Mr. Bramham. We should +<i>just love</i> to meet him."</p> + +<p>Poppy, arranging the cups on the table, had a pardonable +curiosity to know whom she should <i>just love</i> to meet; +but she made no remark; merely sat down.</p> + +<p>"Shall I pour out tea, Sophie?"</p> + +<p>The latter nodded, but made no other attempt to include +her in the conversation, continuing to monopolise Mr. +Bramham entirely.</p> + +<p>In a short time Poppy became wearied of this state of +affairs. After observing "Brammie's" boots, his fingers, +his tie, the shape of his lips, his hair, the size of his ears, +and his manner of sitting on a chair (all while she was<span class="pagenum">[110]</span> +apparently arranging the cups and looking into the teapot +to see if the tea was drawing properly), the "eternal +feminine," which is only another name for the dormant +cat in every woman, awoke in her. She did not exactly +want "Brammie" for herself, but she decided that he +was too nice for Sophie.</p> + +<p>Immediately afterwards, Bramham began to realise +that there was a charming personality in the room.</p> + +<p>"Do you take sugar?" blew like a cool little western +wind into his right ear; while on his left, Sophie Cornell +was bombarding him with instructions to bring someone +to call.</p> + +<p>Poppy got her answer first, and a sudden glance of +recognition fell upon the slim, pale hands amongst the +tea-cups; then:</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Miss Cornell! I'll ask him to come, but I +can't promise that he will. He's not much given to +calling."</p> + +<p>"Bosh! I know he goes to the Caprons and the Portals—I've +seen him with that horrid Mrs. Portal."</p> + +<p>"Ah! you don't admire Mrs. Portal?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything to admire," said Sophie. "She +is not a bit smart, and her hats are simply awful!"</p> + +<p>"She is considered one of the most delightful women in +South Africa," said Bramham.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she may be," Sophie's air was unbelieving; "but +I don't see where it comes in."</p> + +<p>She took her tea sulkily from Poppy's hand. Bramham +looked bored. The little western wind blew again in his +ear.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps her charm is not to be seen. Perhaps it is +an essence—a fragrance——"</p> + +<p>Sophie scoffed at what she did not understand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you and your old poetry——"</p> + +<p>"That's just what it is," said Bramham. "There's<span class="pagenum">[111]</span> +an odour of happiness about her that infects everyone +who comes near her—no one cares a hang about what she +wears or anything like that."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't like her, anyway," said Sophie, now +thoroughly ill-tempered, "and I don't see why you do. +She's covered with freckles."</p> + +<p>That should have ended the matter, but Poppy's taste +for torment was whetted.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Mr. Bramham doesn't know her as well as +you do, Sophie," she said softly.</p> + +<p>Sophie glared. Mr. Bramham looked amused. They +all knew that Mrs. Portal could never be anything but a +name to Sophie—that it was really an impertinence on her +part to be discussing Mrs. Portal at all.</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> know her?" she retorted rudely.</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" answered Poppy. "I know no one +in Durban except you, Sophie—and now Mr. Bramham," +she smiled, a sudden smile of great sweetness at Bramham, +and at that he gave her his whole attention.</p> + +<p>"That's dull for you, surely!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I have plenty to do; and books to read; +and how can one be dull in such a lovely place as Natal?"</p> + +<p>The sun came out in Bramham. He was a Natalian +and proud of it.</p> + +<p>"I believe she gets up in the morning and goes out to +see if the sun rises!" said Sophie, as if denouncing the +conclusive symptom of idiotcy.</p> + +<p>The cold look with which Bramham had at first surveyed +Poppy had now quite disappeared, and his grey-eyed +smile was all for her. He also was a sun-rise +man.</p> + +<p>"Do you like books?" he asked. "I can lend you any +amount. We get all the new ones, and as soon as they're +read the Lord knows where they go! I'll send you some +up, if I may."<span class="pagenum">[112]</span></p> + +<p>"Thank you, that <i>will</i> be good of you," said Poppy +with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Send her up all the old poetry books you can find," +jeered Sophie. "Personally, <i>I</i> like a jolly good yellow-back."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bramham looked extremely bored by this priceless +piece of information, and more so still when she returned +immediately to the subject of the men she was anxious +to meet. Poppy got up and, opening the piano, began +to play a little gay air to which she whistled softly; she +never sang.</p> + +<p>"I'm just <i>dying</i> to know him," said Sophie ardently. +"He looks as though he has committed every sin you +ever heard of. And how <i>did</i> he get that fearful scar right +across his face? Vitriol?"</p> + +<p>The little air at the piano stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I really couldn't tell you. He is not communicative +on the subject," said Bramham drily. "But perhaps he +will unfold to you—do go on playing, Miss Chard!"</p> + +<p>He adored music, and had an excellent view of an extraordinarily +pretty pair of ankles under the music-stool.</p> + +<p>Poppy complied, but she changed the air to something +savage that made Bramham think of a Zulu war-chant.</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall certainly ask him when I meet him. I +wonder you haven't been able to find out! He lives with +you, doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"He is staying with me, at present, yes." Bramham's +tone was full of weariness.</p> + +<p>"And that dark, strange Irishman everyone is talking +about—Carson—he is staying with you, too, isn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are they great friends?"</p> + +<p>"We all know each other very well."</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell laughed genially.<span class="pagenum">[113]</span></p> + +<p>"I should say you do—isn't it true that you are called +the three bad men all over Africa—come now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid someone has been filling your head with +nonsense. Who spreads these stories, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, that's all very well, but you know it's true, +all the same. You are three dangerous, fascinating men, +everyone says so, and the Kaffirs have names for you all. +What is yours, Mr. Bramham?"</p> + +<p>"Kaffirs have names for everybody if one had time to +find out what they were."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know—<i>Umkoomata</i>—that's what they call you. +Now, what wickedness can that mean?"</p> + +<p>"Who tells you these wonderful things, my dear young +lady? You really have a lot of inside information about +everything. You should start a newspaper." Bramham +was slightly exasperated.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know a lot more besides that," said Miss Cornell, +shaking her finger at him archly. "About you, and Mr. +Carson, too. He is going up on a secret expedition into +Borapota for the English Government, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i> secret, apparently," thought Bramham. "How +the devil do these things leak out?"</p> + +<p>"Something or other, yes," he said aloud.</p> + +<p>"They say the English Government thinks an <i>awful</i> +lot of him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's a clever fellow," said Bramham, casually. +No one would have supposed him to be speaking of a man +dearer to him than a brother. Bramham did not wear his +heart where it could be pecked at by the Sophie Cornells +of the world.</p> + +<p>Poppy got up from the piano, and Bramham got up, +too, and looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>"I must be off," said he, with a great air of business-hurry, +which left him as soon as he got out of the gate.</p> + +<p>"Now, don't forget to bring Mr. Abinger next time,"<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> +Sophie called after him from the verandah; "and that +Mr. Carson, too," she added, as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>Poppy positively blushed for her.</p> + +<p>"Sophie, how can you! It was perfectly plain that he +did not want to bring the man—and that he doesn't intend +to, anyway. Are you really as dense as you pretend to +be?"</p> + +<p>"Bosh!" said Sophie, retiring to the table and beginning +to make a fresh onslaught on the bread-and-butter. +"They'll turn up here in a day or two, you'll see. Isn't +there any jam, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not see anything of the kind. I wash my hands +of you and your men friends. I didn't engage to meet +anyone but Mr. Bramham, and I've done all I promised."</p> + +<p>She had done a little more than she had promised, as she +very well knew, but observation was not Sophie's strong +point, as her next remark made plain.</p> + +<p>"Now, don't be cross just because he didn't admire +you. I told you to put on my silk blouse, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed her entrancing laugh.</p> + +<p>"Do you really think men care for clothes, Sophie?"</p> + +<p>"Of <i>course</i> they do! They love to see a well-dressed +woman—especially when they don't have to pay for the +dress. Lots of men won't even be <i>seen</i> with a woman +unless she's <i>perfectly</i> turned out. Brookie is like that; +and I'll bet that man Abinger is, too!"</p> + +<p>"Is he, indeed! Then remove him far from me. I'm +afraid you won't suit him, either Sophie," with a touch of +malice.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Don't I pay enough for my clothes? I +dress far better than Mrs. Portal does, anyway. She +always has on faded old linens and things, and I've only +seen her in two hats since I came here—both of them +<i>awful</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I thought she looked extremely nice when I saw her."<span class="pagenum">[115]</span></p> + +<p>"Well, your taste and mine differ, my dear. <i>I</i> think +she is a frump. Capron's wife now <i>is</i> good looking, and +always dressed mag-<i>nif</i>-icently. But it makes a person +sick to see the way they freeze on to all the decent men +and never let them meet anyone else."</p> + +<p>"But do the men want to meet anyone else? If one +woman is witty, and the other pretty, what more is there +to be desired?"</p> + +<p>"You talk like a book with all the pages torn out, and +the cover lost," said Sophie irritably.</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed provokingly, and lay back in her chair, +thinking—the whole thing was rather amazing. Abinger +still here, and moving amongst pretty and witty women, +whilst he pretended to be up in the Transvaal! His friend +<i>Umkoomata</i> the <i>Sturdy One</i>, whom she had told herself +she would like to know, here too, visiting Sophie Cornell, +whom he plainly didn't like. Nick Capron! How odd +the world was! She began to ponder about <i>Intandugaza</i>, +too—whether he was the mysterious dark Irishman who +went on secret expeditions——</p> + +<p>"<i>Man!</i> Rosalind," broke in Sophie suddenly. "That +fellow Abinger is just crazy to meet me. We ran into +each other as I was coming out of Brookie's office yesterday, +and he gave me a look that made me go hot all over. He's +got those bad eyes that make you feel curly all down your +spine—<i>you</i> know!"</p> + +<p>Poppy turned away from her. With the remembrance +of certain recent sensations still burning within her, she +could not say that she did <i>not</i> know; but her mouth +expressed weariness and disgust.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you are talking about some kind +of brute, Sophie," she said.</p> + +<p>"Brute! Oh, I don't know," said Sophie, and laughed. +The laugh sent Poppy out of the room with her teeth in +her lip.<span class="pagenum">[116]</span></p> + +<p>"I can't stand Sophie any longer," she said to herself +in her own garden, looking at the rose-red walls of the +house and the flaming flowers on the plant before the door. +As she went indoors her thought changed; she began to +smile subtly to herself.</p> + +<p>"So Luce is in Durban all the time! He simply pretended +to go away, to avoid discussing that matter of +going out with me! And Mrs. Nick Capron! If I were +to go out here, should I meet her? And would she recognise +in me, I wonder, the little wretched vagabond of six +years ago?"</p> + +<p>She reached her glass, and looked in.</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[117]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">BRAMHAM and Carson sat smoking in the verandah +of Sea House. Before them, not two hundred yards +away, lay the sea, washing and rippling on the beach +under the full of the moon. Behind them, through the +open French windows a number of large woolly moths were +<i>buzzing</i> in and out, much intrigued by the light that shone +through a pink silk lamp-shade, which had been made and +presented to the establishment by Mrs. Brookfield, on +the occasion of her husband's accession to Bramham's +mess for six weeks. The electric-lights had been turned +out to keep the room as clear as possible of insects. It was +Bramham's house, and they were Bramham's native servants +who stepped so gently, removing the dinner-things +deftly without clamour, making no sound but the rustle +of bare feet on polished boards and an occasional softly-spoken +Zulu word.</p> + +<p>Bramham's household included no woman, but there +was no better-appointed one in Natal. Having laid +bare the gleaming oak dining-table, one of the <i>boys</i> solemnly +spread down its centre a strip of silver embroidery, while +another placed two silver bowls of roses at each end, and +removed the lamp with the pink shade to a side table. +Afterwards the ice-bucket was replenished and fresh +glasses placed near the spirit-tantalus.</p> + +<p>Having performed these duties with the greatest decorum +and ceremony, they withdrew silently to the back regions +of the house, where their solemnity slipped from them as<span class="pagenum">[118]</span> +suddenly as water slips from a Kaffir's skin. They disported +themselves amongst the pot-washers and dish +cleaners, the cooks and stable-boys, with many a merry +snicker and laugh, chattering like magpies, clicking and +clacking, and crying "Hah!" over the affairs of the <i>Old +Baas</i> (the master of natives is always <i>Old</i> whatever his age) +and the various other <i>Baases</i> who sat at Bramham's board +with regular irregularity.</p> + +<p>Ha! ha! where was <i>Shlalaimbona</i> to-night, they inquired +among themselves. It is true that he would sleep here +in the house of the <i>Old Baas</i>, as he had now done for many +nights, but where did he eat to-night? In the house on the +hill, where a white star was hidden by day and by night?</p> + +<p>No; the information was forthcoming that he dined +to-night at the house of Por-tal—he who was gay always +with an angry face and had the wife whose hands could +smooth away troubles.</p> + +<p>And where, the cook particularly desired to know, was +<i>Bechaan</i>? He whom the world called Brookfield—who +had slept in the house of <i>Umkoomata</i> for the matter of six +weeks now? Where was he to-night? Followed the tale +of the return of Mrs. <i>Bechaan</i>, with particulars amazing.</p> + +<p><i>Vetta</i>, Carson's personal servant, gave an imitation of +the lady, from which might have been gathered that her +chief characteristics were a kangaroo-walk and a face which +in contour and complacency resembled a camel's.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, <i>Umkoomata</i> and <i>Intandugaza</i> smoked +in the verandah, which was like the deck of a yacht, broad +and white-planked, and lined with a long row of every +kind of easy-chair, a Madeira lounge, and a hammock +with Union-Jack cushions.</p> + +<p>Carson, with his head far back in a canvas chair and +his hands behind it, was smoking a cigar at the mosquitoes, +sending them in shrieking swarms to roost in the roof. +Incidentally, he was trying to persuade Bramham that the<span class="pagenum">[119]</span> +fine weather indicated a three-weeks' trip into Zululand, +to get some good shooting.</p> + +<p>"I have another three weeks to put in, Charlie, and +what is the good of loafing here, at a loose end?" He +gave a glance at Bramham seated by him, pipe in mouth, +hands in pockets, the picture of health and well-being. +"And you are looking really seedy. A trip would do you +good."</p> + +<p>Bramham immediately began to think himself precariously +ill.</p> + +<p>"I know," said he uneasily; "I feel confoundedly slack. +I must take a dose of quinine to-night. A trip would be +just the thing to set me up, damn it!" He stared at the +moonlit night, his eyes full of a wistfulness that was +extraordinarily boyish in a man on the wrong side of forty. +He thought of a lovely spot he knew up on the Tugela, +where the moon would just be rising over a great Kop, and +he seemed to smell the wood fires on the night air——</p> + +<p>"But I can't get away. I've got a big case coming on +next month, you know." His face changed, the boyishness +passed and the business-man reappeared. "Those +fellows in Buenos Ayres are trying to do me up for five +thousand."</p> + +<p>They smoked in silence for a moment or so, then +Bramham continued:</p> + +<p>"My lawyer, of course, wants to see me almost every +day on some point or another. I really couldn't get away +at present, Carson. Why not take a run up to the Rand? +By the time you are back I'll have those fellows on toast, +and then we'll go off for a few weeks."</p> + +<p>"No," said Carson discontentedly, "everything is confoundedly +dull on the Rand. I was sick of the place when I +was there last month."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with it?"</p> + +<p>"It is not the same as it was, Charlie. The old crowd<span class="pagenum">[120]</span> +has all gone away or gone to bits—Webb is in the Colony; +Jack Lowther is mostly engaged (I think) in praying that +his wife won't be too much for him when she comes out—she +is on the water! The Dales are away. Bill Godley +is up Inyanga way. McLeod's finances are in bits, and +he's too busy keeping a stiff lip to be sociable. Clewer +is now Public Prosecutor and has become a saint. Little +Oppy has gone home. Solomon says he has met the Queen +of Sheba at last, and expects that to account for his never +being in evidence anywhere except in the stage box of +the Standard Theatre."</p> + +<p>"Oh, damn it! disgusting!" commented Bramham.</p> + +<p>"And, anyway, the Rand air always chips the edges +off my nerves, Bram. It's too high. Lord knows, I don't +feel any too fit now! I believe I have another go of fever +coming on."</p> + +<p>Bramham looked at him critically and affectionately. +"You <i>do</i> get some doses, but I hope you're not in for +another, Karri!" he said. "By Jove! When South +African fever puts her loving arms round a man she +clings as only fever and a woman can."</p> + +<p>Bramham's face was clouded, but there was no real bite +in his words. He had no quarrel with the clinging arms +of women, or of fever. But he blamed these things for +the look of bitter discontent and cynicism that lay across +the beauty of the fine face beside him. Carson wore in +his eyes the look, and round the mouth the marks, of one +who has "wearied of every temple he has built"; or, as +Bramham's thought expressed itself with no great originality, +yet not without point—the look of a man who has +got to the core of his apple and finds it rotten.</p> + +<p>"It's that look," Bramham told himself, "that gives +women an instinct to comfort him; while if they had only +let him alone from the first, maybe it wouldn't be there at +all! And you can't comfort a man for his soul's bitterness,<span class="pagenum">[121]</span> +as though he has the stomach-ache. Besides which, Karri +takes to comfort badly; he'd rather get a smack in the +teeth any day from someone he can hit back!"</p> + +<p>Thus Bramham, musing and staring at the sea. In +spite of its marred beauty, Carson's face seemed to him +finer than that of any man he had ever known—and he +knew most men of any consequence in South Africa. +Meanwhile Carson, giving him another glance, wondered +what kept him quiet.</p> + +<p>"Thinking of some woman, I suppose!"</p> + +<p>Presently Bramham did turn his mind to his own affairs.</p> + +<p>"I want your advice about something, Karri."</p> + +<p>"Fire away, Bram; let's hear all about her."</p> + +<p>At this Bramham, for reasons of his own, became slightly +annoyed.</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass, Carson."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a rake-hell, Bram. You know quite well +you are always at some apron-string."</p> + +<p>Indignation dried up Bramham's eloquence.</p> + +<p>Carson mocked him further.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you lay the 'deadly doing' down, before it +lays you out?"</p> + +<p>"Take your own excellent advice, my dear fellow. Or +give it to Abinger; perhaps he needs it," said Bramham.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Abinger! I don't think it would be of much +use to him. He scarcely does much 'roving by the light +of the moon' these days."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord, no! the less moon the better in his case!" +said Bramham grimly. "Where the deuce has he been all +these years, Karri?"</p> + +<p>Carson shrugged.</p> + +<p>"Not much doubt about where he has been! He could +give us some vivid inside information about the slow-fires +that consume."</p> + +<p>They smoked a while in silence. Later, Bramham said:<span class="pagenum">[122]</span></p> + +<p>"Whatever Carmen Braganza found to do, she did it +well! She told me that it had only taken her six months +to learn to dance as she did—and <i>you</i> know how she danced! +And, I suppose, if she had studied her man for a hundred +years, instead of three months, she could not have got in a +subtler revenge on Abinger—laying waste his looks like +that! It's hard to believe what a magnificent specimen +he was; and how mad the women were about him! Bah! +it was a foreign devil's trick!"</p> + +<p>"But she <i>was</i> a foreign devil. That was the point +Abinger lost sight of."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear who the other woman was, Karri?"</p> + +<p>"Never. It was an amazing thing that it never leaked +out, considering that the whole Rand was nose to trail. +But the fact was, I suppose, that no one knew who she was +except Abinger and his old housekeeper."</p> + +<p>"<i>And</i> Carmencita herself. She swore to me afterwards +that she had sprung upon them from behind a curtain in +Abinger's room and slashed his face open before the other +woman's eyes. Why she kept silence God only knows! +More foreign tricks probably."</p> + +<p>"The other woman must have felt mighty uncomfortable +all the months after, while Carmen stayed on dancing, +and everyone was hot to find Abinger and get to the bottom +of the mystery. There is no doubt that if he hadn't +disappeared so neatly afterwards the police would have +found some ground for rooting out the whole scandal for +the public benefit, and the other woman's name would have +been thrown to the beasts!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that was what Carmen was waiting for!"</p> + +<p>Carson got up to get another cigar and the subject +dropped. When he came back Bramham reverted to his +own troubles.</p> + +<p>"Colonial girls don't interest me at any time," he proclaimed +aggrievedly; "especially the adventuress brand.<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> +I didn't think that even I was such an idiot as to get tangled +up with one."</p> + +<p>Carson stared straight before him with a smile at the +sea.</p> + +<p>"This girl is Brookfield's typewriter—confound him!"</p> + +<p>Carson's satirical eyebrows moved, but he said nothing.</p> + +<p>Bramham continued:</p> + +<p>"A tall girl, with a fine figure and a high colour—but +what has that got to do with me?"</p> + +<p>"What, indeed?" an ironical echo from the canvas chair.</p> + +<p>This irritated Bramham.</p> + +<p>"If you think you're going to hear a tale of love you'll +be disappointed. Nothing of the sort. It's a matter of +highway robbery, if it's anything."</p> + +<p>Karri began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, Bram! This is not like you!"</p> + +<p>Neither was it. If Bramham made alms and oblations +on strange altars, he was the last man to talk about it afterwards, +or sigh over the stub-end of his cheque-book even +with his closest friend. At this time, however, he was +too much taken up with his grievances to defend his +principles to Carson.</p> + +<p>"I don't say the girl isn't good looking," he now interpolated, +as one who wishes to be quite fair and square; +"and she <i>may</i> be a good girl, for all I know," he added +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Carson grinned.</p> + +<p>"Any way, I'm quite sure the other girl is straight."</p> + +<p>"Great God of War! Are there two?"</p> + +<p>"What a fellow you are, Carson!" said Bramham +peevishly. "Of course there are two, but the other one +is quite different—English, I think; anyway, she's no +Colonial. I don't know what to make of it, to tell you the +truth, Karri. She's a friend of that Cornell girl and <i>that's</i> +against her; yet she looks good——"<span class="pagenum">[124]</span></p> + +<p>"Do you mean that she is unlovely?" asked Carson +with a wry smile.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't!" emphatically. "But the odd thing is +that she didn't strike me at all at first; except as being +bright and alive-looking—not like some of the dead ducks +you see around these parts sometimes—then suddenly +right under my eyes she blossomed out. You never saw +anything like it—eyes, hair, feet, hands, everything—perfect; +and her voice a melody."</p> + +<p>This was the most astonishing tale of highway robbery +Carson had ever heard.</p> + +<p>"What next?" asked he.</p> + +<p>Bramham beat the bowl of his pipe against the balcony +rail.</p> + +<p>"Cursed if I know what next!" he proclaimed. After +a pause he added: "I wish you'd come and help me sift +it out, Karri."</p> + +<p>Carson shrugged; his face grew a little weary.</p> + +<p>"I am not particularly interested in girls, Bram; I'm +afraid I couldn't help you much."</p> + +<p>Bramham might have made a rude retort, but he didn't. +He got up and leaned against a pole of the verandah, facing +Carson.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should like to have had your opinion, Karri. +What with that girl with the saint's eyes, and Brookfield's +slippery ways——"</p> + +<p>"But where does Brookfield come in?"</p> + +<p>Bramham did not answer immediately. He appeared +to be turning it over in his mind as to whether he should +tell that part of the story at all. Eventually he roused +himself to a point of indignation when he <i>had</i> to tell.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, look here, Karri—this is the whole thing: +About a month ago Brookfield came to my office with a +yarn about his typewriter—pretty girl—good girl—knew +her business, but fearfully poor, and he hadn't enough<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> +work to keep her going—would I give her some of my +typing? It meant bread-and-butter to her, etc. <i>Of +course</i>, I said 'Right!' But when it came to finding the +work for her ... well, Milligan, my head man, put it +to me that it meant taking away the typewriting from +our own man, who can't do anything else, and has a wife +and family ... and when I thought it over, anyway, I +kicked at having a woman about the office. However, +as I'd promised Brookfield to do something, I went round +to see him about it and met the girl—Miss Cornell. I +didn't take to her much; but she's poor, you know, and +something had to be done to help her out."</p> + +<p>"I don't see what business it was of yours at all."</p> + +<p>"Karri, it's everybody's business when a woman's down +on her luck—even if she has the shifty eye of Miss Sophie +Cornell. All the same, I didn't contemplate having to tip +up three hundred pounds, and I feel deuced sore about it."</p> + +<p>"Three hundred <i>what</i>?" cried Carson.</p> + +<p>"Well, look here, what was I to do?" said Bram sullenly. +"Brookie badgered me into promising to do something; +then the girl said she had a friend who wanted to come and +join her, and if they could only get a little hole of their own +they could set up an agency and take in work. Presently +Brookie heard that some people called Lumsden were going +to leave, and wanting to sell up their cottage—offered to +sell the whole bag of tricks as it stood for three hundred, +and Brookie said he would stand in for half if I would for the +other half. I wasn't prepared to plank down one-fifty +by any means, but the Cornell girl got hold of me and +pitched me a long story about her friend, an English girl, +who had got left in Kimberley by some people she was +governessing for ... also, she was so full of gratitude +about all our plans for them, that before I knew where I +was I had promised. Well, Brookie asked me to arrange +the thing quietly and take the house over from the Lumsdens<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> +in my name, as he didn't want to appear in the matter, +because Mrs. Lumsden's sister at the Cape is a great friend +of his wife's and he was afraid it might get to her ears. +So I paid Lumsden one-fifty down on the nail, and the +rest was to be paid in a month, and Miss Cornell settled +in and the other girl turned up from Kimberley, and +they've made the place all snug and seem as happy as +sandboys. In fact, everything was going all right until +this afternoon, when Brookie looms up with a face as +long as a horse's, and says he's not prepared to pay the +other one-fifty."</p> + +<p>"The little blackguard!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Just what I said to him. He said: 'Not +at all!' Declared he hadn't let me in for anything.... I +could get three hundred pounds any day of the week for +Lumsden's place.... Just as if I could, or would, turn +those two poor girls out now they're so happy! So, of +course, I've just got to tip up the rest of the money and +look pleasant ... and, after all, you know, Karri, why +should I?... They're nice little women, and all that, +and I'd gladly have done something, but three hundred!... +I've troubles of my own, by Jove!... My +wife doesn't live on Quaker Oats and barley water, by +any means."</p> + +<p>"And then there's the pleasure of knowing you've been +rooked. I never heard of such a piece of barefaced roguery +in my life."</p> + +<p>"Well, what could I do? He said his wife was coming +back unexpectedly and he couldn't raise the money."</p> + +<p>"You're three hundred different kinds of fool, Bram, if +you let him rook you like that."</p> + +<p>"He's been too clever for me," grumbled Bramham, +and shut his mouth on his pipe.</p> + +<p>"H'm! Mind the girl's not too clever for you +too."<span class="pagenum">[127]</span></p> + +<p>A plaintive expression came into Bramham's face, +mingled with irritation; he took his pipe out again.</p> + +<p>"My dear Karri, don't I tell you that I have nothing +to do with the girl, or she with me? I was sorry for her +and helped her out of a hole, and there the matter ends. +I don't really regret the money—because of that other +girl—but as you know, I am not a millionaire, and three +hundred <i>is</i> three hundred. What annoys me is that I +should have been such a fool——"</p> + +<p>"Why did you pay? I should have refused."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, you wouldn't, because the women would have +had to get out. No, that would never have done."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Carson, getting up and walking down the +long verandah. "It's just as well that Mrs. Brookfield +has come back. I wouldn't live in the house with Brookfield +after this." He went indoors and began to negotiate +a whiskey-and-soda.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, I say, Karri!" Bramham got up and came +and leaned in the doorway, one leg in the room and one in +the verandah. "This isn't your affair, you know. Don't +you get your back up about it. I've really no right to +have told you; but you understand that I've been a good +deal annoyed, and it's been a relief to speak of it. Of +course, if Brookie had been here I should have gone into his +room and blazed away at him after dinner and got rid of it +that way. As it is, I feel better and there's no harm done. +By Jove! what a glorious moon! Let's go for a tramp +before we turn in."</p> + +<p>"Right!"</p> + +<p>They fortified. Later, without hats, they tramped off +along the shining sands silvered by the light of a shimmering +moon gazing at herself in the sea.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Brookfield's wife having returned, he came no more<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> +to Sea House. But he hailed Carson blithely at the Club +next day.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to a drink, Karri?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want a drink," said Carson shortly.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me why not. I don't want one, that's all."</p> + +<p>"O God! look here! Now, damn it, why not?"</p> + +<p>Brookfield was as easily infuriated as Carson.</p> + +<p>On this occasion Carson stayed cool.</p> + +<p>"Because I don't like you—if you must have it."</p> + +<p>Brookfield at once became calm; he prepared to argue +out the matter.</p> + +<p>"Karri," he began plaintively, "I want to tell you one +thing. I like you and Charlie Bramham better than anyone +in this rotten country, but there's no one who can annoy +me more than you can——"</p> + +<p>Carson yawned, got up, and walked out of the room.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[129]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IT was a moonless night, but the stars were out in their +legions, and the garden was full of a warm, silvery silence—the +silence composed of the thousand tiny sounds +and scents that make the charm and wonder of an African +night. The moon-flowers were tolling their heavy, white +bells, and some big flowering-bush, with pale, subtle +blossoms, seemed to have all the fragrance of a beautiful +woman's hair.</p> + +<p>Poppy walked in the gracious dimness, her bare, pale +feet picking their way delicately amongst bright things +lying like fallen stars in the grass. A green, clinging plant, +waving long tendrils, clutched at her gown as she passed, +and she broke it off, and, twining it into a crown, put it +on her hair. It had tiny flowers dotted amongst its leaves. +The trees shut her in from all the world, and it was as +though she walked in some great, dim, green well.</p> + +<p>She had been all through the garden and was tired. At +last she threw herself down and lay at full-length on the +soft, short grass, in which there was no dampness, for a +terrible pall of heat had lain all day upon Natal, and through +the thin nainsook of her gown Poppy could feel the warmth +still in the earth. She stared into the solemn velvet sky +where Orion, in gleaming belt and sword, leaned above +her, and the Milky Way was a high-road to Heaven, paved +with powdered silver. Far away, in the town below, a +church clock flung out eleven clear strokes upon the night +air. Poppy turned on her side and lay with her cheek to the +earth.<span class="pagenum">[130]</span></p> + +<p>"Old Mother Africa! What have you hidden in your +bosom for me?" she whispered.... "I believe that if +I sleep on your breast to-night I will dream my destiny. +I love you, and you love me.... I am your child ... a +poppy growing in your old brown bosom. You are the +only mother I have ever known.... Whatsoever you +give unto me, I will take and say it is good. I feel predestined +to-night.... If I lay my ear to you, will I +hear the foot-falls of my fate approaching?... What +is there for me? Fame? Love? Those are the only two +things in the world! ... but no one can have them both +it is said.... Which have you for me, Mother? Will +you tell me in a dream?... I will sleep here to-night," +she said at last; and shutting her eyes she lay +still.</p> + +<p>A man, coming very softly and wonderingly across the +grass lawns, thought he saw a slim beam of moonlight +lying there, and gave a startled exclamation when it sprang +up and flickered into a cluster of tall shrubs.</p> + +<p>"That was an odd thing!" he said to himself. "I'll +swear I saw.... And yet there is no moon to-night!"</p> + +<p>He stood long, looking into the darkness of the bushes +until at last he imagined that he saw a moonbeam, shaped +graciously like a woman's face, looking back at him. But +when he approached it retreated. He stepped back again +and it returned.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" he remarked; "I must have a bad attack when +I see moonbeam faces on a moonless night!"</p> + +<p>The wedge of moonlight in the bushes seemed to him +to give out two little gleams at that.</p> + +<p>"This is a fool's game," said the man aloud. "I must +go behind these bushes and see where this thing begins +and ends."</p> + +<p>Instantly the moonbeam disappeared altogether.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," he muttered. "Then it <i>is</i> a woman,<span class="pagenum">[131]</span> +and I'm not delirious yet, though by the Lord my head +feels.... I wonder if she will come back if I behave +myself very nicely.... I'd like to see that face a little +closer ... it looked.... Is it possible that I've made +a mistake and this is not Portal's place at all? Perhaps +I've found my way into Brookfield's zenana! It was +<i>something</i> like the gate Bram pointed out to me yesterday.... +But what am I doing <i>here</i>, by the way?... I +wish someone would tell me ... perhaps she will ... +how can I get her to come back? ... it might be a good +idea to light a cigar and let her see my guileless features.... +I think I'll sit down too ... it's odd how queer I feel!" +He sat down in the grass among the fallen stars, a tall, +powerful figure in a light-grey lounge suit, and taking out +a cigar he carefully lighted it, making as long a process of +the lighting as possible. Then he threw away the remains +of the match and looked up at the bushes, but his dazzled +eyes could see no wedge of moonlight in the Egyptian darkness. +It was there, however. And by the time the match +had burnt his fingers, Poppy had been able to take a long +absorbing look at what seemed to her the most wonderful +face she had ever seen. She believed that in that short +time she had read all that should, and should not, be +written on the face of a man—strength, weakness, tenderness, +tyranny, gentleness, bitterness, cynicism, gaiety, +melancholy, courage, despair. But how came he here? +How had he found his way through a locked gate? Was +it possible that he had come through the <i>boys'</i> compound? ... +or by way of her secret hole in the summer-house? ... +but he had not come from either of these directions. +What did he want?</p> + +<p>In the meantime the man was holding his cigar between +his knees and gazing in her direction.</p> + +<p>"O moon of my desire that knows no wane," he gently +misquoted, "come out and talk to me!"<span class="pagenum">[132]</span></p> + +<p>His voice had a rustle in it of leaves before the wind. +No woman could listen to it cold-hearted.</p> + +<p>"But what are you doing in my garden?" she said in her +own entrancing tones.</p> + +<p>The man's veins thrilled in turn.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> it your garden? I was looking for the house of a +friend. I'll go if you tell me to, but I'd much rather sit +here and listen to your voice. I can't see you very well—" +he finished with an air of complaint.</p> + +<p>"How did you get in?" asked Poppy. "Isn't the +gate locked?"</p> + +<p>"My <i>boys</i> have a name for me of which one translation +runs—all gates open to him."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>must</i> be locked."</p> + +<p>"It is not, I assure you. Though if this were my garden, +it should always be—with me inside."</p> + +<p>"You talk very oddly," said she, trying to speak coldly; +"nearly as oddly as old Khayyam himself ... I trust +not for the same reason!"</p> + +<p>"You wrong me bitterly," he said. "I am trying to +speak and behave with unusual decorum. It is the poetry +of the night which affects me in spite of myself. You +suspect some more occult reason, I see, but I can assure +you on my honour that I dined quietly at the Club and +drank no more than one whiskey-and-soda with my dinner."</p> + +<p>A silence prevailed.</p> + +<p>At last he said: "I think it would be a gentle and kind +thing to do, to come and sit near me on the grass. I would +like to look at you closely and see if you are a moonbeam +I used to know long ago in Rhodesia."</p> + +<p>"I have never been in Rhodesia."</p> + +<p>"No? Then perhaps it was in my own land. The +women there have voices like you.</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:17em"> +<p>"There be none of beauty's daughters<br /> + With a magic like thee,<br /> +<span class="pagenum">[133]</span>And like music on the waters<br /> + Is thy sweet voice to me—"</p> +</div> + +<p>Poppy heard the rustle of leaves again through Byron's +beautiful words, and a little shiver of happiness flew +through her. She hoped he would sit there for ever, +beguiling her with his sweet Irish tongue.</p> + +<p>"Tell me that you came from Ireland and I'll believe +you with all my heart," said he next.</p> + +<p>"No; I was born out here."</p> + +<p>"In this bad, mad land?" His voice had a note of +disappointment in it; he added: "I wish <i>you</i> were mad +and bad—but that is too much to expect, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you wish it?"</p> + +<p>"Because then you would come and sit by me on the +grass and talk to me. I am a very bad man, and I want +company."</p> + +<p>"But," said Poppy softly, "<i>Il n'est jamais de mal en +bonne compagnie.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Voltaire in an African garden! O Lord! I <i>must</i> be +delirious," he muttered to himself. "I suppose you +haven't such a thing as a pinch of quinine about +you?"</p> + +<p>Poppy having very little about her at that time, began +to laugh. Her laugh was rather like the first note of a +bird's song, and she understood very well when he said:</p> + +<p>"O thrush, sing again!"</p> + +<p>"I think you must really be a little bit mad——"</p> + +<p>"If you would only be a little bit bad——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am—I often am——"</p> + +<p>"Where will you sit? On my right there is a patch of +lesser darkness that smells passing sweet, and might be +mignonette; on my left——"</p> + +<p>"No; I can't come over there; don't ask me."</p> + +<p>Her voice was tremulous now, for in her blood there was +the strangest, wildest urging to come at his call. She<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> +wondered how long she could hold out against it—if he +did not go soon.</p> + +<p>"Why should you want me to?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Because I want to know whether you are +real ... or only a wraith, a streak of moonlight, a phantom +of my brain. I want to be sure that the world is still going +round, and that I am still in it. All I can see is a faint +wedge-shaped gleam of white, crowned with strange stars. +Have you tiny white stars in the darkness of your hair? +Is your hair as black as the raven's wing, as night—as hell?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is."</p> + +<p>"And are your eyes long cameos of carved moonlight?"</p> + +<p>"They are indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Then Carissima—Adorissima ... come and sit on +the grass."</p> + +<p>All the magic sweetness and sadness of Ireland was in +his words. But he did not expect the slightest result +from this impassioned entreaty, for he had long ago made +up his mind that this strange witch of the night, who +could throw the thrush's note into her voice, and quote +Voltaire, and daintily but cynically suggest that he was +drunk, was no simple maid to be beguiled by the tongue. +This was a woman who knew her world and all the moves +in the great game, and as a man who had played that same +game often and well, and could appreciate a clever opponent, +he awaited her next move, secure in the thought that it +would not fail to be an interesting one.</p> + +<p>What he was wholly unprepared for was a glimmering +fragrant presence beside him on the grass. The breath of +her mouth was so close that he could feel it in little waves +across his face. In the purple darkness he descried her +white gown, and down each shoulder of it a long, long +rope of blackness. The thought of a woman's hair had +always some sorcery for him. He could never look at +beautiful hair, even in the most conventional surround<span class="pagenum">[135]</span>ings, +without turmoil of flesh and spirit, inward curses at +his own base nature, and revilings of all things feminine +formed to lure the brain and bind the soul of man.</p> + +<p>At this moment every instinct of his being, every desire +of his nature, fought with his self-control, desiring, inciting, +almost compelling him to stretch out his hands to this +witch-woman's hair and draw her nearer. Little beads +broke out on his forehead; he dug his hands into the earth +beside him. He could hear her breathing. A perfumed +warmth came out of her and stole to him. He desired +greatly that she should speak; but she did not; only sat +there giving out perfume and weaving God knew what +Ephesian spells to bind him. At about this time it seemed +to him that this was a very fine dream and that a fine thing +to do would be to get up and go hence before the dream +could break. But that mood was soon inconstant. Silence +enfolded them—a silence that was mutable and disquieting. +At last he leaned towards her and spoke, dry-throated:</p> + +<p>"You win!" His voice was very low, and jarred like +a fine instrument that has been struck.</p> + +<p>"Victory is to you! Tell me to go—or stay!"</p> + +<p>The girl, glowing and swaying beside him, could not +speak; but her hands made some little motion to him that +he interpreted as he wished. He grasped them in his, +which were broad and powerful, but had eyes in the fingers: +hands with the gift of discovery by touch. In that moment +his heart and his purpose changed. At the greatest of all +games he was no novice; but he had always played honestly +as far as in him lay. It was his principle not to gamble +unless the chances were equal for both players. As if +they ever can be between a man and a woman! But, +strangely enough, all honest men honestly believe it possible. +By the feel of those soft hands quivering and burning in his, +he had reason to believe that he had made a mistake—with +regard to his opponent, at least.<span class="pagenum">[136]</span></p> + +<p>His head was far from clear that night in any case, and +sitting there, with those hands in his, that fragrance ... +those ensnaring plaits of hair ... was not conducive +to coolness and sanity. It should be written down to him +that he made an enormous effort to fight the sweet fumes +that pressed upon him to cloud his brain and slacken his +moral muscles.</p> + +<p>"Tell me something about yourself, Carissima," he +said softly. "Tell me that you are married, and that your +husband is a brute!"</p> + +<p>She drew her hands away swiftly. This was a jarring +note that broke <i>her</i> dream at least. What could he mean? +How strange he was! Was it possible that he was mad? +Was it at the bidding of a madman that the little cold stone +in her breast was turning into something living—something +that felt like a sweet red rose bursting into blossom?</p> + +<p>"Of course I am not married!" she said slowly and +clearly. "I am only a girl of eighteen ... I do not +understand why you say such things."</p> + +<p>He made a sound which might have been a groan.</p> + +<p>"My dear little girl, you must forgive me.... I believe +I am ill to-night.... <i>Of course</i> you are only a girl ... a +good girl!... gates and girls! ... gates!..." Suddenly +he leaned closer to her and peered into her face, +striving to distinguish the features he instinctively knew +were lovely. "Who are you? What are you?" he strangely +asked.</p> + +<p>"I am a poppy ... a poppy growing in Africa," said +she, smiling subtly to herself, but trembling—trembling.</p> + +<p>"A poppy!... then that is why your hair has that +mystic odour!... 'Give me of poppy and mandragora.'... +Poppies give sleep ... I believe that is what I +want ... I am a sick man ... like Peter's wife's mother, +I am sick of a fever ... and you are—a girl ... O Lord +God!"<span class="pagenum">[137]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, you really are ill!" she cried "Let me go to +the house and get you something—some brandy. Rest +here a while——"</p> + +<p>"Rest here, by St. Anthony!... No, no, nothing, +it's nothing ... I'll go." He sprang up and stood at +his full height above her. She, too, rose on her feet. She +put out her hands to him, but he did not take them.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Carissima ... I'll go home ... be +good.... Girls should always be good ... and gates +... I must find the gate——"</p> + +<p>Strangely he went, striding away as silently as he had +come through the darkness, and leaving her standing there +on the grass. Later, she flung herself down and burst into +bitter crying.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a brute!... how I hate him!... how +my heart hurts!... O God! what shall I do?... where +has he gone?... I shall never see him again ... I +wish to die! I wish to die!... Does he love some other +woman?... Oh, I cannot live any longer ... he +despises me because I am a girl.... How my heart hurts!... +There is a knife in it.... If I could only hear him +speak again!... I shall never see him again!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she sprang up and ran swiftly across the grass, +in the direction he had gone—the direction of the gate. +But the gate was a long way off, and the way was dim. +She ran into trees, and hurt her feet on stones and thorns, +and presently, as she ran, she stumbled and fell over something +or someone lying prone on the grass. In horror and +fear she sprang away, but the figure did not move, only +breathed heavily. She stole closer and peered down. +It was he. She recognised the tall figure, the pale-grey +clothes, the faint aroma she had recently known.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what has happened to you?" she tearfully cried, +leaning over him. "Are you dead; are you dead?" Using +her utmost strength she lifted his head and leaned it against<span class="pagenum">[138]</span> +herself as she half kneeled, half sat upon the grass. He was +leaden-limbed as the dead, but his loud breathing reassured +her; peering into his face she could see that his +eyes were closed. She considered swiftly what thing she +could do that would be best, presently resolving to run to +the house and get brandy and restore him; and quinine, too, +as he had asked for it—she knew that Abinger always kept +a supply in his room. But first she would try and prop +him against this tree-trunk. She dragged and strained at +his arms, trying to move him, but he was a dead-weight. +Tears of terror and distress streamed down her face and +fell hot on his.</p> + +<p>"My dear! my dear!" she cried. "What is it with +you?" Just as she made to let his head gently to the +ground again, he stirred, and his breathing changed to that +of a conscious, wakened man. In a moment he had +dragged himself up into a sitting pose, with the tree-trunk +at his back. She still remained kneeling by him—breathless, +glad, afraid, and he leaned his handsome head against +the laces of her bosom.</p> + +<p>"Are you better?" she whispered tremulously, joyously. +"I am going to fetch you some restorative if you will let me +leave you an instant."</p> + +<p>"You must never leave me again, dearest of all women," +he said, and flung his arm about her. "I love you! Give +me your lips." He slewed his head round suddenly and his +mouth was hard on hers, dragging terrible kisses from it—kisses +that shook her through and through as with some +strange ague. He felt the trembling of her and laughed +with his hand on her heart to still its loud beating.</p> + +<p>"'Your mouth is as sweet as bracket,'" he said, quoting +some old song that sang in his brain, and kissed her again; +then took her hair in his hand and wound it round his +throat, holding the long plaits across his face and smelling +them as though they were wonderful flowers.<span class="pagenum">[139]</span></p> + +<p>"And I never knew that your hair had this mystic +fragrance!... What is it? It is not only sweet, it has +some other essence, some fragrance that has a touch of +earth in it, and pet, by God! it breathes of Heaven, too!... +I think it is a flower that grows upon the eternal +hills ... those strange red flowers.... Ah! poppies +smell so, I think!... yes, poppies! poppies!... Dearest, +if I were stricken blind and deaf in this hour, from ten +thousand women I could search you out by this sweet scent +of your hair."</p> + +<p>He kissed the soft sprays that fell over her eyes. "Speak +to me!" he cried down on to her lips. "Speak to me in the +voice I love!... <i>O! Ci risuoniamo in cristallo</i> ... <i>wine +in a crystal beaker</i>.... I never knew until to-night +there was so beautiful a voice in the world!... Speak to +me——"</p> + +<p>"If I could tear the heart out of my breast," she said, +"I would put it into these two hands. I love you! I +give you my life."</p> + +<p>"God forgive me, I will take it!... I will rob you +of all your gifts!"</p> + +<p>"I give them to you ... I was born for this hour!" +she whispered.</p> + +<p>A wave of the great sea that can submerge all the world +rushed over them, beat them, drenched them, kissed them, +crushed them to its breast; lapped them round, blinded +them—flung them quivering and broken on the sands; +left them.</p> + +<p>He said: "I cannot see your face, darling ... I will +never forget this night. There has never been a night +like it in all my life, and never will be again."</p> + +<p>"I love you! I love you!" her voice cried faintly.</p> + +<p>"I have loved you for so long," he said gently. "But +always you have turned your face from me ... though +I knew you were mine. I saw it in your eyes ... but<span class="pagenum">[140]</span> +always you denied me even the touch of your hand ... +and I never knew that your hair smelled so sweet until +to-night.... <i>Loraine</i>, dearest of all women, kiss me +again...."</p> + +<p>A terrible chill crept through the veins of Poppy Destin. +Now she lay like one dead against the wild, loud-beating +heart under the grey coat. Her own had ceased to beat; +what words were these?</p> + +<p>He held her closer. The seeing fingers touched the +fabric of her gown, and the slim, boyish body beneath.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're only a girl!" he muttered wonderingly. +"You have slipped back to girlhood for love of me. God +forgive me my sins! I am not worthy to touch your little +bare feet, Loraine."</p> + +<p>At that she wrenched herself from his arms, sprang to her +feet, and ran from him, blindly; she knew not, cared not, +where. At one time she stumbled into a Christ-thorn bush +and tore her hands and gown, but she felt no pain nor the +warm blood running down. She only stopped at last +because she found herself in the street with a rickshaw boy +demanding where she wished to go. That recalled her to +her senses and she stepped back hastily out of the light of +his lamps, and stood in the shadow of the gate.</p> + +<p>"There is a <i>M'rungo</i> in here who is ill. Come and help +him to your rickshaw," she said, suddenly inspired.</p> + +<p>"Where does he want to go?" demanded the boy. "I go +no more on the Berea to-night—only townwards."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that will do." She collected her thoughts hastily. +He would probably not be able to give the boy his address, +the safest thing would be to send him to the Club, where +he had dined and was probably well known. She added, +therefore: "He wishes to go to the Club."</p> + +<p>"Ker-lub!" repeated the boy and nodded sagaciously; +<i>Ker-lub M'rungos</i> always paid well!</p> + +<p>Well satisfied, he followed the girl through the gates<span class="pagenum">[141]</span> +and over the soft, dark lawns to the tree where the <i>M'rungo</i> +was sitting. She spoke in a clear, cold voice:</p> + +<p>"Here is a boy with a rickshaw; you had better let him +help you home. You are certainly ill."</p> + +<p>He rose easily, and stood up like a well man, but his +voice was hoarse and vague.</p> + +<p>"Ah, thanks, Mrs. Capron—you are always kind. I +shall be all right in the morning. Good-night!" He went +away muttering, followed by the rickshaw boy. Poppy +stood like a stone woman.</p> + +<p>Later, she heard the gates clang and the rickshaw bell +begin to tinkle down the long hill. Then she broke into +dry sobbing, clutching at her throat with both hands, +like one suffocating. At last some wild words burst from +her lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could kill myself to-night!... but first I will +kill that woman Loraine!"</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[142]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">A storm shook the house next day when Luce Abinger +returned. Kykie's shrill crescendo, expostulations +and denials, were smothered like little frothy waves +in the breakers of her master's wrath. Once the words +"key" and "gate" came floating up the staircase and +reached Poppy where she lay on her pillows, as she had +lain until dawn, staring at the walls and the ceiling with +dry eyes, and her pale lips took a wry and bitter curve. +Later, pandemonium was extended to the yard and stables; +then, after all these voices there was peace.</p> + +<p>Behind her locked door Poppy was vaguely thankful +for safety from Abinger's fury and tyrannical questioning; +and not all Kykie's cajoleries and threats could make +her emerge.</p> + +<p>"Go away, Kykie. I'm not well. I want nothing," +she repeated monotonously to all demands, until at last +Kykie, from sheer weariness, obeyed.</p> + +<p>The strange emotions and events of the past night had +left the girl numb. The ecstasy of hatred which had +possessed her for that other woman, the birth-pains her +heart had suffered, the anguish of humiliation and defeat +had all passed. She felt nothing. She thought of nothing. +Only sometimes as she lay there staring at <i>Monna Lisa</i> on +the wall, she had the fancy that she was a little wrecked +boat, lying broken and useless on a beach where of late +had raged a cruel storm.</p> + +<p>In the torrid afternoon hours she slept a while—dead,<span class="pagenum">[143]</span> +dreamless sleep, that revived her into at least some mechanical +resemblance of herself; so that when Kykie once +more pounded upon her door and demanded admittance +with a tea-tray, she arose and let the anxious flustered +creature in.</p> + +<p>"For goodness' gracious, and what do you look like, +Poppy!"</p> + +<p>"Kykie, stop asking questions, or go!" was the answer +given so fiercely that the old woman thought it wiser to +say no more on the subject. She inveigled Poppy to sit +down and take some tea and some delicately prepared +sandwiches; in the meantime, she unfolded the tale of +her woes to the girl's unhearing ears. Luce had beaten +her best kitchen <i>boy</i>, and he had run away, so that she had +been obliged to do all his work as well as her own. Every +dish at luncheon time had been sent out untasted, and +nothing eaten but bread and cheese—a terrible insult to +poor Kykie!</p> + +<p>"And he's been prowling round the house like a lion all +the afternoon, wanting to know what's the matter with +you. Promise to come down to dinner, Poppy, or in the +name of gracious me I don't know what I shall do."</p> + +<p>"I'll come down, Kykie," said Poppy dully. "What +is all the trouble about?"</p> + +<p>"Just because the front gate was left unlocked all the +time he was away. Of course, we little knew that it was +open. But he said that I or the <i>boys</i> ought to have found +out and looked for the key in his room and locked it. <i>Me!</i> +Me that is on my weary feet in that kitchen all day thinking +of his stomach—heavenly me! Take some more tea, my +poor child; you look like a spook."</p> + +<p>"No, I have had enough, Kykie. Go away now, and +see about your dinner. I'll be down."</p> + +<p>"Let me brush your hair first; you know you always +like me to when you feel bad." The old woman took up<span class="pagenum">[144]</span> +Poppy's hair-brushes and approached the long ruffled +plaits of hair; but the moment she touched them the girl +sprang away from her like a white flame.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Kykie; never dare touch my hair again!" she +cried violently.</p> + +<p>"In the name of—!" Words failed the indignant Kykie. +She grabbed her tea-tray and floundered from the room.</p> + +<p>At dinner-time, white and fateful as a narcissus with a +broken stalk, the girl faced Abinger's curious eyes across +the table. But there was more than curiosity in his glance +as it swept over her. The same peculiar quality was in +it that had troubled her at their last dining together. Only +now she did not notice it. If she could have given her +thoughts to anything at all but weariness and despair, she +might have wondered to see his very real concern at her +appearance.</p> + +<p>"Why, what have you been doing to yourself?" he +said. "You look half dead. Here, drink this wine at +once." He poured out a glass of champagne for her, +and would eat nothing himself until she had partaken of +one of the <i>hors-d'œuvre</i>. And when the soup appeared, +he waved hers away and ordered an <i>entrée</i> to be brought +at once. The wine flew into Poppy's cheeks and sent a +little scarlet to her lips. She felt a warmth stealing into +her being that had been sadly absent since the past midnight. +Presently she smiled a little wan smile across at +him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right, Luce! Only I didn't sleep much +last night ... the heat——"</p> + +<p>"We'll get out of this infernal place—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no!" she cried violently, then pulled herself +together and added more calmly: "I like the place, Luce—and +the garden ... is so lovely ... I should hate to +go away."</p> + +<p>He was curiously amenable.<span class="pagenum">[145]</span></p> + +<p>"Very well, we'll stay if you say so. And I've been +thinking over what you asked the other day, Poppy ... +we'll change things. You could go out if you want to +... we must talk about it ... I want to talk ..." he +halted a little in his speech—"to you."</p> + +<p>"I'm not keen about it any longer, Luce. I don't +want to know people, after all. I think I'll shut myself +up and work for ten hours every day. I mean to write. +I will write a wonderful book. Surely people who work +hard are happy in a way, aren't they, Luce?" Her voice +and her eyes were wistful. "One would never want anything +else—after a time—but to go on writing wonderful +stories of life, would one?"</p> + +<p>He smiled grimly. She thought he was going to hurl +a barb at her, but he only said with the same unusual +gentleness:</p> + +<p>"Work will never fill <i>your</i> life, Poppy. You are the +kind of girl who will live the wonderful stories that the +other women write."</p> + +<p>The lilac eyes in the <i>troublante</i> face opposite gave a sad +long look into his; then fell. She shivered a little.</p> + +<p>"Some wonderful stories are terrible, Luce," she said +in a low voice.</p> + +<p>When she rose from the table, he said:</p> + +<p>"Come and smoke in the garden with me."</p> + +<p>She turned her face away from him, staring vaguely at +a picture on the wall.</p> + +<p>"I don't care about the garden to-night, Luce. The +drawing-room, if you like—but I am very tired."</p> + +<p>"I shan't keep you long. There is something I want +to say to you."</p> + +<p>He followed the slim, upright figure walking with such +weary grace and trailing her white chiffons behind her, to +the drawing-room, where the lights were low, the windows +open to the night scents, and the big chintz-covered chairs<span class="pagenum">[146]</span> +and sofas held out rose-clad arms to them. She went +straight to one she knew well, and dropped into it, laying her +cheek against the cool, shiny chintz. Close beside her was +an open window, and Abinger came and stood in it, his face +in profile to her, staring out into the darkness. His hands +were clasped behind him tightly gripping a cigar which he +had taken out but did not light. Poppy closed her eyes +and the lids burned against them. She had a great longing +to be alone with her thoughts. But Abinger had begun to +speak.</p> + +<p>"Now—about your going out, Poppy, and meeting +people, and all that; my chief reason for being disturbed +when you mentioned the thing the other day was that I +was unprepared. I hadn't had time to think out what +was the best plan for you—for us. Of course, you know—it +was very well for you to travel all over the place as you +have done as my sister; but the thing is, that it won't do +here. I can't spring a sister on people who know that I +haven't got one."</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose not," said she vaguely, from the depths +of her chair.</p> + +<p>"You realise that then?" he went on evenly. "Well, +you see, you rushed me before I had been able to decide +what was best to do, and of course I got mad. I'm sorry, +Poppy, I beg your pardon, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Poppy, dimly surprised at this unwonted penitence, +would have murmured something, but he went on quickly:</p> + +<p>"Had <i>you</i> any plan? How did you think of accounting +to people—women particularly—for the fact that you were +living here alone with me?"</p> + +<p>"Accounting to them?" she echoed faintly. "Will +they ask me?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly you, but they'll ask anyone who can +tell them, and expect a satisfactory answer before they +take you to their breasts."<span class="pagenum">[147]</span></p> + +<p>"But, Luce, you could tell them, or let it be known. +I shouldn't mind ... <i>not</i> how I first came to you, starving +and ragged and beaten; I couldn't bear anyone knowing +that ... but they could know how good you have been +to me, bringing me up and educating me and being a +guardian to me."</p> + +<p>"And you think that would satisfy them?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why not. Of course, it is unconventional. +But I believe it is not unheard of for a girl to have a +guardian ... and guardians are not always old."</p> + +<p>"That is so. Unfortunately, my dear girl, there is one +thing you omit to take into consideration."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"I happen to be a dog with a bad name."</p> + +<p>Poppy made a little weary exclamation. In truth, +she did not see any use in prolonging the discussion. The +desire to go out into Durban and meet men and women +no longer burned within her. In her present state of +weariness she believed she would never again have any +taste for human society. Abinger, however, pursued the +course of his remarks.</p> + +<p>"It is very sad, but my reputation is not one that would +commend me to the good ladies of South Africa as the +guardian-angel of a young and remarkably pretty girl."</p> + +<p>Poppy sat silent.</p> + +<p>"I regret to say that the very notion of my appearance in +such a <i>rôle</i> would be received with ribald shouts of laughter +by all the men who have the pleasure of my acquaintance, +and in Durban and Johannesburg it would be considered +the best joke ever told in the clubs."</p> + +<p>At last the girl was moved out of her apathy. She +shrank back in her chair with her hands before her face. +She thought of the Durban Club and a man in it listening +and laughing.</p> + +<p>"O God!" she softly cried.<span class="pagenum">[148]</span></p> + +<p>"As for the women," continued Abinger calmly, still +staring out of the window. "Well, generally speaking, +all the women out here are of the genus crow, and their +virtue is a matter of whitewash. Of course, there are +degrees. Some of them have managed to assume four or +five coats of it, and there's not a speck to be seen anywhere. +These are saintly far beyond the understanding of +you and me, my child, but as they mostly live in Johannesburg +and we don't, we won't worry about them. There +are others there too, who are only in the grey, or one-coat +stage, and I've no doubt they would extend a claw of +welcome to you, if you'd like to go and live up there. +Durban is another matter altogether. This, I must tell +you, is a city of the highest moral rectitude. The whitewash +is within, as well as without. It flows in the women's +veins. Some of them are solid blocks of it! I'm afraid, +Poppy, that by the time their husbands have handed the +highly delectable tale of my guardianship round the morning +tramcars on the way to office, and discussed it in the evening +while having their high-teas in carpet slippers, you will not +stand much chance of being received into the 'white and +winged throng' which makes up Durban society. You +will be black-balled."</p> + +<p>Poppy sat up in her chair now, her eyes shining, her +cheeks aflame.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say all this?" she demanded haughtily. +"If it is as you say and through your fault, you must put +the matter right. I do not wish to know these women, but +I do not choose that they shall shake their skirts at me, +because you have a vile reputation. You will have to find +some way out——"</p> + +<p>Abinger looked away from the window at last and at +her. There was a tall lamp to his hand, and he turned +it up high, and she saw that he was smiling—a smile none +the less unlovely because it had in it the same unusual<span class="pagenum">[149]</span> +quality of gentleness that had distinguished it all the +evening.</p> + +<p>"But, of course, my dear girl!" he said with a note of +surprise in his voice, "that is what I am coming to. I +have told you these things simply to show you the impossibility +of your living any kind of social life here, unless +you are prepared to let everybody know the real state of +affairs. When everything is known it will be a simple +affair for you to take your place, and you will have an +assured position that no one will be able to cavil at. It is +for you to say now, whether or not you are ready for the +truth to be published."</p> + +<p>Poppy's look was of amazement.</p> + +<p>"The truth? But what do you mean, Luce? You have +been at great pains to tell me why they won't accept the +truth."</p> + +<p>He stood looking down at her vivid face for a moment. +There was an expression on his own that she found arresting +too, and she said no more; only waited till he should speak. +He turned the lamp down again.</p> + +<p>"Poppy," he said in a very low, but clear voice, "do you +remember the old French Jesuit coming to the White +Farm?"</p> + +<p>She stared at him. Her expression reverted to irritation +and surprise.</p> + +<p>"Father Eugène? Of course I do. And I remember +how furious you were, too. And how you stormed at each +other in French for about twenty minutes, while Kykie +and I stood wondering what it was all about."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember any other details? I'm not asking +out of idle curiosity," he added, as she threw herself back +impatiently in her chair. She wrinkled her brows for a +moment. Her head really ached very badly, but she wished +to be reasonable.</p> + +<p>"I didn't understand French at that time, but you<span class="pagenum">[150]</span> +explained the meaning of it all to me. You remember +you took me into your study and told me how he thought +you frightfully immoral to have a young girl living in your +house without her parents, and that he wished you to make +a solemn set of promises to him to the effect that you would +be a good friend and guardian to me all your life. You +said it was a fearful nuisance, but that if you didn't do it, +he meant to get to work and find my proper guardians and +make things generally unpleasant."</p> + +<p>"You remember that clearly?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I do, and so do you. What is the use of +this tiresome repetition? It is quite beside the point."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not. Just one more question—you remember +going back into the dining-room to the priest and making +the promises, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; we stood before him and <i>you</i> made the promises. +I didn't—though I certainly said '<i>Oui</i>' whenever you told +me to, and some words after him once. It was then you +gave me this ring that I always wear. By the way, Luce, +I'm tired of wearing it. You can have it back."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear girl; but I wouldn't think of +depriving you of it. It is your wedding-ring."</p> + +<p>"My—? I think you have gone mad, Luce."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. That is your wedding-ring, Poppy. When +we stood before the priest that day we were being married."</p> + +<p>She burst out laughing. "Really, Luce," she said contemptuously, +"you are developing a new form of humour. +Does it amuse you?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," he said drily; "not so much as it does +you, apparently. I don't see anything funny in a marriage +ceremony. I remember being exceedingly annoyed +about it at the time. But I have come round since then." +As he went on, Poppy ceased to smile contemptuously; +when he had finished speaking, her mouth was still +disdainful, but she was appreciably paler.<span class="pagenum">[151]</span></p> + +<p>"Of late," said Abinger in a voice that had a meaning, +"I have begun to find the fact that you are my wife +wonderfully interesting."</p> + +<p>She sprang up from her chair.</p> + +<p>"This is the most ridiculous nonsense I ever listened +to!" she cried excitedly. "I don't want to hear any more +about it. I refuse to listen." She turned to go, but he +caught her by the wrists and stood holding her and looking +into her deathly pale face.</p> + +<p>"Am I the kind of man who wastes time talking nonsense? +Kykie was a witness. She knows we were married +that day."</p> + +<p>"Kykie! I'm <i>sure</i> it is not true. She has never spoken +of it——"</p> + +<p>"I forbade her to do so. I told her that she'd go out +at a moment's notice if she did. Further, as you are so +very hard to convince, Poppy, I will show you the marriage +certificate signed by Father Eugène."</p> + +<p>He took a paper from his pocket, and held it towards +her. But she had suddenly sunk back into the big chair +with her hands over her scared and ashen face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Luce! Luce!" she cried pitifully. "Say it is not +true! say it is not true!" and burst into wild weeping.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[152]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">SOPHIE CORNELL sat at her breakfast-table looking +pasty-faced and unwholesome, without any colour on +her cheeks, her good looks effectively disguised in hair-wavers +and a hideously-figured heliotrope dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>Poppy stared at her in dull amazement, wondering how +she could have so little vanity as to allow another girl to +see her look so unlovely.</p> + +<p>"She will probably hate me for it, but that doesn't +matter," was the thought that came into her mind as she +encountered Sophie's eyes, sleep-bedimmed, but distinctly +resentful, taking her in across the table. As a matter of +fact, Sophie's vanity was so great, that it never occurred +to her that she could appear unlovely to anyone—even in +her unpainted morning hours. Her resentfulness was +roused entirely by reason of the fact that this was the +first time she had laid eyes on her assistant typewriter +for a full three weeks, and that even now the recalcitrant +only came to say that she didn't feel quite equal to work.</p> + +<p>"Och! nonsense!" said Miss Cornell, eyeing her coolly. +"You look all right. A little pale, but, then, you're always +as washed out as a <i>fadook</i>."<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Dishcloth.</p></div> + +<p>Poppy's lips performed a twisted, dreary smile. She +was entirely indifferent to Miss Cornell's opinions of her +looks. To anyone's. As she stood there in the little black +muslin gown she always wore to come to Sophie's house +in the morning, she might have posed for a black-and-white +drawing of Defeat.<span class="pagenum">[153]</span></p> + +<p>Sophie saw nothing but the prospect of another two or +three days' hard work, and she didn't like it.</p> + +<p>"You're a fine sort of assistant," she grumbled, her +mouth half full of toast. "And another thing: Bramham's +been here several times inquiring for you, and the +whole place is littered up with parcels of books and magazines +he has sent you. I couldn't think what excuse to +make for his not seeing you, for, <i>of course</i>, he thinks you +live here, so I told him at last that you had a touch of +dengue fever and wanted quiet. He's stayed away ever +since, but he's been sending flowers and fruit. You've +evidently made a mash."</p> + +<p>Poppy had no inclination to disguise her feelings from +Miss Cornell.</p> + +<p>"Sophie, you make me sick!" she said and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's all very well; but you made a bargain +with me, that you would meet Bramham sometimes, and +if he likes you, so much the better. You don't seem to +know when you're lucky!"</p> + +<p>"Lucky?" Something broke from her lips, that might +have been only an exclamation, but had the sound of a +moan.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" said Sophie. "Some fellow's been kidding +you, I suppose, and you don't like it. Oh! I know all +about it."</p> + +<p>"You know some wonderful things, Sophie!" said Poppy +at last, in her soft, low voice. "Your mind must be a +treasure-house of dainty thoughts and memories."</p> + +<p>But irony was ever wasted on Sophie. She got up and +stretched her well-shaped arms above her head until the +heliotrope sleeves cracked and gaped at the seams.</p> + +<p>"Well, all I can say is that you are a donkey not to want +to meet nice fellows when you get the chance. Don't you +ever intend to marry?"</p> + +<p>Poppy, who had gone over to smell some flowers, pro<span class="pagenum">[154]</span>bably +Bramham's, which were clumsily bunched in rows on +the mantel-shelf, faced her with an air of insolent surprise.</p> + +<p>"What can that possibly have to do with you or your +men visitors?"</p> + +<p>"Oho!" said Sophie aggressively. "You won't get +many chances of marrying without <i>my</i> assistance, my +dear. Perhaps you don't know it, but men don't come to +Africa with the idea of entering into the holy state of +matrimony. When they <i>do</i> marry, it's <i>quite</i> by accident, +and the girl has to work the accident. You don't know +much about that business, my child," she added contemptuously. +"Better take a few lessons from me."</p> + +<p>"Why? Have you been very successful?" Poppy's +tone was one of polite inquiry. The other girl flushed.</p> + +<p>"Jolly sight more than <i>you'll</i> ever be, with your white +face and thin figure," she retorted, adding pleasantly: +"Your eyes remind me of a snake's."</p> + +<p>Poppy sauntered carelessly towards the door.</p> + +<p>"And <i>you</i> remind me of the man who, when he was +getting the worst of a discussion on original sin, said to +the other man: 'If I were you, I would not drink with my +mouth full.' I am quite willing to believe anything you +like to tell me about your conquests, Sophie; only please +don't bother to hunt a husband for me. The good God +kindly supplied me with the same instincts as other +women. I can do my own hunting."</p> + +<p>She went out and closed the door behind her with a +gentle, sad movement, as though she was shutting in the +light of the world and regretted doing it. A little colour +had come to her face. She felt better.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Abinger had gone away. This time his destination was +really the Rand, for the <i>boys</i> had taken his luggage to the<span class="pagenum">[155]</span> +station and seen him leave. He had told Kykie that he +would be away for six weeks at least.</p> + +<p>After that stormy scene in the drawing-room, when he +had left Poppy wrapped in wild weeping, nothing further +had passed between them on the subject of their marriage. +Indeed, she had not seen him again. But he had left a +letter for her, and enclosed was a copy of the marriage +certificate, to show her that he had not been inventing. +He further informed her that Father Eugène was still alive, +and that by writing to the Jesuit Monastery in the Transvaal +she could at any time ascertain the simple truth. The rest +of the letter was written in a strain of casual indifference, +that Poppy found singularly reassuring. His attitude +appeared to be that of a man rather bored with the subject +because it bored her; but, facts being facts, he plainly felt +it his duty to show her that there were less pleasing and +many more boring things in life than to be called Mrs. +Abinger. He told her first of all, not to be a foolish girl +and make herself ill about nothing; that it would be in +every way to her advantage to make her <i>début</i> in South +African society as the wife of a well-known man.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"I have not disguised from you," he wrote, "that I +have what is called a bad reputation, but that will not +affect you—rather redound to your credit in fact, since +the wives of rakes are always looked upon as possessing +something unusual in the way of brains and charm. As my +wife, your lines will be laid in not unpleasant places. You +may have as many friends as you like, and I will allow you +five thousand pounds a year to entertain them and yourself +upon. In making the matter public, no painful details +need be gone into. All that is necessary is that you give +me permission to make the truth public. Tell me when +you are ready to assume the title of Mrs. Abinger—I'll do +the rest. In this, dear girl, as in all things, pray please<span class="pagenum">[156]</span> +yourself. Only, remember that if you don't choose to +accept the situation, the situation still remains—<i>we are +married</i>. And it is only under the conditions stated that I +can permit you to live any other life than the one you have +lived so long."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When first she received this letter, Poppy read it and +flung it from her. But in the calm that came after a week's +intolerable torment of longing, and despair, she read it +again. The fierce fires that had consumed her were +burning low then, and cast but a faint and dreary flicker +down the pathway of the future. That future looked a +land all shadows and gloom, whatsoever pathway she +chose to take towards it. The simplest thing to do seemed +the most desirable; and surely it was simplest just to +let things stay as they were! She would tell Luce Abinger +that her choice was to let things remain as they had always +been, and then she would live on, drifting through the weary +days and months and years, working a little every day, until +work at last would become everything and fill her whole life. +Perhaps, as she had missed love she would find fame. It +did not seem to matter very much whether she did or not.</p> + +<p>All she asked was to find peace. Knowing very little +of life she did not realise that in asking for this she asked +for everything. For no woman finds peace until she has +tasted of all the poisoned dishes at the banquet of life—and +then the peace is either of the dead body or the dead +mind.</p> + +<p>After those seven days of suffering, Poppy sat with +her broken love-dream, like a pale child with a broken +toy. She thought because she was numb that all was +over then, except the dreary living through the dreary +days. But the young have a great capacity for suffering, +and she had forgotten how very young and strong she was, +and how hot the blood ran in her veins. After a day she<span class="pagenum">[157]</span> +was back again in the trough of the sea. When at last she +emerged she was a child no longer, but a woman with something +to hide from the world—a wound that bled inwardly +and would always ache.</p> + +<p>Abinger had been gone nearly three weeks then, and +wrote to say that he should probably be away for two +or three months, as he was selling all the property he owned +on the Rand, and the final settlements would take him +quite that time. The thought of the long respite from +his presence was a great relief to the girl, and by unconsciously +lifting a little of the strain from her mind helped +her to come back the sooner to her normal self. Kykie's +delight was enormous when Poppy was to be seen wandering +aimlessly through the house once more and into the +garden; though <i>there</i> she never stayed long now, and there +were parts of it she did not go near.</p> + +<p>From Kykie she learned incidentally, and without +resentment, that the front gate was locked once more and +the key safe with Abinger. That reminded her of her +secret exit, and then she remembered Sophie Cornell, +whose image had quite faded from her memory. It occurred +to her that she ought to visit her self-imposed employer, +and make her excuses and farewells as simply as possible, +for something in her now strongly repudiated further +association with the Colonial girl.</p> + +<p>The visit and quarrel had braced her in a remarkable +way. Afterwards she felt that in spite of all she was really +alive still, and she found herself regretting that through +Sophie's garden must lie her only way into the world beyond. +The restrictions of the house began to irk her, +and she was afraid of the garden. She felt she <i>must</i> go +out. She determined to visit the sea and explore the +Berea; choosing such times as would be safest to make +entries and exits through the little opening in the passion-flower +house. In the early mornings she knew well that<span class="pagenum">[158]</span> +wild horses might pass through Sophie's garden without +her knowing or caring—and again, under cover of darkness +it would be simple to slip through unseen. She told Kykie +that in the future she always desired dinner at six-thirty; +and Kykie, who had grown curiously meek and obedient of +late, made no demur. This arrangement gave Poppy a +long evening to herself, and she had never allowed anyone +to intrude upon her evening hours. It would be supposed +that she spent them in the garden, for always she had found +great pleasure in wandering in the moonlight, and in the +early morning hours, and the servants were well acquainted +with her habits.</p> + +<p>So she took to going forth. As soon as darkness fell +she would depart, darkly-cloaked and with her head +draped mantilla-wise, to see what the forbidden world +looked like "'twixt gloam and moon." Her favourite +route was by the Musgrave Road, a long thoroughfare +that leads to the top of the Berea. Over gates would come +to her glimpses of charmingly-lighted rooms, and pretty +women sitting down to dinner, or sauntering with their +husbands, enjoying the gardens after the heat of the day. +Past one house and another she would go, catching little +pictures between the trees, at windows, and through open +doors—sometimes an exquisite little vision of a mother +romping with her children and kissing them good-night; +or a husband standing back with a critical cock to his head +to get a better view of his wife's new gown, or the way she +had done her hair. She never stayed for the kiss that would +come after the verdict, but flew swiftly on with her eyes +suddenly hot and teeth set in her lip. Other sights were +amusing: a face contorted and a head and arm screwed in +the agony of fixing a collar-stud; a man grooming his head +before an open window with two brushes, and a drop of +something golden out of a bottle. Once she saw quite a +sensible-looking man practising a charming smile on him<span class="pagenum">[159]</span>self +in the glass, and at that could not restrain a little jeer +of delight at the "nobler" sex. When she caught children +at windows in their nightgowns, peering out, she just gave +a weird "<i>Who! Who!</i>" like the lesser-owl common in Natal, +and they scuttled like rats.</p> + +<p>These things affected her variously. Times she mocked +the peaceful citizens of Natal for Philistines and flesh-potters. +Times her heart came into her throat and tears +scalded her eyes, and she felt like a prowling hungry jackal. +But most often she flung a bitter laugh to the wind and +said:</p> + +<p>"I have the best of it—better prowl the veldt lean and +free, than be caged and full."</p> + +<p>Once or twice she had occasion to recall a French saying +she had come across while her French was in the elementary +stage. She had studied the phrase for an hour or two, and +applied the dictionary to it, and eventually it read to the +effect that if all the roofs in Paris were lifted one night the +devil might be observed in every house lighting the fires to +make the pots boil. The remark seemed to have lost some +of its original point in translation, but it still bore an air of +significance, and came singularly to hand once or twice, +startling Poppy to the thought that Paris and Durban are +both under the same sky, and that fuel of fire is the same all +the world over. On these occasions it was she who scuttled, +and she did it with good-will, almost cured of her taste for +living pictures. But the pastime was fascinating to a lonely +and lonesome creature, and she returned to it.</p> + +<p>Many of the houses she passed stood hidden away in +thick gardens, with nothing to indicate their presence but +glimmering lights and voices, or sometimes music, or the +clank of dinner plates. But if sound attracted her, Poppy +was not deterred by gates or gravelled paths. With a fleet +foot, a sweet tongue, and an excellent imagination, there is +little to fear in forbidden gardens, or anywhere else for that<span class="pagenum">[160]</span> +matter. The chief thing is to have the bump of adventure +sufficiently developed!</p> + +<p>Sometimes she found that there were others abroad for +adventure also—some of these of a sociable temperament +most inconvenient. Once a magnificent person in evening-dress +followed her so persistently, that she was driven at +last to the expedient of walking under the glare of a street +lamp with her shoulders humped and her skirts held high +enough to display to all who took an interest in the matter +a pair of knock-kneed legs and horribly pigeon-toed feet. +The device worked like magic; she was followed no further.</p> + +<p>On another occasion she allowed a youthful Romeo to +sit beside her on a bench, only to discover that she was +afflicted with a painful sniffing cold—about forty sniffs +to the minute. She was soon left sole occupant of the +bench.</p> + +<p>There were other <i>contretemps</i>. Once her evening out +cost her sixpence, and she was very much annoyed, for +her stock of sixpences was low. Abinger paid all bills +and did not expect her to have any need for money. It +was her habit, if she saw a native policeman eye her +suspiciously, to step quietly up to him with a most grand +air and tell him to send her a rickshaw when he reached +the main road, as she was in a hurry and could not wait +for the car. The minute he was out of sight she would scud +down a side street. But upon this occasion a rickshaw +was so close at hand that she was obliged to take it and +boldly direct the boy to Sophie's front gate. Arrived there, +she ran full into a man coming out. The light from a passing +car showed her his face, dark and dissipated, but keen. +He was carrying his hat in his hand, as men do on hot +nights, and she observed that his hair was parted down the +centre with a curl on either side.</p> + +<p>"Ah! What Luce calls a German from Jerusalem!" +was her comment. Incidentally she smelled a smell she<span class="pagenum">[161]</span> +was familiar with, from daily contact with Sophie and +sheets of MSS. This made her certain that it was the +redoubtable "Brookie" himself whom she had encountered.</p> + +<p>Often as she glided like a wraith through Sophie's garden +the sound of laughter and the flavour of smoke came to her +through the trees, or Sophie's voice, outraging the gentle +night by some sentimental ballad.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One late February evening, when all the world was +steeped in silver light, Poppy's heart seemed to her to be +lying very still in her breast. As she walked over the +trembling moonlight shadows a curious feeling of happiness +stole across her.</p> + +<p>"Am I at peace already?" she asked herself wonderingly +at last. "Has my soul forgotten what I did to it, +and how I found it only to give it away to a man who called +me by another woman's name?"</p> + +<p>It must have been late, for carriages and cars passed +her, bearing homewards people who had been to the theatre +or dining out. She caught scraps of conversation concerning +the play, and little intimate remarks about people +were flung freely to her upon the night wind. But her ears +heeded nothing, for she had a companion who singularly +engrossed her attention. She believed it was herself she +walked with—a new-found, detached, curiously-contented +self. She did not know that it was Destiny who had her +by the hand.</p> + +<p>At the top of the Berea Hill, not far from her own gate, +she stopped a moment under the deep shadow of some +wayside trees. All in black she seemed part of the shadow, +and she stood very still, for she heard rickshaws coming up +the hill, and she thought she would let them pass before she +essayed the glare of a street lamp a few yards ahead. As it +happened, the first rickshaw stopped at a double white +gate which was full under the light of the lamp. A man<span class="pagenum">[162]</span> +descended, turned, and held out his hand, and a woman +stepped daintily down. She was a thin, slim woman, +wrapless, in a black satin gown with silvery sleeves. She +looked as interesting, though not as wicked, as the Notorious +Mrs. Ebbsmith. In the lamp-light her hair, which was dark +brown, appeared to have seven red lights in it. Her face +was neither beautiful nor pretty, but well-bred and harmonious, +with a sort of glimmering gaiety about the eyes. +Poppy instantly recognised her as the woman she had seen +on the day of her first arrival in Durban and had subsequently +ascertained to be Mrs. Portal. She was carrying +on a desultory conversation with the man, and they continued +it as he stood feeling in his pockets for money for +the <i>boy</i>.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you flirt with her yourself, Billy—Bill?" +said she. "You would be good for her and she wouldn't +do you any harm!"</p> + +<p>He was a heavily-built, sullenly-handsome man, who +looked as though he had never said a good-tempered thing +in his life.</p> + +<p>Poppy was astounded when he blithely answered:</p> + +<p>"Darling, when there is only one woman in a man's +life, he can't convincingly imply to the woman he is with +that she is the only one in the world——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal fell to laughing.</p> + +<p>"Billy, you fraud! You know you always carry along +on top-ropes when I'm not there."</p> + +<p>"Not with Mary," the man asseverated. "Mary would +want too much of a deuce of a lot of convincing. She +would smell a rat."</p> + +<p>"Don't be subtle, Billy," cried Mrs. Portal, laughing +and going in at the gates.</p> + +<p>The other rickshaw drew near, and "Billy" waited to +receive it. As it passed Poppy, two scraps of conversation +floated to her.<span class="pagenum">[163]</span></p> + +<p>"I've a great mind to persuade Nick to go with you—and +to take me too," said the woman, laughing a little.</p> + +<p>"Yes, why don't you? 'Better a bright companion +on a weary way, than a horse-litter,' you know. But it +would be too rough a journey for you, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>The man's voice sent all the blood in Poppy's body +rustling to her ears. She burnt and glowed at the thought +of his nearness. <i>Now</i> she knew that it was Destiny who +had walked with her. Now she knew that peace would +never be hers so long as this man's feet trod the earth.</p> + +<p>The rickshaw appeared to be filled with something +resembling yellow foam—billows and billows of it fell +everywhere, even upon the shafts and the folded hood +behind. The moment the bearer stood still, the man +called Billy came forward and put out his hand to the +woman in the rickshaw, and she regally descended. The +watching girl, through eyes dim with jealous pain and +anger, seeking nothing but the dark face that came after, +still saw that the woman was very beautiful and recognised +in her the heroine of her childhood's days. It was, indeed, +Mrs. Nick Capron!</p> + +<p>She also was cloakless, with magnificent bare arms and +shoulders gleaming white above the rippling waves of +yellow chiffon. Her hair rippled and waved too, and +shone in masses on her head, and diamonds twinkled in it. +She seemed almost too bright a vision for the naked eye.</p> + +<p>"And what did you think of <i>that</i> for a play?" asked the +sullen-faced one as he opened the gate.</p> + +<p>"Enchanting," said she vivaciously. "So full of introspection +and retrospection, and all that, and——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and mighty little circumspection," was the ready +answer, and they passed in, laughing.</p> + +<p>The last man, moving with casual deliberation, came +slowly to the side-walk, and stood there speaking to the +bearer, a powerful Zulu, as he paid him, asking if he had<span class="pagenum">[164]</span> +found the pull uphill too hard. The <i>boy</i> laughed in response +and shook his winged arms boastfully, saying:</p> + +<p>"<i>Icona.</i>"</p> + +<p>Afterwards both rickshaws jingled away. The man +should have followed the others in, but he stood still. He +stood still, with a yellow chiffon wrap flung over his arm, +and distinctly snuffed the air.</p> + +<p>"Poppies!" he muttered. "What makes me think of +poppies?... God! I could almost dream that dream +again...."</p> + +<p>For an instant his brilliant moody eyes stared straight +into the black shadows where Poppy stood, watching him +with both hands on her heart. Then the voices of the +others called, and he turned abruptly and went in.</p> + +<p>Poppy fled home to dark, sad dreams.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[165]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">ONE blue-eyed morning, about a month after Abinger's +departure, Poppy was down on the sea-beach. +She sat in the loose sand, and ran her hands restlessly in +and out of it, making little banks about her. She was +wondering if she would be able to sleep if she came out and +lay in these cool white sands some night. She was so +tired of never sleeping.</p> + +<p>The sun had not risen, but there was a pale primrose dado +painted across the East.</p> + +<p>Presently the girl became aware of another woman +sauntering along close to the edge of the sea. She was +digging a walking-stick in the sand every few yards and +watching the hole fill with water afterwards. She carried +the tail of her white-linen skirt under her chin, and her feet +all wetted by the little incoming waves, had caught the pale +light and seemed shod with silver as she walked, singing +a little French song:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:14em"> +<p>"Le monde est méchant, ma petite,<br /> + Avec son sourire moqueur:<br /> +Il dit qu'à ton côté palpite<br /> + Une montre en place du cœur."</p> +</div> + +<p>When she came opposite Poppy she left off singing and +stood for a minute looking at her. Then came slowly +sauntering up the beach to where she sat. Poppy recognised +Mrs. Portal. Mrs. Portal recognised the Burne-Jones +eyes; but she wondered where the gladness of living +was all gone.<span class="pagenum">[166]</span></p> + +<p>"You look like a pale, sea-eyed mermaid, forsaken by +your lover," she said. "Why aren't you combing your +hair with a golden comb?"</p> + +<p>"What is the use, if my lover is gone?" said Poppy, +with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh! if you did it a new way he might come back," +laughed Mrs. Portal, and sat down by her side. "I thought +I was the only sun-worshipper in Durban," she remarked, +as one continuing an ordinary conversation with an old +friend. "I have felt rather superior about it, and as lonely +as a genius."</p> + +<p>"I am often down here in the morning," said Poppy, +"but it must be lovely at night, too. I was thinking that +I should come and sleep here one night when it is moonlight."</p> + +<p>"<i>Never</i> sleep under the moon," said Mrs. Portal darkly, +"or an awful thing will happen to you—your face will be +all pulled out of drawing."</p> + +<p>Poppy unconsciously put up one hand and felt her face. +But Mrs. Portal burst out laughing. "You have done it +already? Well, she must like you, for she hasn't done you +any harm."</p> + +<p>"I like <i>her</i>," said Poppy.</p> + +<p>"And well you may. She's the only woman who knows +everything about one and yet doesn't give one away." +Mrs. Portal plugged her stick deep in the sand and made +a support for her back. She then clasped herself about +the knees and continued her remarks:</p> + +<p>"Yes ... she knows too much ... but she keeps +on smiling. I suppose it's because the old pagan is so +used to sinners.</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:23em"> +<p>"'There's not a day: the longest—not the 21st of June—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sees so much mischief in a wicked way</span><br /> +On which three single hours of moonshine smile——'"</p> +</div> + +<p>"And yet she looks so modest all the while!" Poppy +finished.<span class="pagenum">[167]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal reproved her.</p> + +<p>"I consider you too young and good looking to read +Byron."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he wrote for the old and ugly?" laughed +Poppy. "And how came you to read him?"</p> + +<p>"What! The retort flattering! <i>You're</i> no Durbanite. +<i>You</i> don't grow in the cabbage garden. Ohé! I can say +what I will to you. Ding-Dong!"</p> + +<p>Her little, high-bred face was neither too sunny nor too +sad, but had a dash of both sunshine and sorrow about +the eyes and lips. She screwed it up in a way she had, +and began to sing her little French song again:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:16em"> +<p> +"Le monde est méchant, ma petite:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Il dit que tes yeux vifs sont morts,</span><br /> +Et se meuvent dans leur orbite<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A temps égaux et par ressorts."</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>The odour of happiness which Bramham had spoken +of began to make itself felt. Little fronds and scents of +it caught hold of Poppy and enfolded her. Looking at +the face beside her she saw in it no signs of any mean +content with life. There were fine cobwebby lines around +the eyes and mouth, and a deep one between the brows, +and Poppy wished that they were upon her face, too, for +they were beautiful. Yet they could only have come +through suffering, for Mrs. Portal was not old.</p> + +<p>"She has had sorrows, too—but not shameful ones. +She wears them like jewels," thought the girl.</p> + +<p>The woman beside her had indeed greater gifts than +mere beauty. She had seven red lights in her hair, which +was always extraordinarily tumbled without being untidy; a +heart of gold; and a tongue of silver.</p> + +<p>Many men loved her, as fine men cannot help loving +what is lovable and sweet, and gentle, and kind, and +brave, and gay, and wise.</p> + +<p>Even women loved her; and so the worst thing they<span class="pagenum">[168]</span> +could find to say of her was that she must have been quite +pretty—once!</p> + +<p>In return, she loved all men, and was kind to all women, +loving one steadfastly.</p> + +<p>But now, half in pity, half for some reason she could +not fathom, she found a place in her heart for Poppy +Destin, too. She was touched by the girl's beauty, on +which her seeing eyes saw the shadow of tragedy.</p> + +<p>"<i>Quite</i> a child!" was her thought. "Too young to +have so much to hide behind those lovely eyes!" A line +from Pater's monograph on <i>Monna Lisa</i> came into her +mind:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Hers are the eyes that have looked on all the world; and the eyelids are a little weary."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>She put out her hand to Poppy. If Poppy had eyes +like <i>Monna Lisa</i>, she herself had the hands of that Mother +of all saints and sinners—only a little browner.</p> + +<p>"I would like to be your friend," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>Poppy flushed, and then became pale. The hand Mrs. +Portal touched stiffened a little, and the lilac eyes looked +away at the sea rather than meet the kindness of the +other's glance—but they were dim with tears. Mrs. +Portal's warm, Irish heart felt a chill. She was a little +sore too, for her friendship was more often sought than +proffered, and never before had she known a repulse. +She could not know that the girl before her felt honoured +as never in her life before, and was filled with gratitude +and affection. But Clementine Portal was a creature +full of intuition and understanding. Possibly some of the +girl's feeling subtly communicated itself to her, for she +became aware that the rebuff did not come of rudeness +or indifference—or coldness of heart; but of some other +strange feeling.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible that she's afraid of me?" she thought +at last. "Poor child! doesn't she know an enemy from<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> +a friend? It must be that she has found all women her +enemies!"</p> + +<p>They had been saying little ordinary things to one +another in the meantime, while they gazed before them to +where the risen sun was transforming the curved, purple +waves into a sheet of dazzling copper.</p> + +<p>Presently Clementine got up from the sands, very +reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"I must go home to breakfast, or my household will be +searching for me," she said, with a mournful smile, shaking +her skirt into shape. "Heaven meant me to roam the +deserts and run in the woods; but Fate laid upon me the +burden of respectability and planted me in the cabbage +garden. I must run and catch a tram-car!"</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed at her; but her laugh ended on a queer +note.</p> + +<p>"Being a wild ass of the desert has its drawbacks, too!" +said she, with something of bitterness.</p> + +<p>Clementine put out her hand and touched the girl's. +"Well, don't be a wild ass any more. Come and see me. +I hold agricultural shows on the first and last Fridays of +the month, and you will find the best kinds of turnips and +cabbages in my drawing-room. But if you seek me in +love and charity as a friend <i>should</i>, come on Sundays. +You never told me your name, yet, mermaid!"</p> + +<p>Poppy held the brown, thin hand and answered firmly:</p> + +<p>"Rosalind Chard."</p> + +<p>But afterwards, when the other had gone a little way, +she ran after her and caught her up and said:</p> + +<p>"But I wish you would call me 'Poppy.'"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was not until a month later that she +visited Mrs. Portal. Strongly attracted by the kind, +gay ways and looks of that fascinating woman, she yet<span class="pagenum">[170]</span> +feared to know her better. And she feared, too, that in +the house of Mrs. Portal she might meet the man whom +she knew not whether most she loved, or feared, or hated; +for whose sake she gashed herself with the knives of defeat +and despair. She knew that he belonged to Mrs. Portal's +circle of friends, and she had heard from Sophie Cornell +that the chief of these was Mrs. Capron. <i>Mrs. Capron!</i> +That was the name in which he had bidden her good=bye, +speaking in his drunkenness or delirium, she knew +not which. Mrs. Capron, the splendid, milky creature, +who had been with him in the rickshaw, and whom Poppy +had so clearly recognised! Would <i>she</i>, too, recognise +Poppy? The girl was not so certain now of the improbability +of such a thing, for of late it seemed to her that +she had begun to present a singular resemblance to herself +as she had looked in those unhappy, far-off days. The +strain of suffering had told upon her terribly, and her +face was tragically drawn, with a sharp, childish look +of suffering about her mouth, and soft, though not unlovely +hollows, in her cheeks. Her eyes looked larger +and more unreal for the shadows beneath them.</p> + +<p>The day she decided to go to Mrs. Portal's found her +examining herself in her glass with apprehensive eyes, +keen for every defect. She was a woman now, examining +her weapons for battle, and her courage misgave her as she +saw her reflection. She had put on a white gown that +was all simple lines and soft laces, and she really looked +very young and girlish, but she hated her appearance +when she thought of those two charming-looking women +of the world with their eloquent clothes. What if she +should meet <i>him</i> there and he should compare her with +them? What if either the thin, vivacious, sunburnt +woman, whom she herself could hardly help loving—or +the regal-milky-woman of yellow chiffon should be that +<i>Loraine</i> whom he so loved?<span class="pagenum">[171]</span></p> + +<p>"With either of them what chance should I stand?" +she asked herself, desperate-eyed. "Why have I got these +vile, purple shadows?—and holes in my cheeks? I never +had them before!" She burst into tears, and at this +juncture Kykie thought fit to make her entrance unannounced +with her everlasting tea-tray.</p> + +<p>"Now, Poppy, to goodness! what you ought to do is +to take off that tight frock and put on a nice cool gown +and rest," said the beldame importantly.</p> + +<p>"You're mad, Kykie—and I wish you wouldn't come +into my room without knocking." Poppy made occasion +to fling a towel over her hat and gloves which lay on the +bed, and which it was not desirable Kykie should see.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you needn't mind old Kykie, darling," was the +response; and Poppy, unused to such blandishments, +stared at the yellow face which continued to waggle archly +at her.</p> + +<p>"What will Luce say when he comes back, if I haven't +taken care of you?"</p> + +<p>The girl suddenly sickened at her tone.</p> + +<p>"How dare she speak to me like that!" was her furious +thought. "As if Luce has any right over me or my +health!" She could have struck the leering smile from the +woman's face; she turned away trembling with anger to her +dressing-table.</p> + +<p>"So you knew all the time about Luce and me being +married?" she said in a toneless voice, when she had +presently mastered herself.</p> + +<p>"Heavenly me! yes, and I knew it would all work out +and come right in the end. But I think you ought to wear +your wedding-ring now, Poppy.... All right, all right, +you needn't look at me like a <i>mal-meit</i>!... I'm going +now ... I wouldn't stop with you another minute +when you look like that ... you and Luce are a nice pair +for temper ... surely to goodness one would think all<span class="pagenum">[172]</span> +would be peace and love <i>now</i>—" The door was closed +and locked on her and she was obliged to continue her +soliloquy on the stairs.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>An hour later found Poppy letting herself in at the double +white gates of Mrs. Portal's garden. It was neither the +first nor last Friday in the month, nor yet Sunday afternoon; +but she had not come for society. She came because +she must; because of her bitter need of some word concerning +the man she loved.</p> + +<p>The house was a big, red-brick villa, with many verandahs +and no pretentious, except to comfort. An English maid, +in a French cap and apron, showed her into a drawing-room +that was full of the scent of flowers, with open windows +and drawn shades. Almost immediately Mrs. Portal blew +into the room like a fresh wind, seized her hands, and shook +them warmly.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come to-day," she said. "I dreamed +of you last night. Poppy, I have a feeling that you and I +are going to be mixed up in each other's lives somehow."</p> + +<p>A creature of moods and impulses herself, Poppy +thoroughly understood this greeting, and it warmed her +sad and lonely spirit gratefully; she let herself be beguiled +to the fireside of Clementine Portal's friendship. Before +she realised it, they were seated together in a deep lounge +just big enough for two people, and a pile of cushions +with cool, dull-toned surfaces, talking like friends of long +standing. Mrs. Portal was quite in the dark as to who +the girl was, but that did not bother her at all, and her +remarks contained no shadow of a question. It was enough +that she "had a feeling about her," and had dreamed of +her and believed in her.</p> + +<p>To ordinary persons these might not seem very cogent +reasons; but Clementine Portal was in no sense ordinary. +Her judgment concerning things in general, and women in<span class="pagenum">[173]</span> +particular, was both keen and sound; but she never allowed +it to interfere with her inspirations, which she considered +far safer. Apparently intensely practical and conventional, +she was, in reality, a woman who lived the most important +part of her life in a hidden world. She had the seeing-eye +and the hearing-ear for things that went unnoted by the +every-day man and woman. Being Irish, she was packed +full of superstition, but, fortunately, a strong vein of common +sense counterbalanced it. As for her humour, that +most fatal gift in a woman, it sometimes resembled a fine +blue flame, that scorched everything in reach; and sometimes, +to the consternation of the conventional, was the +rollicking wit of a fat and jolly Irish priest addicted to the +punch-bowl. She had a wonderful way of attracting +confidences from people about the things they most cared +for in life. In a little while Poppy had told her what she +had never told to a living soul before—about her little book +of songs—and her great ambitions as a writer. For some +unknown reason the girl felt these ambitions very much +alive in her that afternoon. Clementine Portal sat like a +creature entranced, with her lips slightly apart. When +Poppy had given her, upon urgent requesting—a halting, +eloquent outline of her novel, Clem said:</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> it will be good.... I can feel that it will +have big bits of open space like the veldt in it, with new +sorts of trees growing by the wayside as one passes along.... +I hate the modern woman's book, because it always +makes me gasp for air. It is too full of the fire that burns +up all there is in life."</p> + +<p>"You would write far better than I, probably," said +the girl. "I know so little of life—only what I feel. You +know everything——"</p> + +<p>"Dear girl, you are better as you are. When you know +everything, you will have discovered that the world is full +of sawdust, and the people stuffed with shavings, and no<span class="pagenum">[174]</span> +one worth writing about—then, where will your fine books +be?"</p> + +<p>"Have you ever thought of writing?"</p> + +<p>"Often," she began to laugh. "And when I discover +a real good man in the world I shall burst into glory in a +novel. But no such man exists. He died when the +sons of God saw that the daughters of men were fair. Here +is tea. We'll drown my pessimism in the cream-bowl, +shall we?"</p> + +<p>She went to the tea-table. The maid drew up the +window-shades, letting the lovely rose-lights of late afternoon +into the room. It was a real woman's room, full of +flowers and photographs, and cushions, and piles of magazines +and weeklies everywhere. There were no wonderful +pictures on the walls, or valuable china in cases. Only +a few well-arranged native curios, a good piano, and the +kind of things people from home gather about them when +they are sojourning in a foreign land. As Poppy followed +to the tea-table, her eye caught a full-length photograph on +the wall over the writing-desk, and she stayed a moment to +look. It was a woman in her presentation gown—two long, +lovely eyes smiled contentedly on the world. Underneath, +in a woman's writing, were the words: "To Clem, from +Mary."</p> + +<p>It was the regal-milky-woman—Mrs. Capron. Mrs. +Portal turned round from her tea-cups.</p> + +<p>"Ah! everyone looks at that photograph! She is very +beautiful. The remarkable thing is that she is good, too. +That <i>is</i> remarkable, isn't it? I'm sure if I had a face +like that I should go to my own head and be a perfect +divil."</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" asked Poppy, still before the smiling +picture.</p> + +<p>"My friend, Mrs. Capron."</p> + +<p>"Is that her name written there?"<span class="pagenum">[175]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes, hers and mine. She is my dearest friend, and +so she is allowed to call me Clem; you may, too, if you +like."</p> + +<p>Poppy came, thanking her, and sat by the tea-table. +She felt suddenly happier, for now she could follow the +dictates of her heart and love this woman—whose name +was <i>Clem</i>.</p> + +<p>As they took tea the door opened gently and a little +figure stole into the room straight to her mother's knee.</p> + +<p>"I like you, and love you," said she solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Hyacinth, what have you been doing?" Mrs. Portal +asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>It was easy to see that they were mother and child, for +they had the same golden-brown eyes, full of dots and +dashes and shadows, and the same grave-gay mouths. +There, however, all resemblance ceased. The child's +physique consisted of a head covered with long, streaky +brown hair, and a pair of copper-coloured legs which +apparently began under her chin.</p> + +<p>"I love and like you," she repeated glibly.</p> + +<p>"Then I know you have been doing something very +wicked, Cinthie. You always have when you like and +love me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Pas!</i>" said Cinthie, now gazing calmly at Poppy.</p> + +<p>"I shall go and find out," said Mrs. Portal. "I have +to go, anyway, to speak to cook about dinner; do forgive +me for five minutes, dear; Cinthie will look after you. +Cinthie, I hope I can trust you to be good with Miss Chard +for five minutes."</p> + +<p>The moment she was gone Cinthie made a boastful +statement.</p> + +<p>"My face is bigger than yours!"</p> + +<p>Poppy put up her hand and felt her face carefully; then +looked at Cinthie's with the air of one measuring with the +eye.<span class="pagenum">[176]</span></p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps it is!" she acceded.</p> + +<p>"It's bigger'n anyone's," continued Cinthie, even more +bragfully. "Who are you married to?"</p> + +<p>This was an awkward and surprising question, but Poppy +countered.</p> + +<p>"Why should you think I am married, Cinthie?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody's married," was the swift response. "<i>I'm</i> +married to Mammie, and Mammie's married to Daddie, +and Daddie's married to the moon, and the moon's married +to the sun, and the sun's married to the sea, and the sea's +married to the stars, and the stars are married to the +stripes—Daddie says so. Let me sit on your lap, I'm as +tired as a bed."</p> + +<p>Poppy lifted her up, and Cinthie, lolling against the +white, lacy dress, gazed for a space into the lilac eyes. +She then carefully selected a long streak of her own hair +and put it into her mouth, thoughtfully sucking it as she +continued her remarks:</p> + +<p>"I think you had better marry Karri," she said. "I +like Karri better'n anyone, except Daddie. His face is +bigger than anybody's."</p> + +<p>"Is Karri a man, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but he's got two women's names, isn't that +funny? One's Karri and the other's Eve. I'll show you +his photo."</p> + +<p>She ran to the other side of the room, grabbed a frame +from a table, and brought it back triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"There!" she cried, and dumped it into Poppy's lap.</p> + +<p>Poppy stared down into the pictured face of the man +she loved.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal reappeared.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Cinthie, I've heard all about it from Sarah, and +I'm very angry with you. I knew you had been doing +something specially wicked. You're a <i>petite méchante</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Pas!</i>" said Cinthie stoutly.<span class="pagenum">[177]</span></p> + +<p>"You are. Go away, now, to the nursery. I'm very +angry with you."</p> + +<p>Cinthie retreated, bitterly reasseverating:</p> + +<p>"<i>Pas! pas! Pas petite méchante! Pas!</i>"</p> + +<p>Clem observed the photograph in Poppy's lap.</p> + +<p>"She has been showing you her hero—the hero of us +all. Everyone in this house genuflects before Eve Carson."</p> + +<p>And so at last Poppy knew the name of the idol before +which she, too, worshipped!</p> + +<p>"By the way, did Cinthie mention that his face is bigger +than anyone's? That is the final point of beauty with +Cinthie—to have a big face. Well, Evelyn Carson's face +is not so big, but his ways are, and his ideas, and those +things make for bigness of soul——"</p> + +<p>Poppy said nothing: only she prayed with all her soul +that Clem would continue to talk upon this subject; and +Clem, looking dreamily at the girl, but obviously not +thinking of her, responded to the prayer.</p> + +<p>"He is a wonderful person, and we all adore him, even +though our judgment sometimes asks us why, and our ears +sometimes hear the untoward things that are not compatible +with reverence," she was smiling. "I daresay you +have heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Poppy, in an even voice.</p> + +<p>"Most people have, by now—he's been one of the foremost +figures in South African life for years, one of the +many Irishmen who have left their native land, burning with +the sense of England's tyranny, only to go and strive for +England's fame and glory in some other part of the world. +We met him first on the Rand, where all the interesting +blackguards forgather at some time or another; but he +was always in trouble there, for, you know, Oom Paul +doesn't approve of Imperialistic Irishmen, and invariably +contrives to make anyone of the kind exceedingly uncomfortable. +Karri Carson has been a marked man,<span class="pagenum">[178]</span> +watched by the Secret Service, and his every action and +every word reported, with the result, of course, that he +has said and done many daringly foolish things, and nearly +been deported over the border once or twice. Fortunately, +there are more interesting places than the Rand, and there +is always a rumpus going on in <i>some</i> quarter of Africa, and +he has been in all the rumpuses of the last fifteen years—Uganda—Matabelel +and—anywhere where there was anything +in the wind and where <i>real men</i> were wanted. He's +earned the V.C. a dozen times, though he's only got the +D.S.O. But it is not love of honours that is his moving +spirit—just an Irishman's lust for being in the "redmost +hell of the fight." Between intervals of active service he +has gone off into the wild deeps of Africa, where no one +has ever been before—discovered a new quadruped and a +new tribe of natives. The Royal Institute is <i>dying</i> to trim +him up with blue ribbons and exhibit him in London, +but Africa has kissed him on the mouth, and he will not +leave her." Clem drew a long breath. "I can't think +what we shall all do now that he is gone," she finished +sadly.</p> + +<p>"Gone!" Poppy wondered what kept her voice so calm +while her soul cried out within her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, gone away to Borapota: a little red-hot spot +in the red-hot heart of Africa. It is very conveniently +situated for us—not too far from our lovely Mombassa +harbour—and it is very rich and fertile, and in every way +desirable, and the Imperial Unionists think we ought to +own it, and the Liberal Little Englanders think we ought +to get it—without spilling a drop of blood or saying a single +bad word to anybody. And Evelyn Carson has gone to +get it for us <i>sans</i> Maxims and <i>sans</i> men and <i>sans</i> anything +much besides a high heart and a squad of <i>boys</i> who have +been everywhere with him. He has gone on a <i>peaceful +expedition</i> into the midst of one of the fiercest tribes in<span class="pagenum">[179]</span> +Africa to barter or bargain for Concessions that will eventually +extend the Empire by sixty thousand square miles, +and add a country crammed with coal and iron and ivory +and a dozen other lovely things to the pink part of the map. +And he has gone without even <i>official</i> permission, so that if +he succeeds—why, hurrah! for the Union Jack and everything +under it! And if he fails—only another reputation +buried in an African grave! No one will care a rap, and +everyone will forget him except the people who love him. +The only thing I care to think of in the matter is, that the +Borapotans are said to be extremely intelligent and reasonable +men, who will make splendid soldiers—and then everyone +knows what a way Evelyn Carson has with all natives! +The Zulus and the Basutos, and all the war-loving tribes, +simply adore him! Still, there's no denying the fact that +he's gone with his life in his hand. Even if the natives +prove to be sweet and reasonable, there are half a dozen +other deaths lurking in every mile of the Interior."</p> + +<p>"Has no other white man gone with him?" Poppy +heard herself asking.</p> + +<p>"No one except his <i>boys</i> will go with him once he starts +on the unbeaten track—but our friends the Caprons have +sailed with him as far as Mombassa, and Mrs. Capron declares +they will accompany him inland, too, until he drives +them back. Of course, he's sure to do that before +they reach the danger zone—but isn't it intrepid of +her?"</p> + +<p>Poppy did not know what she answered. Darkness +engulfed her spirit, almost her senses.</p> + +<p>"They started about a month ago, and I am terribly +lonely without them all. Mrs. Capron and her husband +will be back within three months, I expect, but we feel—<i>everybody</i> +who knows—very anxious about Eve Carson, +more especially because he is very susceptible to malarial +fever. He had a frightful attack about six weeks before<span class="pagenum">[180]</span> +he left; he was found raving in a rickshaw one night, and +for nearly a fortnight afterwards was practically delirious. +However, no sooner was he out of danger than he took up +his preparations again, and in spite of the doctors, he sailed +on the date he had originally fixed."... Mrs. Portal +looked extremely mournful, but presently she added: +"We are so thankful to think that Mrs. Capron will be with +him for a while, because her husband has often had fever, +and she thoroughly understands it."</p> + +<p>"I must go home," said Poppy suddenly; and Clementine, +roused from her reverie by the strangely sounding voice, +stared at the girl.</p> + +<p>"You look quite ill, dear," she said gently. "I am so +sorry; I have been wandering on, about all the things +that interest <i>me</i>!... Will you lie down a little while? +or shall I ring for some wine?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I must go home ... it is nothing ... I +feel odd sometimes ..." she spoke vaguely, but she stood +up, arranging her veil and pulling on her gloves. Clem +came with her through the garden, and they stood for a +moment with the low double gate between them, bidding +each other good-bye. Mrs. Portal kissed her and told her +to come again soon, but the girl answered nothing. Suddenly +a visionary look passed like a veil across Clementine +Portal's face.</p> + +<p>"Poppy," she said in a dreamy, yet intent way; "there +will be deep waters around you soon! ... you will need +courage, resolution, <i>and</i> silence ... those are a woman's +greatest friends in this world ... but, in so far as one +human being can count on another—count on me, too, for +a friend."</p> + +<p>Already the swirl of the waters was in Poppy's ears, but +the kind, brave message came to her like a friendly oar +in the dark sea of trouble. For a moment she clung to +the older woman's hand like a child afraid; then they<span class="pagenum">[181]</span> +parted. Poppy walked away through the vapoury, delicate +light shed by a slender fragment of moon, and Clem Portal +stayed staring abstractedly over the gate. It was three +years before they met again.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[182]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">POPPY lay upon her bed like a drowned woman. +She had come in almost fainting, and Kykie, +meeting her on the stairs and seeing her face, had flown +after her to her bedroom with water and brandy. The +old woman had taken the girl in her arms bodily, and +placing her on the bed, proceeded to drench her face and +hair with ice-cold water and eau-de-Cologne, and to force +doses of brandy between the white lips.</p> + +<p>At last, reviving somewhat under this vigorous treatment, +Poppy found breath and sense to remonstrate:</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Kykie? Do you want to choke +me? Stop that ... I'm nearly drowned."</p> + +<p>"You were drownded enough before you came in," +responded Kykie with asperity; "your dress is soaking. +Where have you been?"</p> + +<p>Poppy had been lying in the dew-drenched grass of the +garden for some two hours or more after her return from +Mrs. Portal's, but she was not conscious of the fact.</p> + +<p>"... And, Luce coming home without warning, and +you not in to dinner, and everything in the world to aggravate +a gracious Christian woman!" continued Kykie, +panting like a stout sheep.</p> + +<p>"Luce? Dinner?" said Poppy vaguely. "What is the +time, Kykie?"</p> + +<p>"I think you're going cracked," said Kykie with fresh +ire, "not to know the time! Half-past nine it is, indeed, +and me not in bed yet, when you <i>know</i> what I suffer if<span class="pagenum">[183]</span> +I don't get my night's rest. You and Luce simply +haven't the consideration of a <i>cow</i> for me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go to bed!" said Poppy wearily.</p> + +<p>"I'll do nothing of the sort, thank you, extremingly. I +will not go to my bed until you have eaten some dinner. +Do you think I want all the trouble of a funeral in the +house? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Poppy, not +taking any care of yourself, knowing what you do——"</p> + +<p>The old woman paused with some significant intention, +but Poppy only waved a pale hand in her direction.</p> + +<p>"Go away and hold your peace, Kykie, for the love of +Heaven!"</p> + +<p>"I'll only go away to get you some food ... and +you're to eat it, Poppy dear," she began to coax. "I'll +bring you some nice hot soup, lovey, and a little chicken +mayonnaise, and you <i>will</i> try and eat it, won't you? and +a little glass of champagne."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't Kykie ... only leave me alone...."</p> + +<p>The old woman promptly seated herself upon the side of +the bed with the air of an immovable rock.</p> + +<p>"Well.... Oh, all right, then ... <i>anything</i> ... why +can't you leave me alone?"</p> + +<p>Kykie did; but she took the precaution of removing +the bedroom door-key and taking it with her, for she knew +her mistress's ways well. In a few moments she was back +again, with half a pint of champagne and a little pile of +caviare sandwiches, which she warranted to put life into +a corpse if she could only force them down its throat. +She almost proceeded to this extreme measure with Poppy, +threatening, cajoling, and complaining all the while.</p> + +<p>Eventually she took her departure with an empty plate +and glass, and as she went she threw back a last menacing +remark to the bed.</p> + +<p>"And <i>I shall stay up to speak to Luce</i> when he returns +from the Club." What she could mean by this Poppy<span class="pagenum">[184]</span> +neither knew nor cared. Revived a little by the wine and +food, but with a body and mind demanding rest, she closed +her eyes and fell into dead slumber.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When the candles which Kykie had lighted in the tall +silver sticks on the dressing-table had burnt far down +from their scarlet shades, Poppy awakened to the fact +that someone was moving about her bedroom. She opened +her eyes, but did not stir or make a sound.</p> + +<p>A man was standing by her writing-table humming +softly to himself while he took up each little ornament +and article upon it, and gently broke it between his hands. +There were several paper-knives of wood and silver and +tortoise-shell; quaint pens, and two gold-set rose-glasses. +He broke them all gently between his hands, and the snapping +of them was like the snapping of little bones. He then +tore up some photographs, and a black-and-white etching +of the Bay of Naples, and piled the pieces into two little +heaps. As he walked away from the writing-table towards +the lighted dressing-table, the candles gleamed on his +profile, and Poppy saw that it was, as she supposed, the +profile of Luce Abinger. He was humming between his +teeth, a little tune—an odd noise resembling much the sort +of monotonous hum made by black fighting ants when +they go out seeking battle with other ant tribes.</p> + +<p>Something resembling panic stole over the girl as she +listened, and once she saw his distorted mouth smiling +terribly, and could have cried aloud, but she controlled +herself and continued to lie still with half-closed eyes, +watching his strange proceedings. From the dressing-table +he took up her two beautiful ivory brushes with her name +written in silver across their backs, and bending them in +his hands, snapped off their handles, laying the broken bits +down. Then carefully and methodically he broke every<span class="pagenum">[185]</span> +one of the silver articles on the table. The sound of them +snapping seemed to give him acute pleasure. Even two +tall vases of silver and cut-glass were not too strong for +his skilful hands; nor was a little porcelain trinket-tray, +with a scene from the <i>Tokaido</i> inlaid upon it (for which +he had paid thirty pounds at Yokohama), spared.</p> + +<p>A handful of rings and bracelets, which Kykie had removed +from her fainting mistress and placed in a little +heap upon the table, he dropped upon the floor and ground +his heel upon.</p> + +<p>With no look towards the bed where Poppy lay, he +left the table then, and sauntered to the walls, from which +he stripped the wonderful chalk drawings and flung them +in ribbons to the floor. His eye caught the silver and +ivory crucifix.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Christ! I had forgotten you," said he, speaking +for the first time, in a soft and pleased tone, and picking +up a boot-tree left carelessly by a chair he approached, +and struck a ringing blow upon the beautiful ivory face, +shattering it. Again and again he struck until it lay in a +hundred tiny splinters on the ground. Poppy's eye had +sought the door and found it closed; the lock gleamed +and there was no key to be seen. She came to the conclusion +that she was locked in with a man who had gone +mad. The house was absolutely silent.</p> + +<p>"If he chooses to kill me, he can; no one will hear my +calls," she thought, and she continued to lie very still.</p> + +<p>In smashing the crucifix Abinger had for the first time +made a noise louder than the gentle cracking and crunching +of bones; but he had now awakened to the charm of +breaking things with a crash. He beat the boot-tree full +into the smiling face of <i>Monna Lisa</i>.</p> + +<p>"Stop smiling, you leaden-jawed Jewess," he said +softly.</p> + +<p>The glass flew in jingling showers in every direction,<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> +but the strong, quiet face remained on the wall in its frame; +and though the mouth was full of splintered glass, the +eyes smiled gravely on—the eyes of a woman who had +seen many such violent scenes come and go.</p> + +<p>There was a tiny bronze bust of Daniel O'Connell, +standing on a little cedar-wood shelf, which Abinger caught +up and flung with a calm, sure aim at the long gilt-edged +mirror, making a great white radiating asterisk full in the +centre of it.</p> + +<p>All vases and flower-bowls he took from their places and +dropped upon the floor. The sound of their breaking was +not unmusical.</p> + +<p>He still continued to hum. At last there was nothing +left to destroy except the books arranged in their shelves +round the room. A few he pulled from their cases and +tore them across, but the sound of their tearing was tame +and had no charm for him after so much exciting noise. +Leisurely he left them at last and came to the foot of the +bed and stood looking down upon the girl lying there. +She met his eyes with a calm and quiet glance, though +the soul within her was apprehensive enough.</p> + +<p>The smile on his mouth was like the carved smile on the +mouth of some hideous Japanese mask, and his eyes resembled +the eyes of a gargoyle. He was in full evening-dress +and very immaculate, and his fair hair lay as smooth +and sleek upon his head as a sleeping child's.</p> + +<p>"Awake?" he asked, with continual and unfailing +pleasantness.</p> + +<p>"You hardly expected me to have remained asleep?" +asked Poppy equably. She saw very well now that he +had not lost his reason. His eyes were not an insane man's +eyes, though they were lit by some frightful emotion, and +he was plainly in the grip of one of his extraordinary +rages: the worst she had ever witnessed. It did not occur +to her that she could in any way be the cause of his anger,<span class="pagenum">[187]</span> +and she felt wearily indignant that it should be obtruded +upon her at this time. She did not mind much about all +her beautiful things with which he had made such holocaust, +though her possessions had always had for her that pathetic +value and meaning which the lonely attach to inanimate +things. But her whole life was <i>bouleversé</i> now, and she +understood that such things mattered little.</p> + +<p>Abinger was looking at her with a tinge of something +that might have been expectancy in his fury. Was he +waiting for her to demand what he meant by this unprecedented +outrage on her privacy? Ill and careless of life +as she felt, she still had strength to rebel against this new +form of tyranny, and to meet it with courage and disdain. +It seemed to her that it would be more insolent not to ask +him what he meant, but to simply take such vile and +brutal conduct as a matter of course. So she stared back +calmly at him from her pillows, not knowing what a strange +picture she presented, lying there. Her arms wide from +her, revealing the long, curved line of her boyish young +form; her subtle face, pale, with strong ivory tints in it +against the whiteness of the pillows, the blue scornful light +of her eyes, and her drowned black hair lying like gorgon +ropes about her. Passion-racked and pale as Magdalene, +she was a sight to kindle the fires of pity and chivalry in +any good man; but the lust of Luce Abinger's eyes was for +the grace and bloom and beauty of her, that even misery +and fatigue could not rub out, and these things kindled his +blood to such a fury of savagery and desire that he scarce +knew what he did. With one quick movement he had left +the foot of the bed and was sitting beside her with an iron +hand on each of hers. So she lay there, like a pinioned bird, +with his tormented face above her.</p> + +<p>"Harlot!" he whispered, still smiling; and the word +leapt from his lips like a shrivelling flame and scorched +across her face.<span class="pagenum">[188]</span></p> + +<p>"Harlot!" he repeated softly. "Tell me the name of +your lover!"</p> + +<p>That bleached her. Disdain departed from her looks +and she lay there quivering under his hands; her dry lips +parted, but her tongue was stiff in her mouth. The blow +was so utterly and profoundly unexpected. What did he +mean? What could he mean? How could he know of +that secret idol in that secret grove of her heart, before +whose altar she had slain her girlhood—and his honour? +How could he know of that sweet shameful secret that +she shared with a mad or drunken man—but mad or drunk, +the man she loved? Had she not buried the secret deep +and sworn that no one should ever drag it from the depths +of her? Was it possible that she had not buried it deep +enough? Was it written across her face for all the world +to see? She searched the scorching eyes above her and +then at last she was afraid; her own fell and the lids +closed over them.</p> + +<p>Vile epithets fell again and again from his lips, and +under each her face blenched and shrank as though little +flickering flames or drops of corrosive acid had touched it; +but her eyes were sealed and her lips gave forth no word.</p> + +<p>At last it ended strangely. Weariness seemed suddenly +to overcome Abinger, for his grasp grew loose on the girl's +hands, his tense features relaxed, a bluish shade stole over +his face.</p> + +<p>Presently he stumbled to his feet, and, walking unevenly +and vaguely, made his way from the room.</p> + +<p>In a moment Poppy Destin had leapt from the bed to the +door and locked it soundlessly.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Sophie Cornell was saying good-night to a visitor. +"Well," said he. "Tell Miss Chard how sorry I am.<span class="pagenum">[189]</span> +As soon as she feels well enough, I shall send up my carriage, +and I'd like her to use it and get some fresh air."</p> + +<p>"Och, what, she won't be well enough for that some +time yet," was Miss Cornell's answer. "She is very +dickie indeed. I shouldn't be surprised if she croaked."</p> + +<p>Bramham gave her a searching look.</p> + +<p>"Well, look here; she ought to have a good doctor in. +I'll ask Ferrand to call. He's my doctor, and the best +I know——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't do that?" said Sophie hastily; "we've +called a doctor in already, you know."</p> + +<p>"Who have you got?"</p> + +<p>"I must go—I can hear her calling," said Sophie suddenly. +"Good-night."</p> + +<p>Incontinently she disappeared, the door closed, and +Bramham was left to pick his way through the dark garden +as best he might.</p> + +<p>After the sound of his steps had died away a figure stole +from among the trees to the verandah, softly opened the +front door and walked in upon Miss Cornell, who was +in the act of mixing herself a whiskey-and-soda. The drink +spilled upon the table and Sophie's mouth fell apart.</p> + +<p>"My God, Rosalind! What a <i>shrik</i><a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> you gave me! +<i>Man!</i> What's the matter with you?" At the end of +her question her voice fell into a whisper. She stared +with genuine horror at the wraith-like face before her: +Rosalind Chard, with dilated eyes in an ashen face, drenched +hair, a white lace gown wet and torn, hatless and shoeless.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Start (fright).</p></div> + +<p>"<i>Gott!</i> Rosalind!" repeated the Colonial girl. "Has +someone been trying to murder you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other tonelessly. "And I've come here +for safety. Will you take me in, Sophie?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. But who was it? A man, I'll bet—or +has your old aunt gone up the tree?"<span class="pagenum">[190]</span></p> + +<p>"Don't ask me anything, Sophie. I shall go mad if +I have to talk. Only, hide me and never let anyone know +I'm here, or I shall kill myself." The girl fell exhausted +into a chair and Sophie stood staring at her with a long face. +It would not suit her book at all, she reflected, if Rosalind +Chard wanted to be shut up and never see anyone. However, +she saw that this was no time to argue the point, +and that her present pressing business was to get the +exhausted girl to bed.</p> + +<p>This she proceeded to do.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[191]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">THE person largely instrumental in bringing Poppy +back to health and a remote interest in life was +Charles Bramham.</p> + +<p>One day Sophie Cornell met him in West Street and +asked him to come and call.</p> + +<p>"I have Rosalind up at last," she told him; "but she +looks like a dying duck, and I believe she <i>will</i> die if someone +doesn't buck her up. It would be a <i>real</i> charity if you +would come and talk to her."</p> + +<p>Bramham, though an exceedingly busy man, accepted +the invitation with vivacity, for he was much <i>intrigué</i> on +the subject of Miss Chard, and, further, he had not forgotten +the romantic and piquant sensations she had inspired +in him upon the occasion of their one meeting. Now, +piquant and romantic sensations are very valuable in +South Africa, and should always be followed up in case +of life becoming too monotonously saltless and savourless. +Bramham swiftly found a spare hour and arrived +one afternoon in Sophie's absence.</p> + +<p>He was utterly taken aback by the change in the girl. +He came upon her suddenly, sitting in the verandah with +her hands laced round her knees and her eyes staring +straight in front of her with a look in them that was not +good to see.</p> + +<p>"Why! <i>you</i> ought to be away up in the country somewhere, +out of this sweltering heat," was his first remark +after ordinary conventionalities. She observed him coldly<span class="pagenum">[192]</span> +and assured him that she was perfectly well. Her invitation +to come into the verandah and take a chair was polite, +but lacking in enthusiasm. But it was hard to daunt +Charles Bramham when he was looking for sensations. +Besides which, he felt a genuine and chivalrous interest in +this desperate-eyed girl.</p> + +<p>"This climate is only meant for flies and Kaffirs," he +said pleasantly. "It's quite unfit for white men in summer—to +say nothing of a delicate English girl unaccustomed +to it."</p> + +<p>A smile flickered across Poppy's lips at this description +of herself, and Bramham, encouraged by his success, went +on to tell her about just the ideal spot for her to recover +her health.</p> + +<p>"At the Intombi, near Port Shepstone," he said, "you +can stand on hills that undulate to the sea five hundred +feet below, with the whole veldt between brilliant with +flowers."</p> + +<p>Poppy looked with surprise into the keen, strong face. +She believed Bramham must be a lawyer, because he had +such a scrutinising, business-like look about him. But +to her astonishment he went on to tell her of a valley where +arum-lilies grew in such masses that they looked like miles +of snowdrifts lying on the grass.</p> + +<p>"All along the south coast," he continued, warming to +his subject, "there are thousands of acres covered with +flowers—red and variegated and white. I think the white +ones are mostly wild narcissi. The smell of the sea wind +blowing over them is warranted to cure the sickest body or +soul in South Africa. I wish I were there now," he added +wistfully, and the pupils of his eyes expanded in an odd +way.</p> + +<p>"But you are not sick," said Poppy, smiling less wanly.</p> + +<p>"No, but when all the flowers are in full bloom the +quail come down," was the artless rejoinder. "Not that<span class="pagenum">[193]</span> +<i>that</i> will be for a long time yet; September is the time. +But I like that place."</p> + +<p>And Poppy liked him. It was really impossible to help +it. She remembered now that she had experienced the +same pleasure in his frank, kind glances and direct remarks +the first time she had met him. Certainly there were +dangers about him. Undoubtedly he could be a villain +too, if one allowed him to be, she thought; but there is +something attractive about a man who can forget he is +talking to a woman and remember acres of flowers instead—and +get that boyish look into his eyes at the same time! +She was not the first woman, however, who had felt the +charm of Charles Bramham. When he had finished +with Upper Natal, he fell to telling her of a woman, a +<i>great</i> friend of his, who had once lived in Durban, until +the women drove her out saying that she was mad and bad.</p> + +<p>"Certainly her face was all marked up," said Bramham +gravely. "She said her temperament did it; but <i>they</i> +said it was wickedness. So she went away and wrote a book +about them. She let some of them down on a soft cushion, +but others she hung up by their heels and they're hanging +there yet—food for the aasvogels."</p> + +<p>"She must be very clever," said Poppy drily.</p> + +<p>"She is. She's a <i>bird</i>," said Bramham with enthusiasm. +"When her book came out everybody here black-guarded +her, and said it showed what an immoral wretch +she was to know such things about men and women." +He gave Poppy a side-glance to see if he should add something +else that was hot on his tongue, but he decided that +she was too innocent-eyed.</p> + +<p>"All the same, we all sneaked off to Piet Davis's and +looked at the Bibles whilst we shoved bits of paper across +the counter: 'Please send me two copies of <i>Diana Amongst +the Wesleyans</i> at once; wrap each in the <i>Sunday at Home</i> +and despatch to my office.'"<span class="pagenum">[194]</span></p> + +<p>Poppy gave a little ringing laugh and asked eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Is she here now?"</p> + +<p>"Lord no! I wish she were. She has settled in France, +where, she says, they understand temperament better +than out here, and I believe it. Last night I went to a +dinner-party—a thing I never do, and it served me right—and +a woman opposite started tackling me about her; +said she had seen Mrs. Haybittel in Paris, and that she +was older-looking than ever."</p> + +<p>"'Yes, so am I,' said I, 'but I am also more in love +with her than ever.' At which she giggled, and they all +turned up their mirthless eyes at me. That woman is an +old enemy of mine, and she always trains her guns on me +whenever she can get an audience. She's a Mrs. Gruyère, +and if ever you meet her, beware!"</p> + +<p>"'I thought the ideal woman was always young,' she +snippered at me.</p> + +<p>"'Not at all,' I said. 'She may be old, but not <i>too</i> +old. She may be ugly, but not <i>too</i> ugly. She may be +bad, but not <i>too</i> bad. It is a pity you didn't find someone +to tell you about this before,' I finished. That gave her +something to bite on with her celluloid teeth."</p> + +<p>Bramham amused Poppy in this fashion for something +like two hours, and then, having given himself an invitation +to call again shortly, he left her with laughter on her lips +and the shadows fled from her eyes. She went indoors +and, her old trick, looked at herself in a mirror.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with me," she said wonderingly, +"that I can laugh and be gay, when I know that the future +is dark with fateful things."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she continued to laugh, and that night, +while Sophie was away at the theatre and the house was +quiet, she began and finished with the winged pen of +inspiration a little merry song that was all sparkling with +tears, full of the shadows that lie in dark valleys, but also<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> +fresh with the wind that blows across the hills lifting the +shadows. Her personal troubles all forgotten in her work, +she went to bed wrapped in the ecstasy of one who has +achieved and knows the achievement good. But not to +sleep. The lines of her poem twinkled and flashed back +and forth through her brain; the metre altered itself to one, +oddly, daringly original. Phrases like chords of music +thrilled through her and everything she had already written +seemed tame and meaningless. Lying there she re-wrote +the whole thing in her brain, setting it to a swinging, swaying +metre that swayed and swung her tired mind to rest at +last. But in the calm light of morning she did not change +her poem, for she had the artist's gift of selection and +recognised inspiration when she saw it.</p> + +<p>That day found her descended into the pit of desolation +once more, with the "black butterflies" swarming overhead, +shutting out the light. What was happening to her +was that temperament was claiming her. The poet-artist +in her that had struggled so long for the light was being +born, with all the attendant pangs and terrors of deliverance, +for when the body is sick and the soul torn with +suffering is temperament's own time.</p> + +<p>Intermittently she began to do fine work, but there were +always the black hours afterwards when she forgot that +she was an artist, and only knew the terror of being a +woman. Then she suffered.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Sophie had her chained to the typewriter. +She had begun to hate the clicking horror, but +she felt an obligation to work for Sophie as hard as she +was able, to pay for the food she ate and the roof over her +head. She never dared to think of Abinger and whether +he sought her. The secret exit in the garden wall she +had skilfully hidden. Abinger would probably think +that she had a double key to the front gate and had escaped +that way, or else through the <i>boys'</i> compound. Certainly<span class="pagenum">[196]</span> +he would never dream of seeking for her in the house of +Sophie Cornell. She had rigorously bound the latter +to silence as to her presence in the little bungalow, and +knowing that for some reason it was exceedingly important +to Sophie to have her there, she had no doubt that the +Colonial girl would keep her lips sealed. To the many +men-friends of the fascinating Miss Cornell, it became +known that a companion and assistant mysteriously +shared her house, and her work, but the astounding thing +was that this mysterious person kept to her own quarters +at all times, and did not care for theatres, late suppers +at the Royal, or drives to Inanda! It was generally +supposed that she was, in the slang of the day, either +"moth-eaten," or "cracked."</p> + +<p>At the earliest opportunity Poppy tied Charles Bramham's +tongue also, by telling him frankly that she had an +enemy she was afraid of and whom she feared would find +her out.</p> + +<p>Bramham had become a constant visitor whom Poppy +always welcomed. His visits meant to her a time of ease +from the torment of her own thoughts, a respite from evil +dreams. His big, bracing individuality evoked in her a +strong liking and comradeship, and she hoped he had the +same feeling for her; but she was sometimes afraid of +the glances of his grey eyes.</p> + +<p>She was not long in discovering that though he was +essentially a man's man, he had a great fondness for the +society of women; that, indeed, he was one of those men +who are lost without a woman as the central figure of +existence—to work for and wind dreams around. He told +her so very often, in words that were meant to be enigmatical +and symbolical, no doubt, but which were really +as frank and simple as the man's nature.</p> + +<p>"Life out here is saltless and savourless—just one day's +march nearer <i>voetsack</i>, unless someone takes an interest<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> +in you," was the disconsolate remark he made to her one +day, with a look in his eyes that was even more direct +than his words.</p> + +<p>"But you must have heaps of people who do that," +Poppy answered evenly, "and you strike me essentially +as being one of them yourself. I'm sure you must be, or +you would not have made a success of your life."</p> + +<p>"How do you know I'm a success?" somewhat gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, anyone can see that. You have the calm, assured +look of a man whose future is secure."</p> + +<p>"You mean I look smug and self-satisfied!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind. When a man has any intellect +to speak of, money merely expands his interests and makes +him ever so much more interesting than before. Do you +think Sam Johnson ever got smug-looking? even when +he had three hundred a year, which was quite an income +those days?"</p> + +<p>"Are you comparing me with Johnson?" asked Bramham, +grinning.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't be vain. Africa is swarming with +men who are the equals of Johnson in brain, without being +hampered by his principles. His endurance and fine +courage are another matter entirely. I don't suppose there +are many men here who have gone through what he did +to reach success."</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken there," said Bramham. "There +are plenty of men out here who have beaten their way +through almost insurmountable difficulties, and come out +top-dog."</p> + +<p>Poppy smiled sceptically.</p> + +<p>"Difficulties, yes—but poverty and bitter want?</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"'Slow rises worth by poverty depressed!'<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"What do South Africans know of terrible poverty? +Their minds are often starved, but never their bodies,<span class="pagenum">[198]</span> +and there is always the sunshine, to clothe and warm. +Even the little Kaffir children have their stomachs filled +with rice or mealie-meal pap and can roll in the sun and +be happy. I don't suppose any of the residents of this +place know the real meaning of the word poverty—you, +for instance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not much of an instance," said Bramham +carelessly. "I am a Colonial, but, as a matter of fact, I +happen to have spent a great part of my youth in London. +I had to leave Africa when I was ten and I thought it +pretty rough luck. If you cast your eye around, you will +notice that Natal seems to have been just made for boys +of ten—there's the sea, and the bluff, and the bay, and +the Bush. Ah, well! I don't suppose you will understand +what it meant to leave all these things and go and settle +in a gloomy little side street in Chelsea!"</p> + +<p>Poppy <i>could</i> understand; but she was so much surprised +that she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"My mother was left a widow with two young sons," +continued Bramham in a pleasantly narrative tone. "She +had no means, but she had the pluck of ten men and a +heart for any fate. She used to give music lessons and +teach a few youngsters; but there is no income to speak +of to be got out of that. We boys had to hustle out and +find something to do as soon as we left school, which was +pretty early. There was no hope of a profession for either +of us; the only thing to do was to grab with teeth and +nails whatever offered and make the best of it. I was +the eldest and had to get out when I was twelve, and +the first place I got was with an undertaker as a sort of +boy-of-all-work. Lord! how I hated that business and +that man! But I got a sound knowledge of book-keeping +there that was invaluable later on. Afterwards I got a +billet with a firm of auctioneers, and the experience I +got <i>there</i> has been mighty useful too. But their place<span class="pagenum">[199]</span> +of business was a long way from Chelsea, and I couldn't +afford fares, so I had to get up at three-thirty in the mornings +and go off on foot with fourpence in my pocket to +feed myself on during the day. There was a place I used +to go to for my mid-day meal—a sort of 'Cabmen's Rest,' +where I used to get a fine hunk of what is known as 'spotted +dog' for twopence-halfpenny; but I couldn't run to that +every day in the week, because it didn't leave me enough +to live on for the rest of the day. The winter was the +worst time. My mother was always up to see me off +in the mornings, with a cup of coffee to put heart into me +for my long walk—and she would be waiting for me in +the evenings with a smile and a hot supper, probably +something she had done without for her own dinner. +During supper she usually had some astonishing tale to +tell us of great men who, having had to struggle with +adversity, had won through and come out top. She was +a brilliantly-educated woman, and had been a wide reader—I +don't think the life of <i>any</i> famous man had escaped +her knowledge. It certainly put heart into <i>me</i> to know +that finer men than I had gone through the same mill, and +I often went to bed in a glow of virtue. But I'm bound +to say that the glow had a way of wearing off during the +daytime. We had a wealthy cousin who could have +helped us a deal if he'd liked, but his help never went +any further than writing letters of advice and forwarding +parcels of discarded clothing. His frayed collars used +to come my way. I think now, looking back, that the +worst physical pain I can remember in those London years +was the feel of that fellow's collars sawing at my gorge. +He is still alive, and I am often obliged to meet him when +I am in London, and I can tell you I never let him off +those collars. I harp on them until he gets as frayed and +sore as my neck used to be."</p> + +<p>Bramham smiled gaily. Poppy wondered what the<span class="pagenum">[200]</span> +worst mental suffering had been, but she had too much +respect for suffering to ask.</p> + +<p>Indirectly, Bramham presently enlightened her.</p> + +<p>"It was pretty bad those days to remember the life we +had known out here. My brother, being fairly young, +didn't feel it so much. My mother and I had our +memories all to ourselves."</p> + +<p>He made a long pause. Poppy said nothing. She was +sitting with her elbows among the papers on the table +listening intently.</p> + +<p>"We came out here afterwards, and my brother and I +put up a big fight for fortune, and we won out at last; +but I don't know that we ever should, if my fine old mother +hadn't been at the back of us all the time."</p> + +<p>"She was a noble woman," said Poppy softly. "How +you must have made it up to her afterwards."</p> + +<p>"She died just when things were beginning to come our +way," said Bramham.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[201]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">POPPY and Bramham were alone together as they had +been many times before. The verandah being the +coolest place, they were sitting there, on a low basket-lounge +affair, in darkness, except for the streaks and squares +of light that stretched through the open windows and +door of the sitting-room, falling across the verandah and +losing themselves in the massed greenery of the garden. +The little red glow at the end of Bramham's cigar gave +enough light at times for him to observe that upon the +face of his companion the strained, tortured look which +often haunted it, was getting full play under cover of +the dimness. She laughed lightly, however, at his sallies +as they talked—the disjointed intermittent conversation +of people who are far from the subject under discussion.</p> + +<p>By reason of the shortness of the lounge they were +seated rather close together; so close, that when Bramham's +arm, which was lying along the back of the sofa, +slipped down, it, as a matter of course, touched her waist. +Her face was averted, so that even if it had been light +enough he could not see the troubled look that flashed +across it. She sat perfectly still, however, and said nothing. +It <i>might</i> be an accident—she would wait and see. But +presently she felt personality and magnetism in the touch +of that firm hand, lightly as it rested on her; and she +knew that this was not an accident.</p> + +<p>"Don't do that," she said; her manner was careless,<span class="pagenum">[202]</span> +but there was a <i>timbre</i> in her voice that chilled. Bramham +instantly removed his hand.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked discontentedly.</p> + +<p>"Because I don't care about it," she said, her tone +pleasant and friendly again.</p> + +<p>Bramham smoked a while. He was not at all offended, +but he chose to pretend to be. His experience of women +presently prompted him to make a remark which he had +discovered they regarded in the nature of a taunt.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you are very cold-blooded."</p> + +<p>Poppy merely laughed. Bramham, piqued that his shot +had missed fire, and, having no other ready at the moment, +repeated it with as much disagreeableness as he could +muster—which was not any very great amount.</p> + +<p>"It must be unpleasant to be so cold."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not in this climate," said she tranquilly; adding, +with a touch of malice: "and there are always plenty +of fires where one can warm oneself, <i>quelquefois</i>."</p> + +<p>"I think that what <i>you</i> need is a bonfire." Bramham +was feeling distinctly cross, but Poppy laughed so merrily +at this <i>mot</i> that his good-humour was restored. He +began to smoke again, sitting sideways now, because he +was able to see her face better, and there appeared to be +no object in sitting cheek by jowl. Later, he said:</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should despise my nice bright +flame."</p> + +<p>Poppy meditated swiftly. She liked Bramham well, and +she desired to keep him friendly; only, there was a thing +he had to understand clearly. She was learning to make +use of any twist of the tongue in difficult situations, but +she knew that she was dealing with man of a good type +and it seemed indicated that a <i>little</i> of the truth would not +be out of place at this juncture—a little only! the real, +bitter, wonderful truth she would share with no one in the +world!<span class="pagenum">[203]</span></p> + +<p>"I am far from despising it, Mr. Bramham," she said +at last, very gently. "But I happen to want you for a +friend, not an enemy."</p> + +<p>Bramham did not see his way quite clear through this. +However, he declared stoutly that he had never been a +woman's enemy yet.</p> + +<p>"Then you must often have been your own," she retorted, +with a little glint of bitter wisdom. Thereafter, the +conversation flagged again. Bramham had missed his +cue and his broad shoulders took on a somewhat sullen +expression. Poppy had the hopeless feeling that she had +lost a lover without finding a friend, and the thought filled +her with sadness. Only God and she knew how much +she needed a friend; and she was sure she could find no +stronger, firmer rock to her back than this big, kind man, +if she could only get him away from these shoals of +emotion on to the firm ground of friendship.</p> + +<p>But Bramham was sighing sulkily, and flipping with his +forefinger at the end of his cigar, as though he had no +further use for it. Obviously, he was thinking of making +a chilly departure. Suddenly she put out her hand and +touched his, resting on his knee.</p> + +<p>"You are quite right, I <i>am</i> cold," she said softly; "starving +with cold; and you can never know how charming +and attractive your fire looks to me, but—after all, the +best seat is already taken isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Bramham stared hard at her, swallowing something. +This was the first time his wife had been mentioned +between them. She did not falter.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think I am nice enough to have a fireside +of my very own?" She spoke with the soft bird note in +her throat, and her smile was a wistful thing to see.</p> + +<p>Bramham's other firm hand came down on hers, and +gave it a great grip.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! I do. And I hope you'll get the best going."<span class="pagenum">[204]</span></p> + +<p>A wave of grateful warmth rushed over the girl at his +words. Her eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"Thank you; thank you!" she cried brokenly; and +added, on a swift impulse: "The fire I want seems to me +the most wonderful in the world—and if I can't be there, +I'll never sit by any other."</p> + +<p>She did not attempt to stanch her tears, but sat looking +at him with a smiling mouth, while the heavy drops +fell down her cheeks. Bramham thought that, because of +the smile, he had never seen any woman look so tragic in +his life.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry; don't cry, dear!" he said distressfully. +"I can't bear to see a woman cry. Do you love someone, +Rosalind?" he asked, using her name shyly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Charlie," she said simply; "I do. But there is +a knife in my heart." She turned from him now, and +looked away, that he might not see the despair and +humiliation in her face.</p> + +<p>"I will be your friend, Rosalind. Trust me. I can't +understand at all. You are altogether a mystery to me; I +can't understand, for one thing, how a girl like you comes +to be living with Sophie Cornell——"</p> + +<p>"I came here quite by accident," she interrupted him. +"I have always meant to tell you, though I know that for +some reason Sophie doesn't want you to know. I walked +into the garden one day, and saw Sophie using a typewriter, +and I came in and asked her to take me for an +assistant."</p> + +<p>"What! But weren't you a governess to some people +in Kimberley, and an old friend of Sophie's in Johannesburg?"</p> + +<p>"No, I've never been a governess, and I never saw +Sophie until I walked in here some three months ago. +The girl you take me for never came at all, and Sophie was +glad to have me take her place, I suppose. But, indeed,<span class="pagenum">[205]</span> +it was good of her to take me in, and I am not ungrateful. +I will pay her back some day, for she is of the kind money +will repay for anything." She added this rather bitterly, +for, indeed, Sophie never ceased to make her feel her +obligations, in spite of daily slavery on the typewriter.</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the—!" Bramham began. Later, he +allowed himself to remark:</p> + +<p>"She certainly is a bird of Paradise!" and that was his +eulogy on Sophie Cornell.</p> + +<p>"But how comes it that a girl like you is—excuse me—kicking +about the world, at a loose end?—How can any +fellow that has your love let you suffer!—The whole +thing is incomprehensible! But whatever you say stands. +You needn't say anything at all if you don't want to——"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you anything," she said brokenly. "If +I could tell <i>anyone</i>, it would be you—but I can't. Only—I +want a friend, Charlie—I want help."</p> + +<p>"I'll do anything in the world for you—all you've got +to say is 'Knife.'"</p> + +<p>"I want to get away from Africa to England, and I +haven't a penny in the world, nor any possessions except +the things I am wearing now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's simple!" said Bramham easily. "But +have you any friends to go to in England?"</p> + +<p>"I have no friends anywhere—except you.</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:14em"> +<p>"'I have no friend but Resolution<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">... and the briefest end!'</span></p> +</div> + +<p>"But I don't think my end is yet. I must go away +from Africa, when I love it most—as <i>you</i> did, Charlie. +There are things to do and things to go through, and I +must go and suffer in London as you did. But I mean +to win through and come back and get my own, like you +did, too."</p> + +<p>She jumped up and stood in the light of the window,<span class="pagenum">[206]</span> +and Bramham could see that her eyes were shining and +her cheeks flushed. She looked like a beautiful, boastful +boy, standing there, flinging out a mocking, derisive hand +at Fate.</p> + +<p>"Life has had her way with me too long, Charlie. Ever +since I was a child she has done nothing but cheat me +and smite me on the mouth, and beat me to the earth.... +But I am up again, and I will walk over her yet!... +Love has found me, only to mock me and give me false +coin and pass me by on the other side; but I will come +back and find Love, and it will be <i>my</i> turn to triumph. +Look at me!" she cried, not beseechingly, but gaily, +bragfully. "There is no white in my hair, nor any lines +on my face, nor scars ... where they can be seen. I +have youth, courage, a little beauty, something of wit—and +I can write, Charlie. Don't you think that I should +be able to wrest something for myself from the claws of +that brute Life—a little Fame, a little Love——?"</p> + +<p>"I should just say I <i>do</i>," said Bramham heartily. +"You're true-blue all through, without a streak of yellow +in the whole of your composition."</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[207]</span></p> + +<p class="h2">PART III</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 16em"> +<p>Nothing is better I well think<br /> +Than Love: the hidden well water<br /> +Is not so delicate to drink.<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[209]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">POPPY sailed by one of the pleasant small lines that +run direct between Natal and England without +touching at East London or the Cape.</p> + +<p>"If it will amuse you," said Bramham, "to sit down +with diamonds at breakfast, and diamonds-and-rubies-and-emeralds +at lunch, and the whole jewel-box for dinner, +take the Mail-steamer and go by the Cape. And then, +of course, there are the scandals," he added seductively. +"Personally I like them; but <i>you</i> look to me like a girl +who wants rest, and to forget that there is such a place as +Africa on the map."</p> + +<p>Poppy agreed. She had travelled by the Mail-boats +before, and thought them excellent places—for anyone +who values above all things a little quiet humour. Also, +persons returning from Africa with little else than a bitterly +acquired philosophy, find satisfaction in putting +their only possession upon the sound basis of contempt +for riches. For herself, not only was she able to sustain +life for three weeks without scandals and the elevating +sight of millionaires' wives lifting their skirts at each other +and wearing their diamonds at breakfast, but she longed +and prayed with all her soul for peace, and solitude, with +nothing about her but the blue sea and the horizon.</p> + +<p>The battle before her needed a plan of campaign, and +to prepare that she must have time and rest. First, there +must be some bitter days spent in wiping from her mind, +and memory, Africa and all that therein was. She realised +that if the greater part of her thought and force was afar<span class="pagenum">[210]</span> +from her, seeking to follow a man who by that time was +deep in the heart of Africa, it would be futile to expect +anything great of the future. Abinger and his soul-searing +words must be forgotten too; and Clem Portal's fascinating +friendship, and Charles Bramham's kind grey eyes and +generous heart. All these were destroying angels. If +she admitted thoughts of them into her life, they would +eat her time, and her strength, which must austerely be +hoarded for the future.</p> + +<p>Courage, resolution, silence—those were three good +things, Clem Portal said, to be a woman's friends. And +those were the things the girl strove to plant firm in her +soul as she watched with misty, but not hopeless eyes, +the retreating coast of her beloved land.</p> + +<p>She kept aloof from everyone, spending long, absorbed +hours of thought and study in some canvas-shaded corner; +or swinging up and down the decks, drinking in the freshness +of the wind. Before many days were past, care +departed from her, and rose-leaf youth was back to her +face. Gladness of life surged in her veins, and the heart +Evelyn Carson had waked to life, sang like a violin in her +breast. Her feet were on the "Open Road" and she +loved it well, and could sing with Lavengro:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Life is sweet, brother ... there is day and night, +brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, all sweet +things; there's likewise a wind on the heath." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>She had yet to find that the gods love not the sound +of women's feet upon the Open Road. Its long, level +stretches are easy to the feet of men, but for women it +most strangely "winds upwards" all the way, and the +going is stony, and many a heavy burden is added to the +pack the journey was commenced with. Youth and Love +are stout friends with whom to begin the climb, and Poppy +knew not that she had a pack at all. Certainly she suspected +nothing as yet of the burden which Fate and her<span class="pagenum">[211]</span> +own wild passionate nature had laid upon her. So still +she went glad-foot. No one who watched her could have +believed that she was a girl out in the world alone—a girl +breaking away from a past that was a network of sorrows +and strange happenings, to face a future that lay hidden +and dark.</p> + +<p>The few quiet passengers on board chanced all to be +middle-aged, and not greatly curious about the affairs +of other people; but they often pondered idly among +themselves upon the identity of the fleet-footed girl with +the face like a spring morning; mildly speculating as to +what had happened to her chaperon at the last moment; +for they thought it would be ridiculous to suppose that +she was travelling alone, except by accident.</p> + +<p>Only one person thought differently—the ship's doctor. +He had seen her eyes the day she came on board, and +he knew a few things about women's eyes. Indeed, it is +certain that if Maurice Newnham had given half as much +attention to medical science as he had divided between +the engrossing subject of women's eyes, and the poker-table, +he would not have been preparing black-draughts +for able seamen, and treating passengers for <i>mal-de-mer</i>, +in return for a passage home. He was a good doctor +gone wrong for lack of principles, application, energy, +ambition—anything but brains. Ten years of roaming +through Africa found him at last kicking its dust from his +feet with his achievements and fortune ably represented +by a duck's egg, and nothing before him but the prospect, +at best, of a post as ship's doctor on one of the big Atlantic +liners. He was a square-built man with a clean-shaven +face that would soon be fat and loose-jawed. Laziness—physical +and mental; intellect gone to rack and ruin; +savage boredom with the world in general—these were the +things writ large upon him. He detested with all his heart +the few worthy passengers; the untemptress-like women,<span class="pagenum">[212]</span> +and the men who only went to the smoke-room when it +was too hot on deck, or for a quiet game of whist. And +always he turned his burnt-out eyes to where Poppy sat +dewy in the sunshine or swung down the deck—trying to +place her and read her story. He was sure that she had +a story. He considered her clothes, and her manners, and +her walk, distinguished, and in keeping with the general +theory that she was a well-born girl accidentally travelling +alone. It was only on the evidence of her eyes, as he had +seen them the day she came aboard, that he formed the +conclusion she was facing life on her own responsibility. +He told himself <i>then</i>, that they were the eyes of a girl who +had come to a bad bit of the road, and though she had +wonderfully changed in a few days, his professional eye, +blurred though it was, saw still on her the traces of stress +and storm. Now, Maurice Newnham knew all about bad +bits of the road. He had stumbled through muddy and +broken places himself, and seen others do the same; some +dying in the holes they had made, some lying down by the +wayside with no heart to start afresh. His keen instinct +for a fellow-stumbler was the only instinct he had not +deliberately blunted. Therefore he greatly desired to make +the acquaintance of "Miss R. Chard," as the passenger-list +described her. Moreover, he was attracted by her +unusual beauty.</p> + +<p>However, it was plain to everyone that Miss Chard did +not wish to form acquaintances. When the women made +pleasant little overtures, she smiled a kind of cold vague +smile, and let <i>that</i> be her answer. And she simply looked +through the men. Dr. Newnham got into her way several +times on deck and on the companionway, forcing her to +meet his eyes, but she remained composed and indifferent +under their bold glance. He had almost despaired of +ever gaining his end, when chance, the only friend he could +lay claim to, intervened.<span class="pagenum">[213]</span></p> + +<p>On a hot day in the tropics the ship's <i>chef</i> had resort to +tinned supplies, and amongst other things sent to the +luncheon-table was an <i>entrée</i>, which had the appearance +of tongue-in-aspic, charmingly wreathed with lettuce and +cress. Most people attracted by the greenery, partook +of this dish, and though they immediately discovered +themselves to be eating "Sarah Anne Lane," they calmly +continued the cannibalistic performance, for "bully beef" +is too old and close a friend to be despised by any South +African sojourner. However, on this occasion "bully" +was an enemy—perhaps the historic Sarah-Anne was really +present at last (in portions)—for before night everyone who +had partaken of the fascinating bewreathed <i>entrée</i> was <i>hors +de combat</i> with a mild attack of something in the nature +of ptomaine.</p> + +<p>Poppy was one of the sufferers, though by no means +the worst. She was ill enough to require the services of +Dr. Newnham, and to be grateful for them. He was +always very grave and curt, never stayed for more than a +few moments, or talked of anything but the state of her +health. Soon she was up on deck again; but for a few +days he continued to professionally superintend her doings. +Afterwards he fell naturally into the habit of staying to +talk to her. Everyone knows how easily these things +are done on board ship. Poppy, after all, was glad to +talk to someone. In the few days spent below she had +grown weary of herself, and Newnham was an interesting +interlude—as interesting as a character on the down-grade +always is, if only because of its efforts to hide the +wreckage from the eyes of a new acquaintance. But +efforts that are not natural cannot be kept up long. The +old Adam soon reasserts himself. Poppy began to get +prehistoric peeps of the raw savage that Newnham hid +under his professional manner and well-made clothes, and +they sickened her. She knew too much about white<span class="pagenum">[214]</span> +savages, and she much preferred the real thing—Zulu or +Basuto. However, she forgave him a great deal for the +sake of the curious things he knew about people in different +parts of Africa. He had been everywhere, from the +Karoo to the Kalahari, from Boshof to Blantyre, and from +Matjesfontein to the Matoppos.</p> + +<p>Both in Rhodesia and the Transvaal he had seen history +made, and in the telling of these things he possessed that +idle eloquence so often found in men of a dissolute type. +In Newnham the gift, being grafted upon the trained +observation of his student years, was specially striking.</p> + +<p>At Johannesburg, his last and latest place of residence, +he had been in charge of a native Hospital in one of the +mine compounds. He said he had cut off enough Kaffirs' +legs there to fill a forty-foot shaft.</p> + +<p>"If one of them came to me with a corn, I'd make it +into a reason for cutting his leg off," he said malevolently. +"I hate the brutes."</p> + +<p>"I hate brutes too," retorted Poppy, with the curled +lip of disgust. "You know very little of natives, if you +think they all come under <i>that</i> heading."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said he. "I see you have the tender heart +that goes with the tender-foot. If you only knew as +much of them as I do——"</p> + +<p>She probably knew a great deal more, but she left it +at that.</p> + +<p>Her mind had flown away into the dark deeps of Africa, +where a man forged ahead over unbroken tracks, through +fevered swamps, with no companions but his faithful <i>boys</i>, +upon whose courage and staunch loyalty his life must +of necessity often depend—and not depend in vain; for +"good men" (the expression has nothing to do with +morals) trust their <i>boys</i>, and are trusted by them to the +death.</p> + +<p>Ah! with an effort she dragged back her thoughts from<span class="pagenum">[215]</span> +across the sea. That way madness lay! She gave her +ears once more to Newnham and the Rand.</p> + +<p>He spoke of Johannesburg with the mingled hatred +and admiration everyone who has ever lived there feels +for that evil, fascinating Monte-Carlo of money, and +tragedy, and suffering.</p> + +<p>"It is the only place worth living in," he averred; adding: +"At least, that is what all the old residents say, +and you can understand the emotion with which they +say it when you consider that most of them came out +as waiters and cook-generals, and blossomed later into +millionaire squires and dames of society."</p> + +<p>"But they all go and live in Park Lane, don't they?" +smiled Poppy.</p> + +<p>"Oh! they revisit the scene of their triumphs. It +lures them across the sea. A poignant longing comes to +them sometimes, even in Park Lane, for the glitter of galvanised-iron +and sardine-tins and Nestle's Brand—and +the red dust, and the spectral blue gums. But they do +precious little for the place that has done so much for +them," he sneered. "I should say that with the exception +of the Barnato ward, and an open space for games, +not a millionaire of the lot has done anything to beautify +or benefit Johannesburg. 'Make your pile and scoot' +has always been the watchword. But I suppose it isn't +in human nature for a debtor to love his creditor!"</p> + +<p>Newnham and Poppy spent many days in talk of Africa. +The evenings, which were all blue and gold—sea and +sky alike thickly sown with stars—she loved to dream +away alone in some shadowy corner, or leaning over the +taffrails with the gleam of the phosphorescent waves +reflected on her face. But when Newnham sought her +out she would either walk, or have her chair put where +a big electric-light blazed on the face of her companion.</p> + +<p>"Never sign a paper, or drink water in the dark," was<span class="pagenum">[216]</span> +a Spanish proverb well known to her, and she had another +of her own:</p> + +<p>"Never rest where you cannot see the eyes of a man +you distrust."</p> + +<p>She was frankly interested in what Newnham had to +say, but she distrusted him. Nevertheless, she went +ashore with him at Teneriffe and they wandered about +the narrow débris-strewn streets, and were stared at by +the women who wear such liberal coats of powder and +rouge upon their handsome olive skins and grow stout so +early in life.</p> + +<p>Poppy had a fancy to climb the zig-zag road to Laguna, +but Newnham looked lugubrious at the idea—probably +his muscles had long been out of gear for climbing or any +other physical activity—and hastily suggested that the +boat would not be making a very long stay. So they +roamed about the lower slopes of the hills instead, watched +the barefooted women in the washing pools, and did +some shopping. Poppy, accustomed in her travels to +have Abinger behind her paying for everything she bought, +quite forgot that all she owned in the world was forty-five +pounds, the remainder of seventy pounds she had allowed +Bramham to lend her (she had been obliged to expend +twenty-five pounds upon a wardrobe), fell with rapture, +upon a lovely piece of Spanish lace, and handed out five +pounds without the turn of an eyelash. It was only +afterwards that she realised her foolish extravagance. +As they were returning to the ship followed by two men +carrying baskets of fruit and flowers bought by Newnham, +he suddenly observed that her face had become dolorous.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" he asked in his casual but not offensive +manner.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing!" Then she stood still, seized by a +sudden thought. "Do you think the woman would take +that lace back again?"<span class="pagenum">[217]</span></p> + +<p>"That five pounds' worth? No—not for a minute. +I saw the gleam in her eye when she stowed away your +fiver. But why—don't you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I love lace. But I have just remembered +that I can't afford it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't think it's the slightest use going back. +But <i>I'll</i> buy it, if you like?"</p> + +<p>"You? What for? What would you do with +it?"</p> + +<p>"Give it to you, of course," he said pleasantly, but +she flushed and her manner instantly became cold.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish you to buy it," she said shortly. "I +like it and will keep it myself."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how many times to the minute a woman +changes her mind!" he jested, but he was secretly much +amazed.</p> + +<p>"She's hard up!" was his thought. That side of the +picture had not presented itself to his mind before, and it +"gave him to think." He later resolved that he would +offer to buy the lace from her to give to his sister—and +then get her to take it back under the name of a "keepsake" +when they reached England.</p> + +<p>"I bet that'll suit her book," he cynically thought.</p> + +<p>But Poppy did not come on deck after dinner, and the +next day she let Newnham see very plainly that she was +offended. For two more days she kept the atmosphere +about her so frigid that he did not dare venture into it. +He found the time singularly blank. There was nothing +to do but sit in the smoke-room and curse the day that +he was born, between drinks. On the third evening she +relented and allowed him to approach her under the blaze +of electric-light.</p> + +<p>"Why have you been so cruel to me?" he demanded +almost violently. "What have I done to make you +angry?"<span class="pagenum">[218]</span></p> + +<p>He half expected that she would—as girls generally +do—first feign ignorance of his meaning, and, later, allow +herself to be persuaded that she had never been angry at +all. But she was not of the same kidney as the girls +Maurice Newnham had been meeting for the last ten +years. She spoke at once, and to the point.</p> + +<p>"I thought it extremely insolent of you to offer to give +me five pounds," she said, and Newnham, being much +taken aback, could only find tongue to utter:</p> + +<p>"I swear I didn't mean to be insolent."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you did. I hated the way you spoke; and +when I remember the way you looked, I wonder that I +allow myself to speak to you again."</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry," he stammered. "I'd no idea you +would take it in such a way. It was an ordinary thing +to do, I thought. Most women or girls in Africa would +think nothing of taking a little bit of lace."</p> + +<p>"I am not at all like most women and girls in Africa," +was the cool response. "However, I will say nothing +further about it, Dr. Newnham. Only please, if you care +to talk to me, behave yourself—and don't ever mention +<i>lace</i> again."</p> + +<p>Newnham had never been spoken to in this fashion by +a woman since he came to Africa, and he did not take to +it at all. But he was afraid to show his resentment for +fear she would carry out her threat and never speak to +him again. And if she turned her back on him now, +he believed he should go mad. It had come to <i>that</i> with +him. He was half-crazed with passion for this girl who +could look at him so composedly and speak to him so contemptuously. +But together with his passion was bitter +rage with himself and with her. He was torn between +primitive emotions. At one moment he longed with all +the malignity of a mean weak nature to fling coarse words +at her that would make her crouch before him; in the<span class="pagenum">[219]</span> +next he longed only to crouch himself, offering his neck, +his body, his soul to her feet.</p> + +<p>While he wrestled with his longings and inclinations, +breathing hard at her side, she composedly arose and left +him with a cool good-night.</p> + +<p>He returned to the smoke-room and kept the steward +busy for the next two hours; and when at last, by reason +of the emphatic dimming of the electric lights, he roused +himself to thoughts of bed, he had come to a conclusion +and a resolution. Quite an epoch for him!</p> + +<p>All the next day he haunted Poppy strangely. He was +never far from her, and the look in his eyes stirred her +to discomfort and foreboding, although it was not comprehensible +to her. Something in his eyes she understood +only too well—she began to expect <i>that</i> in men's eyes now! +But what did that half-pitying, half-scornful expression +mean? She resented it extremely; but her curiosity was +aroused. In the evening, therefore, she let him pull his +chair next to hers in the usual corner. Only, the electric +light was gone; the burner had died out, and someone +had forgotten to replace it or thought it not worth while +to do so, for this was the last night at sea and the ship +was to dock on the morrow. They were creeping near +the grey-green English coasts now, and the English weather +was sweet and grateful after the heat of the tropics and +the dusty land left far behind; but there was a freshness +in the late-April air that made Poppy turn up the collar +of her coat and take shelter under the lee of her chair +cushion.</p> + +<p>Newnham, restless and miserable, quoted with some +trace of emotion:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p class="noin"> +"O to be in England<br /> +Now that Spring is there."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>But his emotion was neither for Spring nor England. He<span class="pagenum">[220]</span> +led the talk to London with the hope of getting her to +speak of her destination; but she went off at a tangent +and began to tell him about the wonderful shades of blue +to be found in the interior of a glacier. He ignored that, +and made occasion to give her his card with a Kensington +address written on it, saying in rather strained fashion:</p> + +<p>"If ever you want a friend—doctors are sometimes +useful people, you know."</p> + +<p>She thanked him and took his card, holding it carefully +in her hand. But she offered no information on the subject +which so engrossed his thoughts. An uncomfortable +pause followed. Suddenly in the darkness she felt a hand +hot on hers.</p> + +<p>"Miss Chard ... Rosalind ..." he had discovered +her name—"I will do anything for you."</p> + +<p>It was far from being a surprise to her that he should +make some kind of avowal. But his words seemed to +her rather odd—and somehow in keeping with his odd +looks at her. She very gently drew away her hand from +under his and put it behind her head. The other was +quite out of his reach.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Dr. Newnham," she said kindly, but with +no particular fervour.</p> + +<p>"Do you understand what I mean?" he said huskily, +after another pause. "I can help you."</p> + +<p>He could not see the expression on her face, but he saw +that she turned her head to look at him as she answered:</p> + +<p>"What can you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't beat about the bush with me," he +spoke with coarse irritation. "I know what you have +to face."</p> + +<p>"You must be wonderfully clever," she said, with a +touch of sarcasm; "but I should like to know just what +you mean."</p> + +<p>Irritation now became anger.<span class="pagenum">[221]</span></p> + +<p>"You know well enough," he said brutally. "What is +the good of playing pure with me! It is my business to +see what isn't plain to other people."</p> + +<p>In the darkness she grew pale with anger at his tone, +but she had fear too, of she knew not what. Her wish +was to rise and leave him at once; but curiosity chained +her—curiosity and creeping, creeping fear. Dimly she +became conscious of the predestined feeling that once or +twice before in her life had presaged strange happenings. +What was she going to hear? She sat very still, waiting.</p> + +<p>The man leaned close to her and spoke into her ear. +His breathing was quick and excited, but he had some +difficulty with his words; he muttered and his sentences +were halting and disjointed.</p> + +<p>But Poppy heard everything he said. It seemed to +her that his lowest whisper pierced to the inmost places +of her being, and reverberated through her like the echoing +and resounding of bells. Afterwards there was a terrible +quiet. He could not see her face. She appeared almost +to be crouching in her chair, all bundled up, but he did +not venture to touch her—some instinct kept him from +that. Pity, mingled with his base passion and scorn. +He regretted that he had spoken so violently. He feared +he had been brutal. At last she spoke, in a faint voice, +that seemed to come from far away.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean ... I think you must +be mad."</p> + +<p>Newnham laughed—derisively, devilishly.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet that's what you are going home for, all the +same."</p> + +<p>While he was furiously laughing, with his hand flung +above his head, she flamed up out of her chair, and spoke +for a moment down at him in a low, vibrating voice:</p> + +<p>"You vile man! Never dare speak to me again. You +are not fit to live!"<span class="pagenum">[222]</span></p> + +<p>Then she was gone.</p> + +<p>After a time he got up and stumbled towards the smoke-room, +intending to get drunk; but he changed his mind +before he reached it, and went to his cabin instead. Having +closed his door, he sat in the berth and stared at his boots. +He said at last:</p> + +<p>"H——! What a beast I am! But what is worse, I +am a fool. I am no good any longer. I made a mistake +in my diagnosis. That girl is straight! Pure as the +untrodden snow! I had better cut my throat."</p> + +<p>However, he did not.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Poppy, lying on her face in her cabin, was tasting shame. +Bitter-sweet, mysterious, terrifying knowledge was hers +at last—and with it was shame. Shame that the knowledge +should come to her from profane and guilty lips! +Shame that the child of the king of her heart should be +unworthily born; that a king's child should be robbed of +its kingdom; that the mother of her child should be one +to whom men might throw vile words. Shame that she +was a transgressor.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[223]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">LONDON was not new to Poppy. She had lived there +for months at a time, but always at the best hotels +and under luxurious conditions. Now, she hardly knew +where to seek a home in accord with her limited means, +but she had heard of Bloomsbury as being the resort of +writers and artists and people whose riches are rather to +be found in their heads and hearts than in their purses; +so she took her way thither.</p> + +<p>She walked the old-fashioned squares the day after her +arrival and found them all green-tracery, and darts of +spring sunshine that touched the gloomy houses with the +gilt of past romance. After much roaming, and knocking, +and climbing of stairs, and making of awkward adieus +to angry, disappointed landladies, she eventually discovered +a tall, white house, whose front windows overlooked +the pigeons pecking in the straggly grass that grows +in the courtyard of the British Museum. A room on the +top floor but one seemed likely to suit her purse and her +tastes, and she seized upon it eagerly. It was big and +bare, with no noise overhead, except the footsteps of two +tired maids, who crept to bed at eleven o'clock with very +little to say to each other. It seemed to Poppy that she +could not have found any better place to start hard work +in, and yet, from the first day there, a dreariness crept over +her spirit—a kind of mental numbness she had never +known before, oppressed her. She supposed it must +have something to do with her physical condition and +the shock she had lately received, and that after a few<span class="pagenum">[224]</span> +days it would pass. Instead, it increased. Her nights +became indescribably weird and unhappy. Always it +seemed to her that she heard someone calling somewhere, +and she used to wake up, thinking that she had been +urgently roused to fetch something. Sometimes, still +half asleep, she would get up and begin to dress to go +out; then, gradually becoming conscious of what she +was doing, she would light the gas and stare round the +room, looking for the person who had been speaking to +her. In the daytime it became impossible to work, though +she perpetually goaded herself to her writing-table. The +only time she could get any ease from the intolerable +restlessness and depression that filled her, was when she +was half out of her window, leaning above the street, +watching the intermittent stream of uninteresting-looking +people who passed up and down the broad, dingy steps +of the Museum, and listening to the roar of London afar. +Trying to interpret the street calls was an idle amusement, +too, wondering why the coal-carters should shout +<i>Ko-bel</i>, and the cry of the oyster-man be exceeding +dolorous like the cry of a soul in the depths.</p> + +<p><i>Clam ... Clam ... clamavi.</i></p> + +<p>In the afternoons, when still haunting sadness obsessed +her, she would put on her hat and visit a picture-gallery, +or walk in the park, or roam the streets looking at the +shop-windows and into the strained, anxious faces of the +hurrying passers-by. She speculated as to whether she +would ever get that look, and always she wondered what +was worth it; then one day, as she walked, she felt what +seemed tiny fluttering fingers clutching at her heart-strings, +and she <i>knew</i>! Flying home on swift feet, she +nailed herself once more to her work-table. She <i>must</i> +work, she told herself feverishly; and when she could +not, frenzy seized her, then terror, then despair. Yes, +those were the things she had seen in the strained, hurry<span class="pagenum">[225]</span>ing +faces that passed along—frenzy, terror, despair; not +for themselves, but for <i>others</i>. <i>She must work!</i></p> + +<p>But Inspiration hid Her face; and shadows came out of +the four corners of the room and closed in upon her.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Breakfast was always brought on a tray by a maid +called Kate. For the rest of her meals she frequented +A.B.C. shops, and the like, existing on cups of tea and +boiled eggs and glasses of milk, after the manner of women +who live alone and have to economise. But sometimes +in a wild burst of extravagance she would wend her way +to Soho and order a little Italian meal all <i>hors-d'œuvres</i> and +thin Chianti. She loved to hear the French and Italian +chatter about her, and felt more at home there than anywhere, +not minding the men's bold, dark glances, for in +her travels with Abinger she had learnt to know that there +was really little of harm in them. Of course, she attracted +much attention and often had uncomfortable adventures +in her lonely goings and comings; but she did not let these +ruffle her greatly, telling herself that all such things were +part and parcel of the fight. She minded nothing, in fact, +except the tragic atmosphere of her room, which engulfed +her spirit as soon as she entered. The nights began to +be even more eerie. She lay awake often until dawn, +and presently longings and urgings came upon her to +procure something that would produce sleep. She had +never known anyone who took drugs or sleeping-draughts, +and could not imagine what put such an idea into her head—indeed, +having read De Quincey's <i>Confessions</i>, she +had a horror of such things, and so, fought the suggestion +with all her might. But still it returned. Once when +she was sitting at her table, with a throbbing head, biting +her pencil before a blank sheet of paper, she distinctly +heard someone softly say:<span class="pagenum">[226]</span></p> + +<p>"Go and <i>buy</i> some inspiration."</p> + +<p>She stared about the empty room.</p> + +<p>"What can be the matter with me?" she demanded +of herself, after a time, and strove with all her strength to +work and drive such insane thoughts from her. But the +writer within her was mute, the poet dumb, and her +woman's body was very weary.</p> + +<p>One day, she had been striving with herself for many +hours, writing down dry, banal words that she almost dug +out of the paper a moment afterwards. At intervals she +sat with her head on her arms, wondering what had ever +caused her to dream that she was born to the pen; brooding +over the possibilities of her chances as a shop-girl, +a waitress in a tea-shop, a chorus-girl, a housemaid—as +<i>anything</i> but a writer of poems and romantic fiction, at +which she was obviously a dismal failure.</p> + +<p>At last she flung papers and pencils to the four corners +of the room, and left the house. Out of doors it was +raining fearsomely. After tramping for an hour or so, +soaked through, she found herself back near home, in +Theobald's Row—a hateful street that smells of fish and +rank cheese, where men bawl out the price of pork-chops, +and women come furtively stealing from side-doors, +wiping their lips. She made haste to get into Southampton +Row, which has a sweeter savour to the nostrils and a +staid, respectable air. At a corner she passed a paper +shop, which had many news-boards exposed, with the +"sheets" hanging dripping and torn from them. One +yellow sheet stood out boldly with the words "<i>South +Africa</i>" in black letters across it. A pang of joy shot +through her. She could have fallen down before that +tattered paper and kissed the magic words. The name of +her own land! The land that had beaten her and bruised +her and flung her out to seek a living and safety in another +country—but her own land! Some words came to her lips:<span class="pagenum">[227]</span></p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:20em"> +<p>"She said: God knows they owe me naught.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tossed them to the foaming sea,</span><br /> +I tossed them to the howling waste,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Yet still their love comes home to me.</i>"</span></p> +</div> + +<p>So far she had forbidden herself entirely the luxury +of journals and magazines, saying that she could not +afford them; but now she went into the shop and recklessly +bought up everything that had any connection with +South-African affairs.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, going home, she saw a flower-girl crouching +in a doorway with a bale of wet daffodils and narcissi +in her arms. Flowers, too, were luxuries, concerning +which she had laid down a law unto herself; but the girl +made a piteous appeal, and without a thought of dwindling +funds, Poppy bought up the whole wet fragrant bale. +Before she reached home she was reproaching herself +bitterly.</p> + +<p>"How <i>can</i> I be buying magazines and flowers with +money I have not earned?... I am becoming degraded! ... +a parasite!"</p> + +<p>Only the smell of the narcissi reassured her, and changed +the trend of her thoughts, for they reminded her of Charles +Bramham and his acres of flowers seen from the hilltops.</p> + +<p>"He would be glad to think that his money brings this +rift of blue into my grey sky," she thought; and she +turned her dreary room into an enchanted spring garden, +extravagantly ordered a fire and sat before it, tearing the +news out of the papers with her eyes, searching for the +name of Evelyn Carson. She had not far to look. In +every paper she found news of him. His party had +arrived at Borwezi, a spot in Central Africa, the last +civilised touching-place before they plunged into the +savage unknown. He had made a long stay there—for it +was on the banks of a "fever river," second only to the<span class="pagenum">[228]</span> +Pungwe. Carson was reported to have been laid up with +malarial fever for a week, and a doctor who had joined +the expedition at Mombassa had been so ill from the +same cause as to be obliged to abandon his intention and +to be taken back to civilisation under the care of people +who had accompanied the expedition as far as Borwezi. +One paper mentioned the names of Mr. and Mrs. Nick +Capron as being of the returning party. This was as far +as the actual news went. Rumours there were in plenty. +One arresting story, brought into Borwezi by native +runners, was that the natives of Borapota were departing +from every part of their country to assemble in the capital, +where the King would receive Carson and his men—whether +in a friendly or hostile spirit was unknown. Several +papers devoted articles to Carson himself, dealing with his +achievements in different parts of Africa, his personality, +his influence with the Zulus and Basutos, and other less-known +tribes. One journal headed an article with the +word—<i>Intandugaza</i>: fortunately the writer did not attempt +to translate the Zulu word, nor explain how Carson came +to bear it. (Perhaps that was "one of the untoward +things about him not compatible with reverence," thought +Poppy sadly.) After she had drunk in every word of him, +the papers lay scattered at her feet, and she, lapsing from +the decree she had made not to think of him, lost herself +at last in dreams of him. She had lived according to +the rules of Alice Meynell's <i>Renouncement</i>:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:23em"> +<p> +"I must not think of thee; and tired yet strong<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shun the thought that dwells in all delight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thought of thee: and in the heaven's blue height:</span><br /> +And in the sweetest passage of a song——"</p> +</div> + +<p>Now she forgot the fine, firm words, and long, long sat +dreaming by the fire, with her hands before her face. +Anyone looking into the room would merely have seen<span class="pagenum">[229]</span> +a girl lying back in her chair resting, asleep perhaps. +But only the lesser part of Poppy Destin was there. The +spirit of her wandered in a moonlit Natal garden, listening +to a voice with a rustle in it, and from thence ... far, far!</p> + +<p>Afterwards, she reconstructed all the chapters of her +life since the magic night that began so wonderfully and +ended in despair with the uttering of another woman's +name. Of that woman—<i>Loraine</i>, she thought little now, +having fought down and killed the bitter hatred of her, +as once she had wished to kill the woman. There was no +room in her awakened heart for hatred—only Love could +be there. Love of the man who had awakened it, and to +whom, whether he loved her or not, she believed herself +to be secretly linked for ever; and to whom, whether she +saw him again or not, her hopes, her future, her life were +dedicated. But she <i>would</i> see him again!—of that she +was blindly, fatalistically certain: and he would know +her for his mate, as she knew him—or of what use her +beauty, her wit, her charm, her life at all? All things +would entangle themselves, she told her heart. As soon +as she had money enough she meant to free herself from +the marriage with Luce Abinger that was no marriage +at all; and from which he knew a Court of Justice would +free her as an innocent, unwitting victim. As she sat +thinking, many things that had been dark became clear. +The meaning of Abinger's fearsome conduct was plain to +her now—he <i>knew</i>! Kykie had told him. That was what +she had stayed up for, supposing herself to be the herald of +glad tidings.</p> + +<p>It made the girl recoil and quiver to think that those +two had known and spoken of what had been hidden +from <i>her</i>; of what, even now, she dared hardly consider +with herself because of its wonder and terror—something +that no one in the world should know except just two +people: so it seemed to her.<span class="pagenum">[230]</span></p> + +<p>"But, oh, Mother of God!" she cried aloud and bitterly. +"Why is this thing so sweet, and yet so terrible to bear?"</p> + +<p>Even while she asked she knew, and gave herself the +answer.</p> + +<p>"I am a Transgressor——"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At last, far into the night, she undressed and went to +bed; so tired from emotion that she fell at once into +dead slumber. But no sooner was she asleep than she +was dreaming that a woman lay by her side on the bed +whispering into her ear, pleading, asking for something, +begging, urgently demanding. With a wrench Poppy +threw off sleep and sat up staring into the darkness of the +room. She was only half-awake, but she was certain—she +could have <i>sworn</i> that a shadowy figure rose, too, +from the bed, and slipped into the far shadows.</p> + +<p>Beads of fright sat on her forehead.</p> + +<p>"I am going mad!" she thought. "There was a woman +on my bed ... she is still in the room. I am going +mad!"</p> + +<p>She was afraid to lie down again, and afraid to get out +of bed. She sat there in cold terror until she thought +herself turned to stone. Then, slowly, reason reasserted +itself, and courage. She clenched her teeth and nerved +herself to move, to get from the bed and from the room. +The whole house was wrapped in darkness. Instinctively +she made for the room above her, where she knew the +servants were. Reaching the door she knocked and then +entered. One of them was awake at once.</p> + +<p>"Who's there? What do you want?" said an excited +voice, ready to scream.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, Kate ... I am the girl who sleeps +in the room below ... Miss Chard.... I don't want +to disturb you—only—let me stay here until morning, +will you?... I'm afraid to be in my own room."<span class="pagenum">[231]</span></p> + +<p>Kate was "a good sort." She struck a match and +stared at the intruder before answering; then she said: +"Lock the door," and was obeyed with alacrity.</p> + +<p>The maid hopped out and soon had a blanket round +Poppy's trembling form. She made room on the bed, and +they sat whispering together. The other maid slept on +like the dead.</p> + +<p>"What did you see?" asked Kate.</p> + +<p>"See? I don't know ... there was something strange——"</p> + +<p>"It was <i>'er</i>, sure enough!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Kate?" Poppy felt her spine +curling.</p> + +<p>"I'm new here," whispered Kate mysteriously; "but +I got five minutes' talk with the last girl, though the +missis tried hard to keep us from meeting. Miss—<i>no one +ever sleeps in that room long</i>. A lydy cut her throat there!"</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—sure as I'm sitting here. I've been afraid to +creep up the stairs at night for fear of <i>her</i>. How you +could a <i>slep</i> there, Heavin knows!" She lowered her voice +to a whisper: "She used to take them drugs. She was +a hactress, and she and her 'usbin had that room. She +was very clever, they said, but she hadn't had no work +for a long time, and she used to eat away at them drugs +night and day, and 'er 'usbin never knew. And at last, +one day he found 'er out, and there was an awful shindy +and he said as 'e'd leave her if she didn't knock it off. +And she tried and tried. For a whole three days she did +without ... walked the room all day and would go +out and no sooner out than in again ... she told the +girl it was <i>'ell</i>. Every time anyone came to the door she +would stand up and just say, ''ell! 'ell! ell!' very quiet +to herself all the time they was speaking. Then on the +third night she went out and got <i>it</i>. And the 'usbin<span class="pagenum">[232]</span> +found out as soon as he came in. She was so gentle and +sweet-like, and began to 'elp 'im off with his coat. He +gave her a look ... like <i>hanythink</i>, then 'e put his hat +and coat on again and walked out. And that very night +she done for 'erself with one of the razors 'e left behind. +<i>She done it in the very bed you bin sleeping in.</i> I says +to cook I says it's a shime of the missis to do it!—but +there! she's one of them would sell 'er mother's shroud +for sixpence. I shan't stay here no more after this, don't +you believe it, miss—not for a thousand pound; and nor +won't you, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Poppy's reckoning came to much the same sum. When +she stole down in the morning light, it was to dress herself +and pack her belongings swiftly for departure. Kate +stayed by the door until all was done, casting fearsome +glances about her, ready to fly at a sound. They left +the flower-decked room then, to the poor, disquieted spirit +that haunted it, and sought the mistress of the house. +But she discreetly excused herself from an interview, +and only sent the cook to demand a week's extra money +in lieu of the notice that should have been given. Poppy +expostulated, but it was of no use: she was told that it +was the rule under which rooms were let and that her +luggage could be detained. When she had paid, she +realised that this extra expense would force her to seek +still cheaper lodgings. That evening found her installed +in a dingy room in Hunter Street—another top-floor-but-one.</p> + +<p>How she wished at this time, that she had betaken herself +from the first to Paris, where, she had been told all +top-floors are white-and-gold rooms, with faded true-lovers' +knots festooning the ceiling, and wide oak fireplaces +in which burnt little bright <i>briquette</i> fires. Once, +wishing to have a picture in the Louvre copied for Luce, +she had visited a clever but penniless girl-artist in such a<span class="pagenum">[233]</span> +room, in quite a poor part of the <i>Quartier</i>; and the girl +had carelessly told her that there were plenty of the same +kind to be had.</p> + +<p>In her new quarters Poppy had barely room to turn +round: but she was more content. No tragic ghosts kept +vigil there, it was certain. A healthy scent of Irish stew +pervaded the atmosphere, and the walls were decorated +with smiling faces and charming figures. The landlady, +a stout, breezy woman on the right side of forty-five, had +once been a chorus girl at the Gaiety, and her circle of +acquaintances had evidently been large. Little now +remained to her of beauty, but she had an attractive +<i>bonhomie</i> and a wide charity for the world of women.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[234]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IN Hunter Street, Poppy put the finishing touches to her +book of poems—as far as anything is ever finished until +it appears in print. For it is certain that a writer will +always find something new to do to a book as long as +it is in MS. and within reach. But with Poppy, time +pressed. She knew that shortly she would be wanting +money. Moreover, she was horrified to reflect that after +nearly four months in England she had nothing ready for +publication but the poems, which had been the work of +years. The thought came to her that if she could get this +book accepted and published it would bring courage and +inspiration back, and so spur her on that she would presently +come to her own on a full tide. With this hope +high in her, she sent the poems to a publisher whom she +had read of in a literary journal as having a reputation +for encouraging new authors on new subjects. The journal +in question had omitted to mention that the new authors +got very little out of the process <i>beyond</i> the encouragement, +so poor Poppy went home gay of heart from posting +her precious manuscript and essayed to start work on +a batch of short stories. She had six of them in a skeleton +condition; some of them consisting of no more than half +a dozen startling phrases which were almost stories in +themselves. These she intended to finish and get into the +magazines.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, she would complete her book and fire it +off at the world. She knew she could write. All she<span class="pagenum">[235]</span> +needed was time—and peace of mind. Alas! Time +began to press terribly; and peace of mind was anywhere +but in a little fourth-floor room in Hunter Street. Inspiration +appeared to have fled from so commonplace an atmosphere; +and again the lurking shadows came out of their +corners, and cast themselves across the pages she could +not fill.</p> + +<p>Her physical condition began to oppress her sorely, too, +and she no longer <i>wanted</i> to work, for sitting at her desk +caused headaches and dizziness. She longed for fresh air +and bracing walks across grass and in the wind: for peaceful +and beautiful scenes. But London was stifling in the +grip of summer, and Bloomsbury was the hottest, most +stifling place in it. The little room was suffocating, and +out-of-doors the conditions were not much better. The +streets gave up a white, afflicting dust; the pavements +burned the feet. The best Poppy could do was to take a +'bus to some park where she could seek the quiet little +unfrequented walks. Most of all, she loved the river when +it swelled serene and full-bosomed from Chelsea onwards to +Putney and the upper reaches. Along the Embankment +how often she lingered before the beaten-copper lilies +on Whistler's door, wishing dreamfully that she might see +that master of paint and satire come forth, eye-glass +perched in eye and cane in hand: but he never did—for +her. From thence she would go to the statue of grey +old Carlyle, who sits always in his little green garden +watching Mother Thames flow by. On, past the Rossetti +Fountain, and the house where the poet lived; and George +Eliot's dull and drearsome residence. The Clock House +charmed her, and she thought that if she <i>could</i> live in +London she would choose to live there. Always she +trembled a little when she passed Tite Street, thinking of +the tragic genius who had made it famous and who was +eating out his heart in Reading Gaol. She would never<span class="pagenum">[236]</span> +pass through the street, or look at No. 16, for fear her +action might seem to savour of the cruel curiosity that +lifts the cere-cloth from a dead face to seek upon it the +marks that life has made and death been unable to erase.</p> + +<p>At last she would be home again, braced and fresh +from her long walk and her thoughts—until she sat to +her table. Then slowly, but unfailingly, physical weariness +would steal upon her, and mental depression that +could not be shaken off.</p> + +<p>The facts were to be faced at last that the six stories +had sped no further ahead than the first few startling +phrases; and that living with the utmost frugality she was +down to the bare cold sum of ten pounds. She had long +ago decided that she could make no further demand on +Bramham, although he had urged her to do so if she found +herself in need "before her ship came home" laden with +the rewards of labour. She had received several kind +and cheery letters from him, and answered them in the +same spirit. Afterwards, she had let the correspondence +lapse, for he wrote of a trip "home" before long, and she +was afraid that he might seek her out.</p> + +<p>She possessed no valuables to realise on, except the piece +of Spanish lace which had been valued by a pawnbroker +at thirty shillings. She had nothing, in fact, but her +literary genius, which had gone back upon her in her hour +of need. Terrible doubts of her powers assailed her now. +Could she really write? Or was she merely a scribbling +woman who <i>might</i> be successful as the editress of a woman's +dress paper?</p> + +<p>No! no! She denied it vehemently. She <i>knew</i> that +she had the "restless heart and plotting brain" of the +born writer; the cunning hand for the swift, smiting +word; the fine eye for the terse or sonorous sentence; +the tuned ear for the phrase that, like a chord of music, +caused her exquisite pleasure. And she had knowledge<span class="pagenum">[237]</span> +of a magic land full of strange people and cruel ghosts and +dear delights: and an imagination: and a vocabulary.</p> + +<p>Of these things she was certain, when she was sane and +calm; but she was not often sane and calm. No woman +in her state ever is, even under the kindliest circumstances. +Terrors, pleasures, fears, hopes—all are seen through +the blurred, exaggerating glass of emotion.</p> + +<p>The fear began to haunt her that she would not have +enough money in hand to pay the expenses of her approaching +illness. Sometimes she threw fear down and trampled +on it; but other times it overcame her, swept her off her +feet, engulfed her. Lest she should succumb entirely and +ignobly she would wrench herself free, and, hastening +out of doors, spend the remainder of the day wandering, +resting sometimes in the Abbey, sometimes in the Brompton +Oratory, seeking always a scene of peace and beauty.</p> + +<p>One day her breezy landlady approached her, using all +the tact and kindness she had command of, yet taking the +girl cruelly unawares.</p> + +<p>"My dear," she said pleasantly, "I hope you have found +a place to go to when your time comes?"</p> + +<p>Poppy sat paling and reddening before her, speechless +with confusion.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear, you needn't mind me," said Miss Drake +kindly. "I've lived among 'theatricals' all my days, +and I know what life is for a lovely girl like you—and I +can see you're a good girl, too!"</p> + +<p>Poppy got up and walked away to the window, so +unnerved she knew not what to do or say. The kind +woman's words threw her into a state of misery. She had +no idea that her secret was shared by others yet.</p> + +<p>"What I wanted to say, dear," continued Miss Drake, +"was, that if you haven't made your arrangements, you +ought to do so at once: because it would be very inconvenient +if anything happened here. You can see yourself,<span class="pagenum">[238]</span> +dear, the kind of house this is, full of quiet business people, +who wouldn't like things to be upset—a doctor coming and +going on the stairs and a nurse and all that fuss, you +know. So, much as I shall regret losing you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't say anything more, Miss Drake," Poppy +interposed hastily. "Of course, I shall go—I am going +quite soon; I haven't made up my mind <i>where</i>, but I will +do so at once—I'll find out as soon as I can——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, of course—don't worry; don't upset yourself, +dear—<i>Butterton's Weekly</i> is a good paper to find a +nursing home in, if you haven't the address of any woman. +But there! I expect you will get along all right."</p> + +<p>The moment she had gone Poppy flew out to the nearest +paper-shop, bought a <i>Butterton's Weekly</i>, and brought it +home for deep study. It is an odious paper. When she +had read a few of its advertisements, nausea seized her. +Was she one of the army of these asking for <i>secret</i> and +<i>confidential</i> homes? And were these homes offered by +<i>discreet nurses</i> who could <i>get the baby adopted if desired</i>, +meant for people like her? Again shame flushed her, +flooded her. She crushed the paper into a ball, hid it, and +went out for the whole day. But when she came in she +uncrushed it, and read in it again with dull eyes.</p> + +<p>One little shabby advertisement drew her at last. The +address it gave was a little mean street in Westminster. +But the advertiser with great subtlety, and doubtless at +the cost of extra pence, had added the magic words, "<i>Near +Westminster Abbey.</i>"</p> + +<p>Those little words redeemed the whole of the wretched +sordid rag for Poppy. Her soul lifted up its head once +more. Westminster Abbey! The sight of that beautiful +place was for all the poor creatures who wanted these +homes—it was for her! <i>His</i> son should be born near +Westminster Abbey!</p> + +<p>The next day she sought the address—No. 10, Old<span class="pagenum">[239]</span> +Street—and found it after long wandering. It was, indeed, +near Westminster Abbey, but the street was terribly +poor. The minute she got into it, she cried out within +herself:</p> + +<p>"No: it cannot be here: I will not have it here—." +But at last she found the number staring at her from a +dingy door. At that she turned and looked for Westminster +Abbey—but there was no sign of it: only tall, +narrow, sad houses, with frowsily-curtained windows; +bleak children playing in the gutter and a knife-grinder +wailing out his chant:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p class="noin"> +"Knives to grind.<br /> +Scissors to grind.<br /> +Pots and tea-<br /> +Kittles to mend."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>"I shall die if I come here," she said desperately, and +turned to fly, but the door opened suddenly and a woman +came out and ran an eye over her.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, lady. I see it is me you want," was +her laconic greeting. "Step inside."</p> + +<p>And Poppy found herself doing as she was bidden, +following the woman into a tawdry sitting-room, which a +seething gas-jet lighted with a blue and pallid glare. She +and the woman faced each other over a plum-coloured +table-cloth that had a border of yellow-floss flowers in +hideous free-hand design.</p> + +<p>"Are you Nurse Selton?" Poppy asked; and Mrs. +Selton smilingly acknowledged her name. She was a +little dark villain of a woman, with a hard mouth full of +assorted teeth, and shrewd, black eyes. Her expression, +however, was good-tempered, and the nursing costume +she wore gave her an air of respectability, even refinement. +She proceeded to inform Poppy that she was +well known and <i>esteemed</i> in the neighbourhood; that the +house was quiet and private "in the extreme"; and that,<span class="pagenum">[240]</span> +as a nurse, she possessed all the necessary diplomas and +certificates. (Whether this last was true or not her +listener never discovered.)</p> + +<p>"You will be <i>most</i> comfortable," she finished. Poppy +shuddered.</p> + +<p>"What are your terms?" she asked, in a dull voice, +having entirely made up her mind not to stay with this +hateful woman in this hateful house. But she wished to +parley and give herself time to rest, for she felt strangely +ill. The woman named a sum ridiculously high.</p> + +<p>"I could not afford to pay that," she answered; and +Nurse Selton regarded her coldly.</p> + +<p>"That is not much for a lady of your sort—<i>first</i>, I +presume? You won't get lower terms anywhere else. +Won't <i>the gentleman</i> help you?"</p> + +<p>When Poppy realised the meaning of this question, the +best she could do was to bite her lips and avert her eyes +from the odious woman, who discontentedly continued:</p> + +<p>"Well—I'll make it thirty shillings a week <i>until</i>, and +two pounds a week <i>after</i>. Two guineas <i>for the little affair</i>—and +if you want a doctor, a guinea extra."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I care to stay," said the girl in a low +voice. "You said in your advertisement that your house +was near Westminster Abbey, but I see that it is nothing +of the kind."</p> + +<p>"Well, you make a great mistake," said the nurse +perkily. "I'll show you a room where you can see the +Abbey as plain as the nose on my face. Follow me."</p> + +<p>And Poppy followed again, through the hall that smelled +of frying herrings and soapsuds, up a narrow, oil-clothed +staircase; across two landings; higher and higher, darker +and darker, stumbling and kicking the narrow steps, to +the top landing of all. There were three doors upon it, +and one of them Mrs. Selton opened and drove forward +to light a gas-jet. It smelled close and dank, but yet was<span class="pagenum">[241]</span> +inoffensively plain and simple—the ordinary bedroom +furniture with no adornments of any kind. Straight +facing the door was a little casement-window, with a wide +ledge to lean upon; this the nurse approached and threw +open.</p> + +<p>"There you are," said she stormily; and Poppy looked +forth, and looked again, and stayed looking, for it was well +worth having "clomb the deadly stair" to see. There +was the grey old spired pile, lying lovely against the pale +evening light.</p> + +<p>"I will stay," she said simply.</p> + +<p>The woman thought her a fool.</p> + +<p>"Everything paid in advance," said she in a business-like +tone. Being satisfied on that point they descended. +Presently, after answering a few more odiously piercing +questions, Poppy escaped.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[242]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IN the room overlooking the Abbey were spent many +dark and ominous hours. By direction of Nurse +Selton, Poppy presented herself at No. 10 one dreary +October day, and while she stood knocking at the door +of the mean house, the grey, sad shadows of Westminster +fell across her, and were not lifted by day or night.</p> + +<p>Each part of London has its own peculiar atmosphere. +Chelsea is cheerful; Kensington reserved; Bayswater +extremely refined; Bloomsbury vulgar and pathetic—and +a number of other things. Westminster is essentially +sad—sad with a noble, stately sadness.</p> + +<p>"It cannot grieve as them that have no hope," but its +high towers and spires, its statues, cloisters, yards, hospitals, +and ancient walls—all have an aloof air of haunting +melancholy. Beautiful but unsmiling, Westminster +dreams always and sadly of the great, noble past.</p> + +<p>So, when Poppy came into it that October day, its +brooding spirit enfolded her, and all her life after she was +never quite able to lift from her heart the sad, lovely hand +of Westminster.</p> + +<p>At night, when she could open her little casement-window +and gaze out at the profile of the Abbey, and +hear sometimes the bells of "sweet St. Margaret's," life +went kindly with her. Before leaving Hunter Street, at +the last moment, a fair thing had happened. The editor +of <i>The Cornfield</i> had sent her a cheque for eight pounds +seventeen shillings, in payment for a story which she had<span class="pagenum">[243]</span> +written in Sophie Cornell's bungalow and discovered of +late at the bottom of a trunk. It was a story full of sunshine +and gay, gibing wit, and the editor asked her for +more work in the same vein. She had none, indeed, to +send, but the request put her in good heart for the future. +She essayed to write a little from day to day in the upper +chamber; but the atmosphere was wrong for the romantic +sun-bitten tales of her own land that seethed within her, +and yet evaded her pen when she sought to fasten them +to paper. Also, though she had but to close her eyes to +see Africa lying bathed in spring sunshine, and to remember +every detail of scents and sounds, it broke her heart +to write of these things in a room dim with fog and full +of a piercing smell that found its way from the kitchen +up four flights of stairs and through closed doors—the +smell of bloaters.</p> + +<p>She brightened her room as much as possible with +flowers, and taking down Mrs. Selton's tawdry pictures, +had the walls bare, except for a blue print of Watts's +<i>Hope</i>—a statuesque-limbed woman, with blindfolded +eyes, who sits at the top of the world sounding the last +string of a broken viol. On a day when hope was bright +in her, Poppy had bought the picture at a little shop in +Victoria Street, and now she counted it one of her dearest +possessions. Always it comforted and cheered her on.</p> + +<p>Days came when she needed all the comfort she could +get. There were other women in the house who were +apparently in the same case as herself, but they were +haggard, furtive creatures, holding converse with none, +shutting doors swiftly at the approach of anyone but +Nurse Selton, creeping out for air under the cloak of +night.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the woman in the adjoining room moaned all +night, railing at Fate and God that she should have been +brought to this pass.<span class="pagenum">[244]</span></p> + +<p>Once through an open door Poppy heard haggling going +on about the premium to be paid with a baby that was to +be "adopted."</p> + +<p>The sordidness of life, and the meanness of human +nature, pressed around her. It was hard to keep ideals in +such an atmosphere; hard to flaunt the green flag of love +and hope, when there were so many hands eager to pull +it down and trample it in the mire. A joyful spirit seemed +out of place here. To the people she had got among, the +thing that she thought wonderful and lovely was a curse +and a bane! The mean house in the back street and +the common-minded people seemed in a conspiracy to +make her feel low, and shameful, when she wished only +to be proud and happy.</p> + +<p>"This must be part of the terror that comes of breaking +the moral law," she whispered to herself. "One's +act can bring one into contact with sordid people, and +squalor and vice—one may become degraded and soiled +in spite of oneself." She looked around her with hunted +eyes. "There is nothing fine or noble anywhere here, +except Watts's picture!" she thought; but when she opened +her window and saw the grand old Abbey, she could +think it no longer. There it lay in the gloom, grand +and silent, standing for great, proud things: the long +pile with the hunch at one end of it and at the other the +stately twin pinnacles facing Palace Yard, where Raleigh's +head fell, and where London goes rolling by to East and +to West.</p> + +<p>Yes: it stood for all high and noble things and thoughts! +All grand ideals! Nothing squalid there, or shameful! +Surely it belonged to her—belonged to everyone who +loved it, and loved what it meant. But did it? Was she +cut off from it because—? She drew in her breath, and +thought for a long time with closed eyes and clasped +hands.<span class="pagenum">[245]</span></p> + +<p>"... I suppose morality is one of the high things—and +I am not moral. I am one of the Magdalenes of +the earth now!... whoever knows, will call me an +immoral woman! I think I am only a mistaken one. +I can see <i>that</i> now, thinking not of myself, but of my son +to be. I should, if I had no moral instincts, at least have +thought of consequences to my child! Well-brought-up +girls are trained to think of these things, I suppose. But +I was not well brought up—I was never brought up at all. +I was a child of Nature. A poppy, blowing and flaming in +the field—and plucked. If I had been anything else I +should not have been in the garden that night at a time +when well-brought-up girls were in bed! And I should +have flown at the first sound of danger—but I didn't. +Not because I did not recognise danger; but because I +<i>did</i> recognise something I had been looking for all my +life—Love. And I put out both arms and embraced it. +<i>Now</i> it seems revealed to me that I should not have done +this ... I should have fenced and fended ... guarded +myself ... given nothing ... until he had asked for +me and taken me, before all the world ... and made a +nest for me somewhere away from the squalor of the +world where no begriming thoughts could touch me and +smirch the mother of <i>his</i> son. <i>Then</i> I suppose the Abbey +would have been for me too!—--"</p> + +<p>She twisted her lips and flung out her fingers.</p> + +<p>"And I wouldn't change a thing that is done. Not for +all the world could give would I forget or have undone +that radiant hour!... And yet ... and yet ... how +I should love the nest for my child ... the peace and +fine honour of a wife's bed to lay <i>his</i> son upon! Oh! +why does life tear the hearts of women in half like this?" +She rested her head on her hands and shed passionate tears +for herself and for all women like her. At last she said:</p> + +<p>"Good-night, old Abbey! You are <i>mine</i> all the same<span class="pagenum">[246]</span>—mine +because, moral or immoral, I love the things you +stand for. You cannot rob even bad people of the love +of beauty. And no one can rob me of the peace you have +put into my heart night after night."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At last illness descended upon her. She had often +known torment of mind, now she knew torment of body, +and her mind did not suffer at all; but was possessed of +a kind of exultation that supported and refreshed her +through terrible gaps of time.</p> + +<p>Nurse Selton came in often, but the girl preferred to be +alone. Most of the day was spent between <i>Hope</i> over +the mantelpiece and the casement-window. Often she +thought of the native women in her own land, who, when +the time comes to bring forth, go quietly away and make +a soft green bed in some sheltered place, and there suffer +in silence and alone; then, after a few hours, return as +quietly to every-day work and go serenely on with life, +the new-born child slung behind the shoulders. The +thought appealed to Poppy. She said:</p> + +<p>"That is the way I should have borne my son if I had +stayed in Africa ... out in the air—with the sun shining. +But oh! these terrible walls that shut one in!... and +without—cold, fog, mud!"</p> + +<p>When evening fell, sickly and grey-green, she opened +her casement-window and leaned upon its sill. The roar +of London heard through the fog was like the dull boom +of the breakers on the Durban back beach. Far away, +the sky above Trafalgar Square was spasmodically lit +by electric advertisements.</p> + +<p>In the street below, a woman's raucous voice pathetically +shrieked:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:14em"> +<p>"It's 'ard to give the 'and<br /> + Where the 'eart can <i>Nev</i>-ver be."</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[247]</span>But Poppy did not hear. With hidden eyes and hands +clasped tight upon the pains that racked her, she was +unravelling the mystery of Life and Love.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Evelyn Carson's son was born in the dawn of a late +October day: heralded in by Big Ben striking the hour +of five. Poppy gave one long, ravished glance at the +little dimpled morsel, with its sleek, black head and features +like crumpled rose-leaves, then lay back content and at +peace with all the world.</p> + +<p>"How sweet it is to be a woman!" she thought, forgetting +all past pain and despair, all anguish to come. +"My heart can never be a stone again, nor my soul a +shrivelled leaf."</p> + +<p>She drowsed happily through the days that followed, +letting her mind rest with her body; she thought of nothing +but the sweetness of being a mother; she was intoxicated +by the cling of the little lips to her breast.</p> + +<p>"I am a <i>real</i> woman," she said. "This is what I was +born for and made beautiful for. Poor, <i>poor</i> old Sara!"</p> + +<p>When Nurse Selton came one day and asked if she +would like to get her child "adopted," she would have +struck the woman's face if it had been within reach. As +it was not, she said in a voice that was a drawn sword:</p> + +<p>"Go away! I hate you!" And Nurse Selton actually +understood and went away. She considered Poppy—taking +one thing with another—the craziest patient she +had ever had.</p> + +<p>Poppy talked to her baby afterwards. "I said I would +be at peace with the world for evermore dear one; but here +I am, my old self already. And I see that it will always +be so. I must be at war for <i>your</i> sake now. I must fight +<i>your</i> enemies—until you are old enough to fight them for<span class="pagenum">[248]</span> +yourself. To <i>dare</i> suggest such a thing!" A little while +after she whispered passionately to the sleek, black +head:</p> + +<p>"She did not know she was speaking of a king's son!"</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[249]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">WHEN the time came for departure from No. 10, Old +Street, Poppy did not go from Westminster. The +grip of the place was on her and she did not care to leave +it. But she sought and found a part of more cheerful +aspect—a quiet square with a triangle of green in its centre, +and the spire of an old church showing above the branches +of trees in one of its corners. The house where she engaged +two rooms had an old-fashioned air, though upon the opening +of the front door was disclosed the depressing interior +common to most houses of its kind—the worn linoleum +in the hall and stairway; the inevitable pretentious hall-chair +and umbrella-stand; the eternal smell of fish and +boiling linen. But the two rooms were an artistic find. +They had been inhabited and furnished by an actress, +who was married to an artist, and were original without +being uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>The walls were papered with ordinary brown paper to +a ledge of painted wood, above which rose a smoke-grey +paper with pale zigzags upon it, making a charming background +for a number of water-colour sketches and black-and-white +etchings of all the chief theatrical celebrities, +from Sir Henry Irving downwards.</p> + +<p>There was also a piano—old and wicked, but still a +piano, and various odd and quaint bits of furniture. The +owners of these things had gone to America for a two-years' +tour, and being anxious to come back to their rooms +when they returned, had given the landlady instructions<span class="pagenum">[250]</span> +to "let furnished," and make what she could out of them. +Poppy seized them with joy, glad to have so pleasant a +setting for the struggle and fight she knew must ensue.</p> + +<p>From the first it was bound to be a handicapped fight, +for the king's son behaved like one, and a tyrannical despot +at that. It was plain that work would only be achieved +by desperate and persistent effort at all sorts of odds and +ends of time in the day and night.</p> + +<p>Probably things would have been more difficult still, +but for the offices of a kindly soul who lived in the lower +regions of the house by day, and ascended to somewhere +near the stars at night, accompanied by her husband and +two children.</p> + +<p>She had opened the door to Poppy on the first visit, +and having been the medium through which the rooms +and tenant were brought together, she thereafter looked +upon the tenant as her special <i>protégée</i>. She was a real +Cockney, born and bred in Horseferry Road—quite young +still, but with the hopelessly middle-aged, slack-waisted, +slip-shod look of the English working man's wife who, +having achieved a husband and two children, is content +to consider her fate fulfilled and herself no more a player, +but merely a <i>passée</i> looker-on at the great game of life. +However, Mrs. Print did her looking on very good-humouredly. +Her teeth were decayed, her hair in strings, +but she carried an air of perpetual cheer and a wide smile. +Her husband, a spruce, fresh-cheeked young cabman, +looked, on the contrary, as though all the cares of the universe +lay across his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"'E always puts on that look," smiled Mrs. Print to +Poppy; "in case I might ask 'im for an hextra sixpence +for the 'ousekeeping."</p> + +<p>She "charred" for Poppy; did various things, such as +lighting the sitting-room fire and keeping the hearth and +fire-irons clean. During this last business, which she<span class="pagenum">[251]</span> +always managed to prolong to the best part of an hour, +she would give Poppy a brief summary of the morning +news; an account of what the rest of the people in the +house had been doing; what her George had said to her +before he went to work; little bits of information about +her two children; and advice about the treatment of +Poppy's baby—generally sound.</p> + +<p>She nearly drove poor Poppy frantic, yet it was impossible +to be really angry with her: she was so essentially +well-meaning and so unconsciously humorous. Besides, +she took the king's son into the garden of the Square for +a couple of hours every fine afternoon, carrying him +most carefully up and down whilst she conversed in loud, +agreeable tones with a dozen and one people who passed +by, exchanging chaff and banter, roaring with laughter, +scolding her own children—Jimmy and Jack—who were +left to amuse themselves by staring at the immaculate +plots of arsenically-green grass and the bare branches of +the trees. If they did anything else, their mother's tongue +would wag and her finger threaten.</p> + +<p>"Come off there, Jimmy! Jack, if you do that again, +I'll pay you—I'll pay you <i>somethink merciful</i>!" Jack, a +stolid, emotionless boy, looked as though he had been +badly carved out of a log of wood; but Jimmy was of a +more vivid appearance, being afflicted with what his +mother called <i>St. Viper's Dance</i>.</p> + +<p>In her window Poppy would sit at her table, her eyes +occasionally glancing at the figures in the Square, her pen +flying over the paper before her. She was writing for +money. Thoughts of Fame had slipped away from her. +She put her child before Fame now: and wrote no better +for that.</p> + +<p>Day by day she grew paler, and the high cheek-bones +had shadows beneath them that might easily turn into +hollows. She had not regained flesh much, and a little<span class="pagenum">[252]</span> +of her buoyancy was gone. What she needed was to sit +in the air and sunshine all day playing with her baby's +dimples. Dank Westminster, built on a swamp, low-lying +and foggy, when all the rest of London was clear, was +no place for her or for her baby; but she did not know it, +and had no time to find out, so wrapt was she in the business +of making money that would assure home and life +for her child and herself.</p> + +<p>The days were all too short, and soon the midnight-oil +began to burn. Thereafter, shadows really <i>did</i> change +gradually into hollows—very soft hollows, however. Still, +her eyes were always blue and brave. Mrs. Print used to +observe her disapprovingly and tell her that she should +take a leaf out of the book of the <i>lydy</i> upstairs, who lay +on the sofa all day reading novels.</p> + +<p>"Miss Never-Sweat—that's what I calls her!" she +said, contemptuously dismissing thus an anæmic blonde +damsel on the first floor, who mysteriously did nothing +except take a fat poodle for half an hour's walk every +day. Mrs. Print's attitude towards this graceful <i>dilettante</i> +was one of resentful suspicion—resentful because she +did nothing: suspicious for the same reason!</p> + +<p>"With everybody helse in this 'ouse, including you, +Mrs. Chard, it is</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p class="noin"> +"'Come day, go day,<br /> +Please, God, send Sunday.'<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>"But all days looks the same to <i>'er</i>," she remarked, as +she diligently polished the fire-irons in Poppy's sitting-room. +The latter, intensely bored, knew that it was no +use trying to divert Mrs. Print from the subject until it +was exhausted; <i>then</i>, mayhap, she would depart.</p> + +<p>"When I went up to do 'er fire this morning, she says +to me, she says" (here Mrs. Print pitched her voice high +and fell into a drawl), "'Oh, Mrs. Print, <i>dear</i>, I <i>do</i> feel so<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> +hill this morning. I've got pains in my 'ead and chest, +and I can't henjoy my food at all. And my nerves is +quite <i>rore</i>.' I gives one look at her yeller skin, and I says: +'Why, you've got the <i>boil</i>, that's what <i>you've</i> got, for want +of getting about on your two pins. Wot you want to do +is to go to the chimist's round the corner, and arst him +for a pennorth of ikery-pikery. When you've took <i>that</i>, +come back 'ome and turn out these two rooms of yours and +cook your dinner—' She give me a look like a mad hyhena, +and slabbed the door."</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. Print," said her listener wearily, "do +make haste and finish that fender. I want to work while +baby is asleep."</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I shan't be another minit. I must just +give the 'earth a brush up, 'a dirty 'earth makes dinner +late,' and that's what mine'll be to-day, same as breakfast +was, and Old George gone off in a dandy because he was +late."</p> + +<p>She always spoke of her husband as Old George, her +children as <i>our</i> Jack and <i>my</i> Jimmy.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>As the days went by, writing became more and more +impossible to Poppy. It had begun to be a weary grinding +out of words, common-place, and uninspired. She came +to hate the sight of her writing-table, because of the torment +of disgust that seized her as she sat at it and read +over such things as she had been able to write. And her +longing to be out in the air became almost intolerable. +She felt like a starved woman—starved for want of the +wind and trees and flowers, anything that smelt of open +free spaces such as she had known all her life until now.</p> + +<p>And nothing happened to encourage her. She had no +news of her <i>Book of Poems</i>, and when she called to see<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> +the publisher, he was never visible, and when she wrote +she got no answer except that the reader for the firm had +not been able to look through the book. Her story had +not yet appeared in <i>The Cornfield</i>, and the one she had +followed it up with came back, accompanied by a little +printed paper, which read to the effect that the editor was +at present "overstocked." Of course, this was a polite +way of saying that the story wasn't up to the standard of +the magazine. She burned with chagrin when she first +read it. Afterwards, she became hardened to the daily +sight of intimations of the kind, and to the sickening thud +of returned manuscripts in the letter-box.</p> + +<p>The day when she had no money in the world but the +thirty shillings realised by the sale of her piece of Spanish +lace, she left the baby with Mrs. Print and walked all the +way to Hunter Street, on the forlorn hope that some editor +might have addressed a letter to her there, enclosing a +cheque. Miss Drake, the good-natured landlady, was +alarmed to see her looking so ill.</p> + +<p>"You are sitting to your desk too much, dear, and losing +your beauty—and you know no girl can afford to do <i>that</i> +until she has forty thousand in the bank," she said with +a broad smile. "Why don't you chuck writing over and +try the stage? A girl of your appearance could get into +the Gaiety or Daly's any day, especially if you have any +kind of a voice. The change of life and scene would do +you a lot of good—and take it from <i>me</i>, dear, there's +nothing so comforting in this world as a regular salary."</p> + +<p>On top of the 'bus she was obliged from sheer weariness +to take back to Westminster, Poppy turned the idea over +in her mind. The stage had never had any attraction +for her. Unlike most girls, she did not hold the belief +that she had only to be seen and heard upon the boards to +become famous. But she could not turn away from the +thought of the change from sitting at her desk; and the<span class="pagenum">[255]</span> +regular salary had its potent charm, too—Miss Drake +spoke like an oracle there!</p> + +<p>However, she put the thought by for another day or +two. She would give literature another chance, she said, +with an ironical lip, and she essayed to finish her novel. +For three days and the better part of three nights she hung +over it in every moment she could spare from her child; +at the end of that time she thrust the manuscript into +the drawer of her table and locked it up.</p> + +<p>"Lie there and wait for the inspired hour," she said. +"I must look for other ways and means to boil the +pot."</p> + +<p>The wrench was to leave the "king's son" at home +crooning in hired arms beneath the eye of Mrs. Print.</p> + +<p>It did not take long to find out the whereabouts of +theatrical agents and managers. She presented herself +at the office of one of the best-known agents in London.</p> + +<p>The staircase that led to his waiting-room was crowded +with lounging, clean-shaven men, and the waiting-room +hummed with the voices of girls and women and more +men, all gabbling at once. Phrases made themselves heard +above the din.</p> + +<p>"No: I won't go into panto—not if Frankie goes down +on his knees to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's sure to do <i>that</i>, dear!"</p> + +<p>"She says that her figure is her stock-in-trade—musical +comedy, of course."</p> + +<p>"H'm! more stock than trade, I should say."</p> + +<p>A score or so of made-up eyes raked Poppy from under +heavy <i>complexion</i>-veiling; she became aware of such +strong scents as <i>frangipani</i> and <i>chypre</i>; many ropes of +large pearls; heavy fur coats flung open to reveal sparkling +<i>art</i>-chains slung round bare, well-powdered necks. A +wry-lipped quotation of Abinger's flitted through her +memory:<span class="pagenum">[256]</span></p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p class="noin"> +"Diamonds me.<br /> +Sealskins me,<br /> +I'm going on the stage."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>When, after weary waiting, her turn came to be admitted +to the agent's inner sanctum, she found a clean-looking, +brown young man, with grey hair and a shrewd eye. +He shot an enveloping glance over her while she was +closing the door.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear, what do <i>you</i> want?" he asked briskly, but +pleasantly—all theatrical people "dear" each other automatically, +but Poppy, not knowing this, flushed at the term. +She explained that she was seeking work on the stage.</p> + +<p>"Any experience?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Can you sing?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Dance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." (Abinger had allowed her to take lessons in +Florence.)</p> + +<p>"Good legs?"</p> + +<p>He regarded her puzzled eyes with impatience.</p> + +<p>"Any photographs in tights? I like to know what +I'm engaging, you know. A lot of you girls come here +with your spindle-shanks hidden under flounced petticoats +and flowing skirts; and your bones wrapped up in heavy +coats and feather boas, and you cut a great dash, and +when we get you on the stage in tights it's another story +altogether—not that I'm saying it about <i>you</i>, dear, for I +can see——"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I am what you require in any case," she +said as she reached the door. "Good-morning."</p> + +<p>She fled through the waiting-room and down the stairs. +Some of the loungers shared a smile.</p> + +<p>"A greenhorn, evidently!" they said. "What has +Frankie been saying?"<span class="pagenum">[257]</span></p> + +<p>The next day she beat her way through wind and rain +to another office. And the next day to yet another. +Within a week she did the whole dreary round. All the +waiting-rooms were crowded, for the spring provincial +tours were coming on, and engagements were being booked +briskly; also, there were many vacancies occurring in the +pantomimes.</p> + +<p>Several managers, taken with Poppy's appearance, +offered her small parts (with a good understudy) in touring +companies. But she knew that it would be impossible +to think of travelling with her baby, and she did not for +a moment contemplate leaving him.</p> + +<p>By talking to all the people who talked to her, and +"theatricals," generally, are a kindly, sociable people, +she learned that it was of no great use to try the agencies +for London engagements.</p> + +<p>"Go to the theatres themselves," they said; adding +cheerfully: "not that <i>that's</i> much good either. Every +stage manager has a gang of pets waiting for an opening +to occur, and they never let an outsider get in."</p> + +<p>One agent, rather more kindly than the rest, suggested +that she should try the Lyceum Theatre.</p> + +<p>"Ravenhill is taking it for a Shakespearian season," +he said. "And I should say that class of work would just +suit you."</p> + +<p>Poppy thought so too, and wasted no time about finding +the Lyceum.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Ravenhill is seeing small-part ladies and +walkers-on to-day," the door-keeper informed her confidentially, +and after a long waiting she was eventually +shown into the Green-room, where she found the well-known +Shakespearian actor sitting on a trunk, reading +his letters, in the midst of piles of scenery and +robes.</p> + +<p>He was a thin, Hamlet-faced man, with a skin of golden<span class="pagenum">[258]</span> +pallor and romance-lit eyes, and he looked at Poppy with +kindness and comradeship.</p> + +<p>"Have you had any experience?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"None at all," said Poppy sadly. She was getting +tired of the question, and felt inclined to vary the answer, +but the truthful, kind eyes abashed the thought.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you could recite to me?"</p> + +<p>Poppy thought swiftly. She knew volumes of prose +and poetry, but at the word everything fled from her +brain except two things—Raleigh's "O Eloquent, Just +and Mighty Death!" which she in somewhat morbid +mood had been reading the night before, and a poem +of Henley's that had been dear to her since she had loved +Carson. In desperation, at last she opened her lips and +gave forth the sweet, tender words, brokenly, and with +tears lying on her pale cheeks, but with the voice of a +bird in the garden:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:23em"> +<p>"When you are old and I am passed away—<br /> +Passed: and your face, your golden face is grey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think—what e'er the end, this dream of mine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comforting you a friendly star shall shine</span><br /> +Down the dim slope where still you stumble and stray.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dear Heart, it shall be so: under the sway<br /> +Of death, the Past's enormous disarray<br /> +Lies hushed and dark. Still tho' there come no sign,<br /> +Live on well pleased; immortal and divine<br /> +Love shall still tend you as God's angels may,<br /> +When you are old."</p> +</div> + +<p>When she had finished she stood, swaying and pale, tears +falling down. Ravenhill looked at her sadly. He thought: +"This girl has more than her share of the world's hard +luck."</p> + +<p>"I will take you as a walker-on," he said, "with an +understudy and with the chance of a small part. You +have a fine voice, and a temperament—but I need not +tell you that. Of course, if you want to get on, you need<span class="pagenum">[259]</span> +to study and work hard. I can't offer you more than +thirty shillings a week—with a difference if you play."</p> + +<p>He did not mention that all other walkers-on with +understudies were only getting a guinea; some of them +nothing at all. He only looked at her with kindness and +comradeship.</p> + +<p>As for her: she could have fallen at his feet in thankfulness. +The contract was signed and she went home +happy.</p> + +<p>Thirty shillings a week <i>certain</i>!</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[260]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IT was in bitter February weather that Poppy's engagement +began, and there had been a week of heavy +rehearsing before the opening night. She soon felt +the strain of the unaccustomed work. Ravenhill's was a +Repertoire-Company, and the bill was changed every +week, so that while they played one play at night they +were busy most of the day rehearsing another for the +coming week. This meant that from ten o'clock in the +morning until three or four in the afternoon, and again +from seven until eleven at night, Poppy was parted from +her baby. She was obliged to permanently employ a +little nursemaid, and also, to her bitter sorrow, to wean +her baby.</p> + +<p>She comforted herself disconsolately with the thought +that the change was better for him, because she was not +so vigorous now as at first. But many a time the silky +black head was scalded with its mother's tears, for that +she might no more feel the cling of little lips.</p> + +<p>The theatre began to interest her from a literary point +of view. The writing of plays suggested itself as a fascinating +medium for the expression of herself; she saw that +knowledge of stage-craft would be of enormous use to her +in this direction, and she became absorbed in observing and +making notes on everything concerning stage technique +and production.</p> + +<p>Her appearance, when "made up," was quite charming, +and Ravenhill was always glad to put her into a scene, and<span class="pagenum">[261]</span> +would give her a one-line part whenever it was possible. +Often she would find herself "on" alone with the "star" +in a scene—a court lady, perhaps, lingering by a window +while the Queen gave forth an impassioned soliloquy; or a +picturesque figure in the background of a garden-scene; +but terrible shyness and emotion affected her when she had +to open her lips on the stage, if only to say "Good-morrow" +or "Come hither"; and her voice was altogether too +delicate and canorous for stage use. She preferred to be +on with the crowd—a peasant woman in a tattered skirt +and kerchief, leading a hooting riot in <i>Richard II</i>, or a +stately lady dancing in the house of the <i>Capulets</i>, or an +Egyptian girl in the streets of Alexandria carrying a torch +to light <i>Antony</i> and <i>Cleopatra</i> to bed. Ravenhill was +disappointed in her that she did not work at her voice, +nor seem anxious for parts. He did not know that she +was trying to serve two gods; and that all her incense +was burnt at the altar of literature, for still she returned +and returned again to the mistress she loved, but whose +face was turned from her.</p> + +<p>She could not afford to ride to and fro from the theatre, +for there were four journeys to be made on ordinary days, +and on <i>matinée</i> days six, and tenpence a day made too +large a hole in a salary needed for many things. So at +night she took a 'bus to Westminster Bridge at the cost of +a halfpenny and from thence, in all weathers, she faithfully +padded-the-hoof for home. The shelter of the long +stretch of St. Stephen's and the Houses of Parliament +was always grateful; sometimes, just as she turned the +corner of the Victoria Tower, the wind from the river +would sweep and curl around her, nearly rushing her off +her feet. Then came the long, cutting tramp along the +Embankment. Often in those midnight walks she thought +of Charles Bramham. He, too, had known walking in +the biting cold on tired feet and with a painfully empty<span class="pagenum">[262]</span> +stomach! The fatigue that got hold of her sometimes was +terrible. But always for the sake of the silky black head +of a king's son, she laughed and worked on.</p> + +<p>The people at the theatre were kind and pleasant, and +she made many friends. But they were friends of the +theatre only, she kept them all rigidly out of her private +life; and that not without effort, for her personality was +magnetic and people always wanted to know her. She +was interesting and mysterious, they thought, and presently +she became the enigma of the theatre because she +never lied about her salary, nor bragged of her genius, nor +repeated fascinating things that "someone in front" had +said about her voice and her face, nor bored anyone with +tales of the great future predicted for her.</p> + +<p>Indeed, she was at this time striving with a valorous +heart to live according to Stevenson's creed:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 16em"> +<p class="noin"> +"To be honest: to be kind:<br /> +To earn a little—and to spend a little less."<br /> +</p></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One day when she had got home early from rehearsal, +and was spending some rapturous moments over the +adored silken head asleep on its pillow, Mrs. Print came to +her very much <i>en déshabille</i>, her head wrapped in a towel, +full of excitement.</p> + +<p>"There's a gentleman at the front door, knocking," she +said; "and, oh, ma'am, Mrs. Chard would you be so +kind as to open it? As sure as I wash my 'ead, it always +'appens so!"</p> + +<p>Poppy, good-naturedly, complied, giving a switch of +her eye at a mirror first, for vanity was far from being +dead in her yet. She opened the door to—Charles +Bramham!</p> + +<p>Pale with amazement, she stood glimmering at him +through her hair.<span class="pagenum">[263]</span></p> + +<p>"You!" she cried; then held out her hands in welcome, +for welcome he truly was, with the smell and burn of Africa +on him.</p> + +<p>"Yes; me! I bet you didn't think I'd have the cheek +to come and find you out. I had a great time digging +your address out of Miss Drake. But why should you +hide? Mayn't I come in?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, and led the way; but her manner +was a little constrained. It had not been on her programme +at all to let Charles Bramham, or any other man, +into the secret of her life.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" she asked half crossly, when +they were in the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>"To see you. And you looked mightily glad to see me, +at first. Don't tell me now, that you are not! But +what have you been doing to yourself? London is killing +you. You'd better come back to Africa, or you'll pass +out. You're so thin I can see through you, and your eyes +are too big for your face."</p> + +<p>He sat down and they talked eagerly. She told him something +of her disappointments, more of her hopes, and at +last, of being obliged to take to the theatre as a stop-gap +"until such time as she began to succeed in literature."</p> + +<p>"But why work like this?" he said discontentedly. +"You'll kill yourself burning two candles at once."</p> + +<p>"Not I?" said she gaily. She had no intention of +letting him know that but for her stage salary she would +be penniless.</p> + +<p>"I don't see any sense in it," he muttered. "It can't +be because you like work. No woman ever yet liked work—they +weren't meant to. Anyhow, you can knock off +for to-day. Put your hat on and come out for a drive and +to dinner. I'll drive you to your theatre afterwards."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't," Poppy faltered. "I never go<span class="pagenum">[264]</span> +out ... I can't leave my work ... I am tired." She +stopped lamely. He knew that she was not speaking the +truth. The fact was, that she had given the little nursemaid +an hour or two off.</p> + +<p>"Ah! there's something you don't care to tell me," he +said with a half-smile; but a shadow crossed his face. At +that moment they were both transfixed by a sound. The +king's son began to lament in the next room. Bramham +would never have guessed, but he happened to see the +look that leapt into her eyes at the sound; then he stood +staring at her with a question in his, while the scarlet slowly +mounted to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>In truth, she was filled with confusion, and did not know +what to say. She remembered the time she had accepted +his offer of money and help; how she had talked to him +then of her work and aspirations, but had breathed no +word of <i>this</i>. How could he know that the truth had been +hidden even from her? What could he think but that +she had deceived him, made use of him?</p> + +<p>The king's son cried again, indignantly, beseechingly. +Again Bramham saw the mother-look leap to her eyes. +With no word she flew from the room. When she returned +she was carrying a little fragrant bundle, and she came +to Bramham, who was apparently rooted to the spot where +she had left him. He had heard her crooning to the child +in the next room, but, like an unbelieving Thomas, he +wanted still more proof. Her face gave it to him. Confusion +was gone. Only tender, brooding peace and love +was there. She held the baby under his eyes.</p> + +<p>"My son, Charlie!"</p> + +<p>He stared down blankly at the little lovely thing, and +it stared back at him.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" said he; "am I dreaming? I could +swear that was Eve Carson's child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Poppy softly, and her voice was <i>ci risuo<span class="pagenum">[265]</span>niamo +in cristallo</i>. +"It is. But how did you know?" +she wonderingly asked.</p> + +<p>Charles Bramham was dumb. He could only stare. +Later, he sat down heavily in a chair and used his +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Life has held a good many surprises for me, but never +one like this. <i>Carson!</i> ... and <i>you</i>!... He my dearest +friend! You, well, you know what I feel about you. +Yet you two have deceived me! Sprung this amazing +thing on me. Why! I <i>can't</i> understand it.... Good +God! I love that fellow! ... <i>he</i> could—?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Charlie, dear friend, you go too fast. Don't +judge or misjudge. Nothing is as you think. He did not +deceive you ... nor did I. That night you offered to +help me and I accepted, I ... <i>I didn't know that this +wonderful thing was going to happen to me</i> ... and <i>he</i> +knows nothing. It is <i>my</i> secret."</p> + +<p>Bramham digested these things as best he might. Later, +he said:</p> + +<p>"Well he's <i>got</i> to know—and I shall tell him. Why, +he's not that sort of fellow at all, Rosalind ... he would +throw everything to Hades for the sake of a woman he +loved ... and, of course, he loves you, and would be +here with you if he knew.... The whole thing is the +craziest mystery I ever heard of ... <i>of course</i>, he can't +know ... but I shall tell him, if I have to go up to +Borapota after him."</p> + +<p>"Never, <i>never</i>!" said she. "No one shall ever tell +him. It is <i>my</i> secret. You dare not interfere. I would +never forgive you."</p> + +<p>He turned away from her, angry, sore, bitterly puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlie," she said wistfully. "Don't be angry. +This is <i>my</i> life—my secret.... Leave me to do as seems +best to me.... Tell me," she said softly, "how did +you know that my child ... is ... <i>his</i> son?"<span class="pagenum">[266]</span></p> + +<p>"Know? Why, anyone would know. He is the dead +image—and there are Eve Carson's eyes staring at me. No +two men in the world have eyes like that."</p> + +<p>"Are they not beautiful? And yet so strange!—one +blue and one brown! I never—" she stopped suddenly. +She had almost told Bramham that she did not know that +Carson's eyes looked thus, since she had never seen them, +except in the darkness. But much as she liked Bramham, +she could not share with him <i>that</i> strange, sweet secret.</p> + +<p>Only one more question Bramham asked her.</p> + +<p>"Was it Karri you told me of that night, Rosalind?—the +man you loved?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "The only man I have ever loved, +or will love."</p> + +<p>She dined with Bramham, after all, and before they +parted she had bound him by every oath he honoured +never to reveal her secret to Carson.</p> + +<p>"If you do," she passionately told him, "you may +precipitate both him and me into terrible misery, and +neither of us would forgive you. We should probably +hate you for ever. Leave alone things that you do not +understand.... How <i>should</i> you understand! You have +accidentally touched on the fringe of a strange story ... +something you would never have known except by accident. +For I don't intend the world to know this when it knows +<i>me</i> some day, Charlie."</p> + +<p>"Why?" said he, looking keenly at her. "Are you +ashamed of your child?"</p> + +<p>"Ashamed!" she laughed happily. "Ashamed of the +greatest joy that ever came to a woman; the son of the +man she loves!"</p> + +<p>A happy look came into his face, too, for the first time +since he had known the truth.</p> + +<p>"That's the spirit! If a woman has the courage to +take the big jump, she should have the grit to face the<span class="pagenum">[267]</span> +fences all round the course ... but I don't believe many +do; and you can't blame them for that either. Rosalind, +I want to tell you something. I'm a rich man, and I ... +I have no children." He swallowed an odd sound in his +throat and averted his eyes for a moment, but went on +calmly: "I long ago made up my mind to leave every rap, +when I die, to women who have done what you have done—and +had to suffer for it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him thoughtfully for a while.</p> + +<p>"I think you would be wrong, Charlie. People would +call it putting a premium on sin, and—you couldn't really +help the woman who suffered. Nothing could help her. +The right kind of woman would value her suffering more +than your money, believe me." Then, as she saw his +saddened face, she said, "Help the little love-babies, if +you like, and bring them up to be as kind and sweet a +friend as <i>you</i> are to women—" Impulsively he put his +hand on hers lying on the dinner-table.</p> + +<p>"Let me—" he began.</p> + +<p>"But never offer to help <i>my</i> love-baby," she said warningly, +"as long as he has a mother to work for him, and +a king for his father somewhere in the world."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[268]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">AT the end of April the season at the Lyceum drew to a +close, and Ravenhill re-formed his company to tour +the provinces.</p> + +<p>Many of those who had worked with him throughout +the season were moneyed girls, with such a passion for +the stage, that they were only too glad to give their services—"walking-on," +dancing, and understudying—without +salary, for the sake of the experience in a London +theatre; and it would have been an easy matter for the +manager to have composed his touring company largely +of such people. But he happened to be a man with a big +heart for the stragglers of the profession; those who were +in it for the love of their art, too, but incidentally obliged +to make a living. And so, though he did not disdain to +employ occasional rich amateurs, he never allowed them +to usurp the work of legitimate actors and actresses.</p> + +<p>In making a selection of people who would be useful +to him by reason of their looks, or talent, or both, he +included Poppy on his list, and forthwith she received a +little notice during the last London week to the effect that +if she cared to go on tour (with the hope of advancement +if she studied) the offer was open to her. But the salary +offered was smaller than she had been receiving, and she +knew that it was useless to think of travelling with her +small Pat and supporting herself and him on it. (Ravenhill +was unaware, of course, that there was any question +of supporting a child.) She was obliged to refuse the +offer.<span class="pagenum">[269]</span></p> + +<p>With the closing of the theatre the face of the future +took on a blank and appalling expression. Exercising the +greatest economy, she had yet not been able to save more +than three pounds out of her long engagement; and she +knew not where the next money was to come from. The +stories she wrote still faithfully returned. The <i>Book +of Poems</i>, the one brave string in her viol of hope, had +been lost. The publisher said that it was only mislaid +and might be found at any moment; but Poppy felt a +sick certainty that she would never hear of or see her +darling book again. Most foolishly, she had kept no +copy of it, and though she believed that by turning up the +pages of her memory she might re-write it, she could not +spare the time it would cost to do this. Even if she had +the necessary leisure, she despaired of ever writing her +poems again in all their first perfection—a thought would +surely be lost here, a line missing there!</p> + +<p>Heart-broken, rage seized her when she first received +the news. She saw a red haze before her eyes as in the +days when she hated Aunt Lena, and she longed for a +hammer and the publisher's head on a block. Afterwards +she achieved calmness that was not resignation, and went +to interview the publisher and find out what he meant to +do. Apparently he had not meant to do anything except +take up the bland and Micawberesque attitude of waiting +for the book to "turn up." But Poppy's heart was full +of the rage and fear of a mother-wolf who sees famine +ahead, and though she successfully hid these primitive +emotions under a composed manner, there was a feverish +urgency about her which, strangely convincing, subtly +communicated itself to the publisher, so that presently, +quite unintentionally, he found himself promising (in +the event of the book not being found within three months) +to pay her a sum to be agreed upon, but not less than +twenty pounds. In the meantime he engaged, if the book<span class="pagenum">[270]</span> +should "turn up," to read it and make her a <i>conscientious +offer</i> for it. He did not forget to add that poems were +unmarketable ware at the best of times, and that he could +not hold out hope of any specially high price for hers.</p> + +<p>With these conditions Poppy was fain to be content, +though there was poor comfort in them for her. Three +months is not long if fame and name wait at the end. But +it is a long time to wait for twenty pounds. And it is too +long to starve. In a panic she started out once more on +the dreary round of agents' offices and theatres. At the +end of a week's wasted walking, and talking, chill despair +began to eat its way into her brave heart; in the second +week the chill was freezing bitter cold that enwrapped, +and seemed to paralyse her senses, so that she could feel +nothing but dull fear, not for herself, but for little crowing, +merry Pat. At that time her thoughts turned to Bramham, +her friend. But he was gone, and she knew not where to +find him. He had bidden her good-bye and sailed for +South America on a prolonged visit. It would be many +months before he returned to Durban.</p> + +<p>In the third week, while she was eking out her last ten +shillings, still desperately seeking work at the theatres, +she met in the Strand a girl who had been with her at +the Lyceum—one of Ravenhill's moneyed girls, pretty +and charming, with a host of friends and acquaintances, +of whom she bitterly complained that they would not +allow her to fulfill her destiny and become a <i>Sarah Bernhardt</i>. +She and Poppy had shared the same mirror in a +Lyceum dressing-room, and become friendly over their +"make-up" boxes.</p> + +<p>By many little marks and signs that women judge on, +Marion Ashley had concluded that Miss Chard needed every +penny of the small salary she earned. Her idea was that +Poppy probably had an invalid mother or sister to support; +and she had often wished for an opportunity to<span class="pagenum">[271]</span> +lend a helping-hand to a girl whom she sincerely liked and +admired. When, in the Strand, she met Poppy, pale +and harassed, in worn shoes and an unseasonable gown, +a thought shot through her quick mind and she advanced +gaily, holding out her hands.</p> + +<p>"You are the <i>very</i> girl I wanted to see," she cried. +"Come into 'Slater's' for tea, and <i>do</i> see if you can help +me in a <i>great</i> difficulty."</p> + +<p>While Poppy took off her gloves Marion Ashley poured +out the tea and her tale. It transpired that she had a +cousin who was young and pretty and rich, but with a +broken back. She had injured herself in the hunting-field +and would never be able to walk again.</p> + +<p>"Ever since, she has become the most awful peevish +creature in the world, poor thing, and one can't be surprised +at that! But no one can put up with her temper, +and no one will stay with her, though she has had companion +after companion. She insists on their being young +and pretty, and afterwards she is jealous of them and fires +them out. Then her mother and her husband come and +fetch <i>me</i> round, no matter where I am, and really, you know, +dear, it's a <i>little</i> hard on <i>me</i> to have my <i>career</i> interfered +with ... it isn't as though I can be of any real use, +for Frances is jealous of me too, if I am in the house +much. Well, I'm looking out for someone for her now, +and—I thought perhaps you could help me. <i>Do</i> say you +can?"</p> + +<p>She looked appealingly at the pale face opposite her, +but Poppy gave no sign. She had considered the matter +rapidly, but—companionships were badly paid, as a rule, +and she would have to be separated from her little Pat. +Marion Ashley's face fell.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, dear," she said, "I thought you +might undertake it yourself. Of course, I know you're +far too good for that sort of thing; but I thought you<span class="pagenum">[272]</span> +might make a stop-gap of it—and the salary would be good—a +hundred a year Frances pays, and you'd have no +expenses."</p> + +<p>Poppy's face changed. A hundred a year! If she <i>must</i> +part with Pat that would at least ensure him a home in +the country, and she could save the rest.</p> + +<p>"It is very good of you, Miss Ashley.... Will you +let me think it over?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—<i>anything</i>, if you will only take it on. I should +be <i>so</i> glad. Her husband is always round bothering the +life out of me to find someone. Oh! I must tell you, dear +there's <i>one</i> thing besides Frances's temper ... <i>he</i> is +difficult."</p> + +<p>"Bad-tempered, too?" smiled Poppy.</p> + +<p>"<i>Far</i> from it—altogether too good-tempered and fascinating—especially +where a pretty girl is concerned. In +fact, my dear, he's rapid—and Frances is jealous; so +there you have the trouble in a nutshell. Tiresome, +isn't it? It's just as well to know these things beforehand. +But I daresay you'll be able to keep him in his +place."</p> + +<p>This information depressed Poppy more than a little. +She was beginning to realise that whether she liked them +or not, she attracted men, and she would rather have heard +of some place where there was no man on the scene. As +it happened, she was still smarting from an experience of +the night before. She had, in mistake, opened the door of +a first-class carriage in the underground station at Victoria. +She speedily closed it, but the one occupant, a man, had +had time to observe her, and instantly he whipped the +door open again and was out on the platform. A minute +afterwards she found an almost empty "third" and stepped +into it just as the train started, someone hard on her heels. +When she looked up there was the first-class passenger +opposite, smiling at her. For the rest of the journey he<span class="pagenum">[273]</span> +made ardent love to her with his eyes, and she sat, flaming +and paling there with anger. The man was serenely +handsome, a gentleman in appearance at least, but his +eyes had a look that angered and terrified her; a look that +now she seemed to know the meaning of.</p> + +<p>"It is terrible to have no innocence left! to know the +meaning of a man like that!" she thought shudderingly, +and she would not meet his eyes. Only she resolved that +<i>always</i> she would turn her feet away from the paths +frequented by men.</p> + +<p>"Where does your cousin live?" she asked at last. +"Perhaps, I'd better go and see her, if I make up my +mind I can take the engagement."</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>do</i>, dear—Lower Sloane Street—I'll write the +number down for you. I must fly now for rehearsal. I'm +going to be in the new romantic play at The York. Send +me a line there after you've seen Frances. <i>Do</i> take it +on, there's a darling—good-bye."</p> + +<p>Poppy spent the afternoon crooning and weeping over +Pat's head. It seemed to her that she died a little death +every time she thought of parting with him. But—was +it not true that the little face had lost some of its pink +tints of late?—that the odd eyes were growing larger? +After she had dried her desperate tears and could trust +herself to speak equably and reasonably, she called Mrs. +Print into consultation.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Print had a sister-in-law who lived in a rose-clad +cottage in Surrey, and adored babies. Poppy had often +seen and talked to her, and let her take Pat out; for she +came up to London constantly to try to beguile Mrs. +Print to part with one of her little boys—even the +vivacious Jimmy would have been made welcome.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Print assured Poppy that no <i>Dook's</i> baby would be +better looked after than a child in Sarah Print's care, and +that she (Poppy) could go and stay down in the little<span class="pagenum">[274]</span> +rose-clad cottage whenever she was free, for Sarah had +lots of room, a lovely garden, and corn-fields all round +her.</p> + +<p>"You can't see nothing but 'ills and corn-fields wheresumever +you look! It would drive me off my nut to live +there a week, but Sarah likes it. You tike baby down +and go and 'ave a look to-morrow, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Nothing but hills and corn-fields!"</p> + +<p>The words brought a mist over Poppy's eyes. <i>That</i> +was what she wanted for her son. She kissed him and +asked Mrs. Print to mind him for an hour while she went +to Sloane Street.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In a bright room, among flowers, the invalid woman lay +on a couch, with an embroidered coverlet of crimson satin +drawn up to her chin. Her face was pale and petulant, +with great brown eyes that roamed restlessly and were full +of peevish misery. She was of the fickle, impetuous nature +that indulges in groundless hates and likings, and the +moment she saw Poppy standing there, she put out her +hands feverishly, as if for something she had long wanted. +Poppy, indeed, was sweet and dewy-looking, as always +when she came from her little love-baby, and now the +added beauty of courageous renouncement lighted her lilac +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I <i>know</i> you are the girl Marion was talking about," +cried the invalid. "You <i>will</i> come, won't you? How +lovely you are—I shall just <i>love</i> having you with me! +Come and sit here where I can see you—but don't look at +me; I can't bear to be looked at."</p> + +<p>Poppy sat down by the couch and submitted to being +stared at, even touched by the pale, restless hands. Mrs. +Chesney did most of the talking. She only required a +monosyllable here and there, and her manner varied oddly,<span class="pagenum">[275]</span> +from a cold hauteur which she vainly tried to make +indifferent, to entreaty that was almost servile.</p> + +<p>"Do you like reading aloud?" she demanded, and before +Poppy could speak, continued swiftly: "Oh, never +mind, I don't care if you don't—<i>of course</i>, everybody <i>hates</i> +it. Can you play?"</p> + +<p>This time she waited for an answer, and Poppy saying +yes, was waved towards a beautiful Erard that stood in +a far corner. Taking off her gloves, she went over to it, +and immediately her fingers fell into a soft and haunting +melody of Ireland. The woman on the couch closed her +eyes and lay like one in a trance.</p> + +<p>While she played, Poppy resolved to take the opening +offered her here. It was a living and a well-paid one. +Little Pat could be sent away to a good home in the country, +and though the parting must be bitter—bitter— Ah! she +could not think of it! What she <i>must</i> think of was food +to keep life in his little loved body, health for him in fresh +sweet air; money to keep herself alive to work for him.</p> + +<p>As she rose from the piano there was a prayer of thankfulness +on her lips for this fresh chance to live. A door +opened and a man came nonchalantly in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry!" cried the invalid. "This is Miss Chard—she +is going to be my new companion. Miss Chard—my +husband."</p> + +<p>Poppy bowed to the man, meeting the amused cynicism +of his glance gravely. Not by word or look did she betray +the fact that she had ever seen him before. But thankfulness +died away in her, and once more the face of the future +lowered.</p> + +<p>Harry Chesney was the hero of the adventure in the +underground railway carriage.</p> + +<p>While she was putting on her gloves, preparing to go, +she told Mrs. Chesney that she would call in the morning, +when the engagement could be finally arranged.<span class="pagenum">[276]</span></p> + +<p>It would have been awkward and painful to have told +the sick woman <i>now</i> that she was not able to accept the +engagement. Being of so jealous a temperament, the +invalid would probably suspect that the decision had +something to do with her husband and would be caused +misery in this thought.</p> + +<p>"It will be simple to write to-night that circumstances +have occurred which prevent me from coming," was +Poppy's thought as she said good-bye.</p> + +<p>"Touch the bell twice," said Mrs. Chesney.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'll see Miss Chard down," said Chesney, but +Poppy had made no delay in touching the bell and a maid +magically appeared.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next day she waited at the York Theatre and saw +Marion Ashley after rehearsal.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to thank you," she said, "and to tell you +that after all I couldn't undertake that companionship. +Something has happened that makes it impossible for me +to leave home. I wrote to Mrs. Chesney last night."</p> + +<p>The brightness of Marion's smile was dashed for an +instant, but she speedily recovered.</p> + +<p>"Never mind; a lucky thing has happened here. One +of the walking-on girls dropped out to-day and they want +another. Mr. Lingard is a friend of mine, and he's sure +to have you when he sees you—you've just the face for +romantic drama. Come along and see him; he went into +his office a minute ago—don't forget to say you've been +with Ravenhill."</p> + +<p>And so through Marion Ashley's kindly offices Poppy +found herself once more signing a contract to "walk-on-and-understudy" +at a guinea a week!</p> + +<p>But the romantic drama was an unromantic failure.</p> + +<p>Long before the end of the first week, the principals<span class="pagenum">[277]</span> +were looking at each other with blank faces, and holding +conclaves in each other's dressing-rooms for the purpose +of exchanging opinions and reports on the probable duration +of the run. In the "walkers-on" room they gave it +three weeks, and <i>that</i> playing to "paper houses" every +night.</p> + +<p>Marion Ashley met Poppy in the wings during a quarter +of an hour's wait that occurred in the second act.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this an awful disappointment?" she said. "Have +you anything in view, dear, if we come to a full-stop here?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" said Poppy, with a brave, careless smile. +"Divil a thing!"</p> + +<p>"Well ... wouldn't you ... what about Mrs. Chesney? +She's hankering after you still. In fact, she appears +to have developed a craze for your society. She wrote +to me this morning, asking me to search you out."</p> + +<p>Poppy flushed slightly. "I'm afraid I should be a +failure as a companion," was all she could say. Marion +looked at her with curiosity, vexation.</p> + +<p>The next day a terrible thing happened. For the first +time in his short life little Pat was ill. Not very ill, just +white and listless and disinclined to eat. Poppy, like +a pale and silent ghost, held him in tender arms every +moment of the day, except while he slept, when for his +own sake she put him into his bed, but hovered near, +watching, praying. Mrs. Print pooh-poohed the sickness +as nothing but teething-fever, but the wild-eyed mother +begged her to go out and find a doctor. A grave, kind +man was found, and his words were not comforting.</p> + +<p>"He is not very ill, but he wants care. London is +hardly the right place for babies at this time of the year. +If it is possible, I should advise you to take him away +into the country."</p> + +<p>When the hour came for her to go to the theatre, Poppy +called in the faithful Mrs. Print once more to watch over<span class="pagenum">[278]</span> +the sleeping child. It broke her heart to leave him, but +there was nothing else to be done. She might forfeit her +engagement if she did not appear at the theatre; or, at +any rate, she would forfeit part of her salary, and she +needed that more than ever.</p> + +<p>She took a halfpenny tram to Victoria Street, meaning +to walk from there to the theatre. Someone had left an +evening paper on the seat, and she took it up to glance at +the advertisements, and see if any hope for the future +might be gleaned from them. As she turned over the +pages her distracted eyes caught the impression of a name +she knew, printed large among several other names. She +looked again, and flame came into her face, light to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, a name she knew: and yet did not. <i>Sir</i> +Evelyn Carson! His name was on the Birthday List +of Honours. He had been made a baronet <i>for services +rendered to the Empire</i>. Swiftly she scanned the column, +until she found the short biographical paragraph which +told in brief outline of his daring expedition into Borapota; +of the extraordinary personal influence he had speedily +acquired over the warlike people of that country and of the +remarkable concessions he had gained for the Empire. He +had, in fact, without bloodshed or political complications, +succeeded in establishing a British Protectorate in a rich +and profitable country.</p> + +<p>At the end of the column there was a further piece of +information concerning Carson. It was embodied in a +cablegram from Durban, which stated, with the convincing +brevity peculiar to cables, that Sir Evelyn Carson, having +arrived from Borapota, was to be married immediately +to Miss May Mappin, only daughter and heiress of the late +Mr. Isaac Mappin, former Mayor of Durban.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On her dressing-table at the theatre Poppy found a<span class="pagenum">[279]</span> +little envelope, pale-tan in colour, containing a week's +salary and a note from the manager, saying that after the +next night (Saturday) the play would be taken off the +boards; no further salaries would be paid. Every member +of the company had received a similar notice.</p> + +<p>During the wait in the second act she sought out Marion +Ashley.</p> + +<p>"Does Mrs. Chesney still want me?" she briefly inquired, +and Marion turned to her eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Of course she does. Will you go? Oh, you dear +girl! I'm <i>so</i> glad. When will you be able to take up your +residence with her?"</p> + +<p>"On Monday next, I think. I can't go before as I have +to ... take some one ... who is ill ... into the +country. I shall stay a day there only ... unless, unless +... the ... person is ... <i>worse</i>."</p> + +<p>"And if the person is better?" asked Marion quickly. +"Oh, my dear, you won't fail poor Frances, will you, if +you can help it?"</p> + +<p>"No." Poppy spoke in a perfectly calm and composed +voice now, though her eyes were strange to see. "If I +am alive, and have any reason to wish to continue living, +you may rely upon me not to fail Mrs. Chesney."</p> + +<p>Marion did not quite understand this, but she came +to the conclusion that some man Miss Chard was in love +with was desperately ill, and that that accounted for her +distraught look and strange words.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[281]</span></p> + +<p class="h2">PART IV</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 22em"> +<p>"This bitter love is sorrow in all lands,<br /> +Draining of eyelids, wringing of drenched hands,<br /> +Sighing of hearts and filling up of graves."</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[283]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">ON a January night in 1898, Charles Bramham was +smoking and writing in the dining-room of Sea +House.</p> + +<p>All the doors and windows were open: his coat was off: +his white silk shirt gaped at the neck and the sleeves were +turned up. Mosquitoes in vicious clouds proclaimed with +shrill, treble voices their intention to make a dash for +his throat and hands as soon as they could find a way +through the tobacco smoke.</p> + +<p>It had been a pitiless day—the sun a ball of brass, and +the thermometer at eighty-five degrees—but the evening +sea-breeze had reduced the temperature by five degrees. +Flying ants and gnats of every description were flinging +themselves at the electric lights, and a bat circled monotonously +round the ceiling. But Bramham wrote and +smoked placidly on. A little stack of a dozen or more +finished letters stood at his elbow, and he was busy on his +last now—one to his brother in England.</p> + +<p>"Read the <i>Field</i> for December 16th. There are two +letters about American cartridges for shot-guns—they've +impressed me very much, and for long shots at grouse, +and driven partridge, I am certain they'll be better than +anything we've had yet."</p> + +<p>As he made his period voices and steps advanced upon +him, and he blew an opening through the smoke to get a +view of the doorway. Entered Carson and Luce Abinger +with scowls upon their brows.<span class="pagenum">[284]</span></p> + +<p>"Ah, you great, lazy hulk!" growled Abinger amiably. +"Sitting here in your shirt sleeves, and neglecting the +decencies of civilised life." They distributed themselves +upon chairs and proceeded to add to the density of the +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Bramham, pushing back his chair +and regarding them—"a boiled shirt with a flopping +front to it like yours, and poker with a lot of perpetual +growlers. What made you leave the delights of the Club +to come and spoil my mail-night?"</p> + +<p>"Capron," said Abinger laconically.</p> + +<p>"What! again? A repetition of last night?"</p> + +<p>Bramham shot a glance at Carson, but the latter's face +expressed nothing more than <i>ennui</i>: he had put his head +far back in his chair, and was smoking ceilingwards, following +the gyrations of the bat with a contemplative eye.</p> + +<p>"A repetition of every night until he gets knocked on +the head by some fellow whose temper isn't so sweet as +mine." Abinger's smile was not seductive. "He as good +as told me that I had an ace up my sleeve, and later, he +suggested that Carson had better not play for such high +stakes in case he shouldn't find it convenient to pay. We +discovered that we had a pressing appointment with you: +but we left him Ferrand to insult."</p> + +<p>Bramham got up and went to the sideboard, bringing +glasses and decanters to the table.</p> + +<p>"Capron isn't built for too much corn," he remarked. +"Water-gruel is his tack, and he ought to be put on to it +before somebody hurts him."</p> + +<p>They all drank and smoked again in reflective concord.</p> + +<p>"It is a pity," continued Bramham, with a dreamful +Socratic air, "that some fellows' tastes and appetites are +not matched by their physical abilities. There's an odd +jumble of material in our construction! It would be an<span class="pagenum">[285]</span> +advantage and make life much more interesting, now, if +all our anatomical parts were standardised, so that every +weak or worn portion could be taken out and renewed +from a stock controlled by the highest power, who would +only replace the affected piece if one had made a decent +effort to retain one's mind and body in a healthy +condition."</p> + +<p>"Oh, get out!" said Abinger. "Is your name Max +Nordau, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Or are you Mr. Lecky?" derided Carson.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, you fellows can laugh, but it would be a +good scheme all the same. Capron, now——"</p> + +<p>Without warning of either foot or voice the last-named +person at this moment appeared in the doorway with a +debonair smile upon his lips, the figure of Ferrand behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Capron, now—is thirsty," said he. "And what was +the interesting remark you were about to make, Brammie, +my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Only just <i>that</i>," Bramham responded serenely. "That +you were probably thirsty—as usual. Help yourself—and +you, Ferrand."</p> + +<p>They drank and were seated, and all smoked, less peacefully +now, but more reflectively. Capron appeared to be +the only person afflicted with <i>gaieté de cœur</i>.</p> + +<p>"What do you men think?" he demanded. "I went +with Ferrand to see his patient at the Royal—he's actually +got a patient!—and what do you suppose I saw while I +was waiting for him in Ulundi Square?"</p> + +<p>The others remained calm and incurious.</p> + +<p>"A stunning girl. Just arrived by to-day's mail-boat +I found, upon discreet inquiry, in the office. You fellows +ought to see her. She swung herself through that square +like a yacht in full-rig. The funny part of it is that I +saw her in Durban a year or two back, and she was pretty<span class="pagenum">[286]</span> +<i>then</i>; but now, by Gad! she has a face that would set any +man's blood on fire."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Abinger dryly; and Bramham virtuously +remarked: "We are not all so inflammable as you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I forgot! You're all saints and celibates here."</p> + +<p>Capron's loose lips took a sardonic twist. "Quite a +mistake for the women to call you and Abinger and Eve +the three bad men, isn't it? I asked the beautiful Mrs. +Gruyère only yesterday why it was—and what do you +think she said, my dears?"</p> + +<p>No one seemed anxious to learn, but Capron sprightfully +proceeded:</p> + +<p>"—Because one's wife wouldn't live with him, and +another wouldn't live with his wife, and the third has a +<i>penchant</i> for the wife of his neighbour."</p> + +<p>The withers of the three bad men were apparently +unwrung. If any of them were embarrassed they concealed +the fact skilfully behind stony eyes and complexions +of varying degrees of tan. Carson seemed to be composing +himself for a good night's sleep. It is true that Bramham, +whose wife had been dead for less than a year, appeared to +swallow something unpleasant before he remarked in an +equable manner that Capron and Mrs. Gruyère were a nice +brace of birds.</p> + +<p>"Don't say that, Brammie." Capron was possessed of +a high-pitched, rather Celtic voice. "I defended you all +manfully. 'Oh,' said I, 'you should not be too hard +upon them. They have a <i>mot</i> which they respect about +gates and girls.' At that she left me so suddenly that I +hadn't time to find out from her which of you is which."</p> + +<p>"P-per-haps," stammered Abinger softly, "if you ask +us we'll tell you."</p> + +<p>"Well, y-yes," said Capron, mocking Abinger with the +fearlessness of the man of many drinks; "I think p-perhaps +I ought to know, seeing that I have a wife myself."<span class="pagenum">[287]</span></p> + +<p>The silence that ensued had a quality in it which made +it differ from all the other silences of that evening: and it +only lasted a second, for Carson awoke, and he and Bramham +rose abruptly and spoke together.</p> + +<p>"I am going to bed," said one.</p> + +<p>"I must finish my mail," said the other; and added, +"Don't go to bed, Carson. I want your opinion about +those American cartridges for shot-guns. Would you +advise me to have my guns re-chambered?" He put his +hand on Carson's shoulder and they walked away together +to the end of the room.</p> + +<p>"Heum!" commented Capron. "Commend me to a +Colonial for good manners and hospitality!" But both +Abinger and Ferrand had turned their backs on him and +gone into the verandah. In consideration of these things +he helped himself once more to Bramham's good whiskey, +and presently went home with the rest of his witticisms +unsaid, but far from being dead within him.</p> + +<p>Insensibly the others presently found themselves once +more in their chairs in the dining-room. Desire for sleep +had apparently forsaken Carson, and Bramham's mail +no longer pressed. They looked at each other with grim, +unsmiling faces.</p> + +<p>"What did you want to bring him here for?" demanded +Carson of Ferrand, but the latter was unabashed.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't shake him, and I was tired of his insults. +It was indicated that Bram should have a turn."</p> + +<p>"Someone ought to do unto him as was done unto the +Levite's concubine," was Abinger's graceful contribution.</p> + +<p>"Stop talking about the fellow," said Bramham irritably. +"He makes me tired. If he hadn't a beautiful and charming +wife he would be lynched, and I'd supply the rope."</p> + +<p>So they talked about other things, but there was a +notable lack of charity, divine or human, about their +conversation, for Capron's words had left a bad taste in<span class="pagenum">[288]</span> +the mouths of three of them, and the fourth knew it. +Indeed, Ferrand, being a doctor, knew most things about +his neighbours, and having lived in Africa for a score of +years, he could not be expected to be entirely lacking in +malice and a touching interest in other people's sins. He +presently proceeded to give them a neighbourly dig.</p> + +<p>"I caught a glimpse of the girl at the Royal myself. +She certainly is a wonder. Let us hope that all Capron's +legends are not based on an equally good foundation?" +He grinned cynically at the others. It would have been +better for all bad men present to have ignored this friendly +amenity, but Carson had a raw place and didn't like it +flicked.</p> + +<p>"Hope is all most of us have to live on in this land of +flies and lies," he snarled. "We won't rob you of your +income, Ferrand."</p> + +<p>"Bite on that!" added Bramham without any polish +of manner.</p> + +<p>Capron had certainly succeeded in leaving an atmosphere +of irritability behind him. Only Abinger remained +impassive, and suavely demanded a description of the +girl. Ferrand, amongst other things, was something of a +poet: fire came into his eye.</p> + +<p>"She's pale, but she glows like a rose: she has chaste +eyes, but there is <i>diablerie</i> in the turn of her lip. She +walks like a south wind on the water, and she has a rope +of black hair that she can take me in tow with if she likes."</p> + +<p>At the end of this monograph the three bad men laughed +rudely, but they avoided looking at each other; for each +had a curious, half-formed thought in his mind which he +wished to conceal.</p> + +<p>Bramham thought: "Part of that might fit one woman +... but it literally <i>couldn't</i> be her ... I wonder if I +should go round and——"</p> + +<p>"If I <i>could</i> be interested in a girl," thought Carson, "I<span class="pagenum">[289]</span> +might.... <i>A rope of black hair!</i> ... anyway, I have to go +and look up Nickals at the Royal to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Could it possibly be that devil Poppy?" was Abinger's +thought. "I shall go round and see." What he said +was:</p> + +<p>"She must be a boneless wonder!" and the others derisively +agreed. They further advised Ferrand to go and +lie in Hyde Park with a sheet of brown paper over him, +like all the other poets out of work.</p> + +<p>Subsequently other subjects arose. When the clock +struck eleven, Ferrand departed, remembering suddenly +that his long-suffering man was waiting round the corner +to drive him home.</p> + +<p>Abinger was the next to make a move. His house on the +Berea was still open, and in charge of Kykie, but it knew +him no more. When he chanced to come to Durban from +Johannesburg, where he now chiefly resided, he slept at +the club. As he was making himself a last drink, Bramham +said:</p> + +<p>"Isandhlwana nineteen years ago to-day, Luce!"</p> + +<p>The two men looked at each other with friendly eyes. +They were not greatly sympathetic, but brave memories +shared make a close bond between man and man. Silently +both their glasses went upwards in a wordless toast. In +a moment and silently, too, Carson was on his feet. They +drank to the men who died on Isandhlwana Day. Afterwards, +Bramham and Abinger fell into talk about that +year. They had both fought in the Zulu war. Carson +listened with glinting eyes, the weariness swept from his +face for the first time that night. Bramham's face became +like a boy's. Abinger's looks changed, too. His sneers +were wiped out, and his scar took on the appearance of one +that might have been honourably gained. Once he laughed +like a rollicking boy.</p> + +<p>"That day we lay above Inyezan, Bram ... do you<span class="pagenum">[290]</span> +remember? When you potted the big fellow in the <i>umpas</i> +tree!... after he had sniped about ten of our men ... +by God! the cheek of that brute to perch himself up there +within a hundred yards of us!... and no one knew where +the shots were coming from ... it was a miracle you +spotted him in that thick foliage ... he came down like +a fat, black partridge ... and lay still under the tree +... we went and looked at him after the fight was all +over, Carson ... he was an enormous chap ... the biggest +Zulu I ever saw ... our natives recognised him—chief +<i>Gaarons</i>, one of their best leaders ... a sure shot +... he got ten of our men ... but Bram got <i>him</i> all +right."</p> + +<p>They sat for two solid hours reminiscing.</p> + +<p>"You and Luce have had some times together, Charlie!" +said Carson, after Abinger had gone.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... it makes one feel old—I suppose we <i>are</i> +getting on, Karri, but we were in our early twenties those +days ... Abinger rather younger than I was, perhaps +... he was a different fellow then, too—of course, it +was years before he met that Spanish devil who slashed +his face open.... Do you know, Eve, that when I was +in London last I saw her dancing in the old, sweet way at +the Alhambra?"</p> + +<p>"I thought she was dead?"</p> + +<p>"So did I—but she wasn't. She is, <i>now</i>, however +... dropped down one night behind the scenes and passed +out in half an hour."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tant mieux!</i>" said Carson serenely. "She didn't +play according to rules. Well, I suppose, we must turn +in, Bram—I've a ton of things to do to-morrow ... +those cases of guns and ammunition and stuff are due, +aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes: I got the advice about them: they'll be in dock +to-morrow. We'll go down and look everything over<span class="pagenum">[291]</span> +during the week if you like. How long are you going to +give yourself before you go back?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my leave is six months, you know—one of them +gone already, by Jove! I shall be about another three +or four weeks fixing up my private affairs on the Rand +and getting things sent off from here. Then I propose to +give myself a few months at 'home' before I go into exile +for five years."</p> + +<p>"Five years of solitude and natives and pioneers!" +commented Bramham. "Pretty tough on you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't pity me. I don't mind the solitude. +There'll be plenty to do turning that little sixty thousand +square miles into a civilised centre, now that we've got +the roads open. In five years' time we shall have the rails +laid right to the capital, and the mines in full swing. +That's the time I shall make tracks for newer scenes. But +in the meanwhile it's fine, Bram. The fellows that make +pioneers are the right stuff—<i>you</i> know that. It's the people +who come up after the work is done who stick in my +gizzard."</p> + +<p>"I daresay it's all right," said Bramham. "There are +bright bits, no doubt. And, of course, you'll get more +ribbons to tie your stockings up with and lockets to hang +on your breast when you come back. But it seems to me +to be a precious lonely life in the meantime, and I'm glad +it isn't mine. Why don't you take your wife up with you, +Karri?" He spoke with an idle smile, not looking at +Carson, but at his hands on the bale before him arranging +cigars in a box. Carson gave him a quick glance, but he +laughed carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Even if I possessed such a luxury I couldn't very well +ask her to come up to a wild place like that—for wild it +will be for many a year yet, thank the gods! Do you +suppose any woman would care about it?"</p> + +<p>"I know half a dozen who'd jump at the chance, and<span class="pagenum">[292]</span> +I expect you do, too. Women are fearfully keen on adventure +nowadays. And then you're an attraction in +yourself, Karri."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, old chap! You're easily pleased, I'm afraid." +Carson's smile was affectionate, but frankly sleepy. He +began to yawn. Bramham, caring nothing for hints of +weariness, pursued the subject.</p> + +<p>"Joking apart—you ought to marry. Why don't you, +Karri?"</p> + +<p>"For one thing, I can't afford it. You forget that I'm +not a bloated millionaire like you. My little excursions +into different parts of the interior were never cheap, and +the original expedition into Borapota cost me privately +as much as it did the Government, and since I've been +Administrator I've found it a mighty expensive business, +and you know, I've never been a money-hugger, Bram. +I suppose I am a thousand or two to the good now, apart +from my shares and concerns on the Rand, which wouldn't +fetch much with the market in its present condition. +But how far would that go towards setting up a <i>ménage-à-deux</i> +in the desert? Even supposing that I knew someone +anxious to share it——"</p> + +<p>"You have your salary—two thousand a year," argued +Bramham. He did not know what a <i>ménage-à-deux</i> was, +but he could guess.</p> + +<p>"So I have, by Jove! and I need it. If you think I +play John the Baptist when I take to the wilderness, Bram, +you're mistaken. I do myself remarkably well to make up +for the lack of society. If the soul is neglected, the carcase +isn't. You come up and visit me some time, old man. +You'll find all the blessings of civilisation with me, except +woman."</p> + +<p>"You're a nice sort of pioneer!" Bramham said; but +he knew what Carson meant. The best kit, the best guns, +and saddlery, and horses, cost money everywhere, and<span class="pagenum">[293]</span> +when it comes to transporting them over a few thousand +miles of unbroken roads—why, of course, it is expensive!</p> + +<p>"I know all about that, Carson—all the same, I think +it would be a good thing if——"</p> + +<p>Carson interrupted him. "You're beginning to be a +nuisance, Bram. But I'll be patient with you, and tell +you the truth. I don't want <i>a</i> wife, but <i>the</i> wife, and I +haven't met her yet—the woman who could stand the +test of five years of <i>wattle-and-daub</i>, and boot-and-saddle, +and sleeping under the stars for a change when one gets +tired of the <i>wattle-and-daub</i>; with nothing much to contemplate +by day but the unlimited horizon and nothing +much to hear by night but the dirge of the jackals, and the +sound of the wind in forest trees, or the rush of a river. +<i>We</i> know that these things are fine, Bram—the best you +can get in a passable world. But would they be fine +with the wrong woman?—with any woman but the one +who——"</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly, got up, and began to walk about +the room. In the doorway he stood for a moment looking +seawards through the black night. A cool wind was +stirring every paper and drapery in the room now, for +the tide was full, swirling and rustling on the sands not a +hundred yards away with nothing to be seen in the blackness +but a skirl of white foam.</p> + +<p>"—Who—what?" asked Bramham stolidly in the room +behind him. Carson came back and sat on the table +with his hands in his pockets. The old discontent was on +his face.</p> + +<p>"Who can never materialise because she's mostly made +up of dreams."</p> + +<p>Bramham laughed. "Mrs. Portal once said to me, 'The +most wonderful woman in the world could not pass the +standard of a romantic Irishman: or come near the perfection +of the dream-woman whom every Irishman has<span class="pagenum">[294]</span> +secretly enshrined in his heart.' It appears that she was +right."</p> + +<p>Carson laughed, too: but his face softened.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Portal knows most things about Irish and every +other kind of men, I fancy. The wonder is that she can +continue to be charming to us in spite of it. She's the +most delightful woman in the world."</p> + +<p>Bramham gave him a shrewd glance. He would have +given half he possessed to say at that moment:</p> + +<p>"What about a lovely girl who is drudging away in +England to support your child?" But it was not an +ordinary promise that same girl had wrung out of him, +never to reveal by word or look that he knew her secret. +She had bound him by every oath she could think of that +had any sanctity for a man.</p> + +<p>Something of scorn presently mingled with the shrewdness +of the look he cast at Carson. He searched the dark +face that had so much in it that was fine and lovable, +and yet was marked with sins. But whatever Carson's +sins were they did not give him peace. He did not grow +sleek on them. He had the weary mouth and haggard +eyes of the man with the dual nature, a finer self perpetually +at war with a baser, sometimes winning, sometimes +losing—but always striving. Scorn left Bramham's +look and affectionate loyalty came back.</p> + +<p>"You can't hate a fellow like that," he thought.</p> + +<p>He presently found a further thing to say in which he +was far from imagining himself disloyal to Rosalind Chard, +or even prompted by curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Carson ... since we've tumbled on to the subject +of women, I'd like to know what you think about something +I've rather advanced opinions upon ... girls +... girls who've gone over the hard-and-fast line ... +not the ordinary demi-semi-quaver, of course ... nor +the kind that are bound to slip off the rails even with<span class="pagenum">[295]</span> +gold fastenings ... I mean the sort of girl one would +be glad and proud to marry, but who, given 'the time, +the place, and the loved one altogether,' as some poet +fellow says, cuts loose the painter for dear love and sheer +love. What do you think of a girl like that, Karri?"</p> + +<p>Carson had a distant visionary expression in his eyes. +Bramham's words appeared to have driven his thoughts +far afield. He might have been a man trying to remember +a sweet air that evaded his memory, or to lay hold of +something that had no substance.</p> + +<p>"It is odd that you should ask me that, Bram," he +spoke slowly ... "and you are the only man in the +world I would say it to ... but, that was the kind of +girl I was speaking of when I said <i>the</i> wife ... the only +kind of girl I should ever care about marrying ... I +suppose I am alone among Irishmen in holding such an +opinion ... for all their wildness they're a conventional +lot at bottom, especially on this subject ... and, of +course, that's as it should be. But I've lived too long in +lonely places, and I'm more woodsman than Irishman +now!... I didn't think this way always, either.... +But once I had a vision, a dream, <i>something</i> ... about +such a girl. The odd part of it is that I was crazy about +another woman at the time—had been for years—and +it cured me of <i>that</i>.... But, oh, Lord!" (he gave a sort +of groan) "there's been plenty of water under the bridge +since then ... and it was only a dream, anyway. There +may be such girls in the world somewhere ... but not +for me, Bram. Some woman will trap me with an antenuptial-contract, +some day." He got up, laughing mirthlessly. +"Great Tophet! it's two o'clock! I shall never +get through with my work to-morrow."</p> + +<p>They gripped hands and parted for the night.</p> + +<p>Afterwards Bramham mused thus to himself:</p> + +<p>"He was lying! He must have been—or else she was.<span class="pagenum">[296]</span> +What the deuce is one to make of it? <i>Plenty of water +under the bridge since then!</i> I daresay!... Capron's +stray shaft went home.... I wonder if there's any truth +in <i>that</i> tale!... Well! the longer I live the more I am +inclined to agree with that fellow who said there never +yet was a game in history or anywhere else played square +with a woman in it!"</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[297]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">THE next morning, by a strange circumstance, which +did not immediately unfold its inner meaning, three +bad men met in the front verandah of the Royal.</p> + +<p>The order of their coming was thus: Bramham dropped +in at about eleven o'clock to discover Abinger sitting in +the verandah with a drink at his elbow—</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width : 14em"> +<p class="noin"> +"And a smile on the face of the tiger."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>That, at least, was the line from the poets which flashed +into Bramham's head, as Abinger grinned upon him.</p> + +<p>"What do <i>you</i> want?" was the latter's affable greeting, +and Bramham answered fearlessly:</p> + +<p>"Oh, just a gin-and-bitters! It's getting somewhere +about lunch-time, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Abinger refrained from inquiring why the Royal should +be patronised for gin-and-bitters, when the Club was just +across the road from Bramham's office: he merely continued +to grin. The next arrival was Carson. But he +saw them before they saw him, so it was for him to play +tiger. He saluted them blandly.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! you fellows! Waiting to see Nickals, too?"</p> + +<p>This was the first information the other two had of the +presence of Nickals in the hotel; but Abinger gravely +stated that his case was a desire to see that gentleman. +Bramham repeated his gin-and-bitters tale. They sat +for a quarter of an hour, abusing the weather, the market, +and the country, and Carson then said he should go and<span class="pagenum">[298]</span> +see if he could find Nickals in his room. The others thought +they would accompany him. It appeared that Nickals, +hitherto a simple honest fellow, had suddenly grown in +importance and magnetic personality.</p> + +<p>They did not, like sane men, inquire at the office, which +was just inside the hall door, but strolled instead through +the vestibules into the palm-garden, and from there to +Ulundi Square, having passed the drawing-room windows +and looked in, in case Nickals might be playing the +piano or resting on the sofa, as Abinger facetiously remarked. +Eventually they stopped a strolling waiter +and asked if Nickals was in. The waiter went away +to see, and the three sat in the Square until he returned +with the information that Mr. Nickals had gone to the +Berea and would not be back before four o'clock. This +was conclusive. They searched each other's faces for any +reasonable excuse for further loitering; finally, Abinger +said <i>he</i> would now take a gin-and-bitters. Carson thought +he would like a smoke. The chairs are easy and comfortable +in Ulundi Square, and there are newspapers.</p> + +<p>They spent another peaceful twenty minutes. Too +peaceful. No one came or went, but an ample-breasted +concert soprano, who was touring the country and compiling +a fortune with a voice that had long ceased to interest +English audiences; a crumpled-looking lady journalist, +with her nose in a note-book and her hat on one ear, and a +middle-aged American tourist, with a matron as alluringly +veiled as the wife of a Caliph, but who unfortunately did +not remain veiled.</p> + +<p><i>Ennui</i> engulfed the trio. At last they departed in +exasperation—no one having once mentioned his real +reason for being there. Carson and Abinger went into +the Club, Bramham into his office, promising to join them +in a short time for lunch. As he passed through an outer +office lined with desks and busy clerks, his secretary fol<span class="pagenum">[299]</span>lowed, +to inform him in a discreet voice that a note had +come for him by one of the Royal <i>boys</i>. Bramham, forgetting +that he was over twenty-five on Isandhlwana day +nineteen years before, sprinted into his private room in +amazing style. On his desk was a letter addressed in +the writing of Rosalind Chard.</p> + +<p>"I had a premonition, by Jove!" he exclaimed excitedly, +and tore it open. It was brief.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I am staying at the Royal. Could you call on me +some time to-day? I should be delighted if you would +lunch with me. It will be charming to see you again."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Bramham stared at the letter for several minutes, then +seized his hat and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>"Call Mr. Merritt," was his order, and the secretary +reappeared.</p> + +<p>"Merritt, I am going out again at once. If Mr. Carson +or Mr. Abinger send over for me from the Club, <i>I'm +engaged. Very important business—here.</i> Shall probably +see them later in the afternoon—understand?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir," said the discreet Merritt, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the Royal once more, Bramham this time +addressed himself to the inquiry office like an honest man, +and was presently informed that Miss Chard would see +him in her private sitting-room. His mental eyebrows +went up, but he decorously followed the slim and sad-eyed +coolie attendant.</p> + +<p>In a room redeemed from "hoteliness" by a few original +touches, fragrant with violets and sprays of mimosa, he +found a girl waiting for him, whom for a moment he scarcely +recognised. It was the first time he had seen Rosalind +Chard in any but the simplest clothes, and he at first +supposed the difference in her attributable to her dress. +She wore a beautiful gown of lilac-coloured crêpe, with<span class="pagenum">[300]</span> +silken oriental embroiderings scrolled upon it, and a big +lilac-wreathed hat—a picture of well-bred, perfectly-dressed +dewy womanhood, with the faint and fascinating +stamp of personality on every tiniest detail of her. She +stood in the middle of the room and held out a slim, bare +hand to Bramham, and he took it, staring at her and it. +He was relieved to see that it was not jewelled.</p> + +<p>"I can't believe my eyes," he said. "It is the most +amazing thing that ever happened—to see you!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked softly, looking him in the eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were in England fighting your way along +the road to Fame——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care about Fame any more, Charlie."</p> + +<p>"Don't care for Fame! Why, you were crazy after +it!"</p> + +<p>"Crazy—yes, that is the right word. Now I am sane. +You have had my hand quite a long time——"</p> + +<p>He did not release it, however, only held it tighter.</p> + +<p>"I'm knocked right off my mental reservation. I +don't know what I'm doing. You shouldn't stand and +smile at me like that. What's the matter with you, +Rosalind? You don't look happy!"</p> + +<p>His last words were a surprise to himself, for until he +uttered them he had not clearly realised that in spite of +her radiant beauty and her perfect clothes there was a +haunting enigmatic sadness about her. And as once before, +he fancied it was her smile that made her so tragic-looking. +Suddenly it seemed to him that he heard a little bell +tolling somewhere. He gave a glance round the room, +but his eyes returned to her.</p> + +<p>"What has happened to you?" he asked, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"My son is dead," she said, and she still smiled that +bright, tragic smile, and looked at him with dry, beautiful +eyes, that were too tired to weep. His were the eyes that +filled with tears. He knew that he was in the presence of<span class="pagenum">[301]</span> +grief too deep for words. The hand that he awkwardly +brushed across his face was his salute to sorrow.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," her voice was a little dreary wind; "thank +you, kindest of all friends." She moved away from him +then in a vague, aimless fashion, went to a bowl of violets +and smelled them, and looked up at a strange blue picture +on the wall, the like of which he had never seen in an hotel +and could not believe to be part of the furnishing of the +Royal. It was, indeed, <i>Hope</i> sitting at the top of the +world playing on her brave one string; but Bramham had +never seen Watts's picture before. While she still stood +there she spoke to him.</p> + +<p>"Don't ever speak of it again, will you?... I can't +... I am not able ..."</p> + +<p>"Of course not.... No, all right ... I won't," he +hastily and earnestly assured her.</p> + +<p>He wondered if she knew of Carson's presence in Durban. +It was strange that they had had no sight of her +that morning. He would have given much to have seen +her meet Carson face to face unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"Were you in this morning?" he presently asked. +"I was about the hotel for an hour or so with two friends—Carson +and Luce Abinger. We might so easily have run +across you——"</p> + +<p>Her face when she turned told him nothing.</p> + +<p>"I spent the greater part of the morning sitting under +the palms facing the bay, talking to Mrs. Portal—but I +left a message where I was to be found in case you +called."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Portal! I didn't know you knew her."</p> + +<p>"Yes; she and I met when I was in Durban, and became +friends. She happened to be lunching here yesterday +when I arrived, and she came up and spoke to me. You +can imagine what it meant to have someone welcoming +me as she did, after long exile from my own land—but,<span class="pagenum">[302]</span> +if you know her at all, you know how kind and lovely +her ways are."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," Bramham heartily agreed. "She is +altogether charming."</p> + +<p>All the same, he was astonished. Mrs. Portal was +charming, but she stood for orthodoxy, and the girl before +him was mysteriously unorthodox—to say the least of it.</p> + +<p>"I am dining with her to-night to meet her great friend, +Mrs. Capron," continued Poppy, eyeing him gravely.</p> + +<p>"Then you ought to be careful," he blurted out; "for +you are dining with the two most precise and conventional +women in the place"—here he perceived himself to be +blundering—"but I may also say the most delightful," +he added hastily.</p> + +<p>"Ah! and why shouldn't I?" she queried softly, but +her tone brought a slight flush to Bramham's cheek.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," he stammered. "No reason at +all, I imagine."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," she said quietly, "you imagine every +reason."</p> + +<p>Bramham scrambled out of his tight corner as best he +might.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," he made haste to say, "I am delighted +that you have a woman friend who has it in her power +to make things as pleasant and interesting as they can be +in a place like this."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said; "and, dear friend—you need +not be anxious for me. I only confess where I am sure of +absolution and the secrecy of the confessional—never to +women."</p> + +<p>Bramham, first pleased, then annoyed, then sulky +over this piece of information, made no immediate response, +and a waiter appearing at the moment to inquire whether +they would take lunch, the matter dropped. He followed +in the wake of her charming lilac gown, through<span class="pagenum">[303]</span> +tessellated squares and palm-gardens, with the glow of +personal satisfaction every right-minded man feels in +accompanying the prettiest and best turned-out woman +in the place.</p> + +<p>When they were seated at the pleasantest corner of +the room, and she had ordered without fuss an excellently +dainty lunch, Bramham's desire being to sit with his +elbows on the table and dip into the depths of lilac eyes +lashed with black above two faintly-tinted cheek-bones, +he reverted to his sulky demeanour. But a scarlet mouth +was smiling at him whimsically.</p> + +<p>"Don't let us be cross! Everything is for the best in +the best of all possible worlds, you know; and you are +the best of all possible confessors. There is nothing I +can hide from you. I am even going to tell you where I +got my pretty clothes from, and the money to be careering +about the world and staying at the Royal—I know you +are consumed with apprehension on these two points."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him with such comradeship that he could +not sulk any longer.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know the last time I saw you, you were +in hard-luck street, at a guinea a week, and too proud +to use a friend's purse. I suppose you have been getting +on?"</p> + +<p>"You suppose rightly: I have <i>got</i> on. I have three +plays running at London theatres, two novels selling well, +and a book of poems in its tenth edition—not bad for +poems, you know."</p> + +<p>It was a day of surprises for Bramham, and it should +be excused in him that he sat for three minutes with his +mouth open.</p> + +<p>"You!... You!... why, I've never even heard +of you!" he cried, mortified, astonished, and it must be +confessed, slightly unbelieving.</p> + +<p>"But perhaps you have heard of <i>Eve Destiny</i>? Here<span class="pagenum">[304]</span> +are a pile of letters and things from my managers and +publishers. I want you to look over them, and advise me, +will you, about money and things ... I'm most frightfully +unpractical and extravagant.... I can see that +I shall very soon be poor again unless someone advises +me and puts me on the right road. And I don't want to +be poor again, Charlie. Poverty hurts ... it is like the +sun, it shows up all the dark corners—in one's nature. +If I can only arrange my affairs so as to have about a +hundred a year to live on, I shall be satisfied."</p> + +<p>"A hundred a year!" Bramham had been skimming +through her papers with his business eye, which fortunately +for his feminine acquaintances was a very different +organ to his pleasure eye. All his instincts were outraged +at this careless view of what was evidently a splendid +working concern.</p> + +<p>"A hundred a year! Why, if you go on like this you'll +be more likely to haul in ten thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"Ah! but I'm not going on," she interpolated calmly. +"I don't mean to work any more."</p> + +<p>"Not work any more? Why? Are you panned?... +dried up ... fizzled out?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," she laughed. "I have as much fizzle as +ever ... I don't want to work any more—that's all. +I'm tired ... and there is nothing to work for."</p> + +<p>"But since when did you begin to feel like that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, since a long time ... I haven't worked for +ages ... I've been buying frocks in Paris, and sitting +in the sunshine at Cannes, and looking over the side of a +yacht at the blue Mediterranean, and just spending, +spending ... but there is not much in <i>that</i>, Charlie +... there's not much in anything if your world is empty." +Her voice broke off strangely, but when he looked at +her the tragic smile was back on her mouth again. He +knew now why she did it—it was to keep herself from<span class="pagenum">[305]</span> +wailing like a banshee! An interval here occurred, monopolised +entirely by the waiter—a coolie, slim, snowily-draped, +and regretful as are all coolie-waiters.</p> + +<p>It was Bramham who again broached the subject of +Carson. He could not help himself—these two people were +dear to him; and, besides, he was eaten up with curiosity.</p> + +<p>"If you go to the Portals you will meet Eve Carson. +He is <i>persona grata</i> there."</p> + +<p>"I know; Mrs. Portal said to me, amongst other things, +'You must meet our great friend, Sir Evelyn Carson.' +She did not mention his wife, however."</p> + +<p>"His wife——?"</p> + +<p>"It will be interesting to meet his wife," she said tranquilly. +Bramham gazed at her. She was carefully dissecting +the pink part of a Neapolitan ice from its white +foundation.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I should think it would be—when he gets one. +I was asking him only last night why he didn't marry, +and he said——"</p> + +<p>"He would be sure to say something arresting," said +Poppy, but she had grown pale as death. Her eyes waited +upon Bramham's lips.</p> + +<p>"He said, first, that he was not wealthy enough—a +paltry reason. Secondly, well, I can't quite repeat it, +but something to the effect that the girl of his dreams +wouldn't materialise."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. She sat with her hands in +her lap and her eyes veiled. The colour of life came slowly +back to her face, but she was racked and shadowy-looking. +Compassion filled Charles Bramham.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you heard that May Mappin tale? All +rot. She's a foolish little Durban girl, left with a large +fortune. He has never thought twice about her, but she +has always persisted in making a fool of herself. It is a +common story here that she cabled home reports of their<span class="pagenum">[306]</span> +engagement and marriage. Poor devil! I suppose she +can't help herself ... but never mind her.... You, +Rosalind! I can't pretend to understand you ... the +mystery is too deep for me to probe. But I believe, that +if last night I could have broken my promise to you——"</p> + +<p>"Never! Never!" she cried fiercely. "I should curse +you for ever ... I.... And so he is not married?" she +said in an ordinary voice.</p> + +<p>"No, nor ever will be, till he finds the woman of his +dreams, according to his own tale."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she rose from her chair.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye ... I must go now ... I want to be +alone ... I want rest ... I must think. Forgive me +for leaving you like this—" She went away, down the +long, well-filled room, and every feminine eye raked her +from stem to stern, and every man strained the ligaments +of his throat to breaking-point to catch the last flick of +her lilac-coloured draperies.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, every eye severely considered Bramham. +He found himself staring at two coffee-cups. A waiter at +his elbow rudely inquired whether the lady took sugar.</p> + +<p>"Yes, two—all ladies do," he answered aggressively. +To conceal his discomfort he fell to perusal of the packet +of papers she had put into his hands. They were from +managers, agents, and publishers, and concerned themselves +with contracts, royalties, and demands for the first +refusal of the next work of Miss Rosalind Chard, otherwise +<i>Eve Destiny</i>. Bramham became so engrossed at last that +he forgot all the staring people in the room and the two +coffee-cups and his discomfort.</p> + +<p>"She's a genius, by Jove!" he said grimly. "One +must get used to being made uncomfortable."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[307]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IT was a turgid, sun-smitten Sunday afternoon at the +Portals' house on the Berea. Through the open French +windows of the drawing-room came the chink of many +tea-cups, and a desultory but not unsprightly murmur +of conversation. Some one's hand was straying absent-mindedly +on the keys of the Bechstein, making little +ripples, and sometimes a girl would laugh on two notes—a +short, but peculiarly melodious sound like the beginning +of a song in a bird's throat. Evelyn Carson, on the +west side of the verandah, arguing with Bill Portal about +water-fowl in Madagascar, found that laugh curiously +distracting. It reminded him of an old dream that he +was always trying to forget.</p> + +<p>"You're thinking of a Francolin-partridge, my dear +fellow," he said to Portal; "very dark feathering ... +almost black ... a little bigger than the Natal grey +hens." (There was that little tender laugh again! God! +What a dream that was!)</p> + +<p>"Not at all," disputed Portal. "They were grouse, I +tell you ... sand-grouse ... the male bird has dark-brown +wings ... very light back and a pencilled head +... rather like English grouse ... with a black neck. +I got scores of them at Solarey ... splendid sporting +shots——"</p> + +<p>He lifted his voice slightly in his enthusiasm, and it +was heard round in the east verandah, where Mrs. Portal +was sitting with her great friend, Mary Capron, two +other women, and Luce Abinger.<span class="pagenum">[308]</span></p> + +<p>"Listen to the blood-shedders!" said Mrs. Capron.</p> + +<p>"Yes, one of them is Bill," said Clem, "and I hoped +he was looking after people inside! Who is he talking to, +I wonder."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Capron opened her lips to answer, then closed them +again and looked away at the sea. Luce Abinger smiled to +himself.</p> + +<p>"That's C-Carson," he said. "He c-came up with +me."</p> + +<p>Abinger's slight stammer arrested people's attention +and made them listen to what he had to say. But to +do him justice, what he had to say was usually worth +listening to. It is always worth while to be amused, and +a man's malice is invariably more amusing than a woman's +because it is not so small, and is more daring. What +Abinger did not dare with his tongue, he made bold to let +you know with his eyes, which were as bad as they could +be. Not that he looked at all women with the same look +Sophie Cornell had once complained of. He was far too +clever for that—he had as many sets of expressions for +his eyes as he had for his tongue.</p> + +<p>But in whatsoever way he looked, he always made the +woman he was talking to <i>tête-à-tête</i> feel that she was doing +something rather wicked and none the less fascinating +because she could not be indicted on it by Mrs. Grundy. +And then his appearance was so peculiarly revolting! +That frightful scar running all the way down one side of +his clean-shaven face, from his eye to his chin, <i>must</i> have +been made with a knife; but no one knew how it had been +done, and that made it all the more mysterious. Certainly +he was not communicative on the subject.</p> + +<p>At present he was sitting on the clean, sun-burnt boards +of the verandah floor, with his back against the wall and +his knees drawn up, peacefully considering the four women +arranged in chairs on either side of him. Mrs. Portal,<span class="pagenum">[309]</span> +bunched up with her elbows on her knees and her chin in +her hands, was not pretty, but her face bore the marks +of race, and her hair and her kind Irish eyes were full of +sunshine. Abinger considered that she had less style than +any woman he knew, but that it must be distinctly interesting +to be Bill Portal. Mrs. Gerald Lace was silent +and reposeful, with the inevitable silent reposefulness of a +woman with a fourteen-inch waist. Mrs. Gruyère, warm +and pink, fanned herself vigorously with an expensive +painted fan, and took breath for a fresh onslaught upon +the characters of her friends. Mrs. Capron, staring out at +the sea with her lovely, golden eyes, was sufficiently +beautiful to be forgiven for not saying much. It was +enough to look at her.</p> + +<p>Durban lay below them in green and white array, but +the green was too green, and the white blazed even through +the drapery of passion-plant leaves that hung and clambered +on the verandah and let in the sunshine upon them in +jaggling Chinese patterns. The garden was delightfully, +raggedly picturesque. Two sloping lawns were divided +by a tall hedge of Barbadoes-thorn. There was a grove +of orange-trees, and a miniature forest of mangoes. Scattered +everywhere, grew golden clots of sunflowers, and +away to the right a big Bougainvillea bush flaunted its +fearful purple-magenta blossoms against the blue. Far +beyond was the sea.</p> + +<p>The Portals' house stood so high on the Berea that no +sound from the town or the sea reached it on a still day. +The peace in the verandah was unbroken, save for the +<i>cheep-cheeping</i> of some tame guinea-fowl in a neighbouring +garden.</p> + +<p>If only Mrs. Gruyère could have ceased from troubling, +they would all have been at rest. "Why can she not be +calm and still, like Mrs. Lace?" thought Abinger. Mrs. +Lace was not over-burdened with brains, but she could<span class="pagenum">[310]</span> +say "Oh!" and "Really?" quite prettily at appropriate +intervals, and he much preferred her to Mrs. Gruyère, +a most tiresome person, who, if you did not tell her the +truth, invented it. She now began to worry Mrs. Portal +about a girl inside, whom Abinger, not long arrived and +having got no further than his present seat in the verandah, +had not seen, but from the venomous tone of Mrs. Gruyère's +inquiries he gathered that she must, in some fashion, be +worth seeing. Mrs. Portal said in an airy way she had, +that she knew nothing of Miss Chard except that she was a +Cheltenham College girl, and had pretty ankles—"both +highly desirable qualifications, surely?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère, who had been educated at a Colonial +<i>seminary</i>, immediately drew her feet, which had been +obstructing Abinger's view of the Indian Ocean, into the +seclusion of her peculiarly ungraceful, though doubtless +expensive, skirt, and pursued the subject with more intense +malignity. Abinger was of opinion that Mrs. Portal had +probably made a life-long enemy for Miss Chard: which +showed that she was harassed, for he knew her to be the +soul of tact and kindliness. As an old ally, he felt that +it behoved him to listen and prepare a weapon for the +defence.</p> + +<p>"But, <i>dear</i> Mrs. Portal, desirable qualifications are not +always sufficient ones. <i>Where</i> did she come from, and +who are her people, I wonder? It seems <i>strange</i> in a small +place like Durban, not to have met her before! What +does she want here?"</p> + +<p>"She paints charmingly," was all Mrs. Portal vouchsafed—"most +beautiful little water-colours." After a +moment's consideration she added: "She is going to do my +miniature."</p> + +<p>Thereafter, she looked dreamily into space, apparently +thinking of something else—an old ruse of hers when +harassed about her harum-scarum acquaintances. Abinger<span class="pagenum">[311]</span> +began to think it highly probable that she had met the +remarkable Miss Chard in a tea-shop, become interested +in her face (or her ankles), and gone up and spoken to +her; but he quite understood that these illegitimate proceedings +must be concealed from such a keeper of seals +and red tape as Mrs. Gruyère.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! An artist?" that lady insisted abominably. +"I wonder if——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal removed her charming eyes from blue space +and looked for the hundredth part of a second in the direction +of Abinger. He dashed briskly into the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Yes; an exceedingly c-clever artist. I saw an exhibition +of her pictures somewhere in Bond Street last year. +Some of her sunset-effects were brilliant—quite Whistlerian. +But," he cocked his head meditatively for a +second, "if I remember rightly, it was with her miniatures +that she made her chief hit—yes, decidedly her——"</p> + +<p>"Really?" said Mrs. Gerald Lace, all attention, thinking +what a charming miniature her blonde beauty would +make.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère said nothing. She was completely knocked +out of the ring for five seconds, during which time Mrs. +Portal smiled an amazed smile at the sunflowers on the +lawn, and Abinger, with the pride of one who has done +exceeding well, rose and handed tea-cups and cake from +the tray of a neat and pretty maid—Hyacinth's English +nurse, to be precise, who was always harnessed-in on +Sunday afternoons. Having modestly helped himself to +three sandwiches, he reseated himself upon the floor, for +time was up: Mrs. Gruyère had got her second wind.</p> + +<p>Could it be true, she demanded of him, that there was +talk of that odious Sir Evelyn Carson getting a peerage +next? Why should he have got the Administratorship of +Borapota, when there were so many fine men born and bred +in Africa, <i>much</i> more eligible for the post? (Her own<span class="pagenum">[312]</span> +brother, in fact—<i>hinc illæ!</i>) Wasn't it a fact that Carson +was exiled to Africa ten years ago because he had been +mixed up in a famous divorce suit with Royalty and +dared not show his nose in England again? Did Abinger +consider it likely that Carson would marry May Mappin, +who was still scandalously in love with him and ready +to throw herself at him, together with the fortune which +her father had made by "running guns" to the Zulus in '76?</p> + +<p>"—And was made Mayor, and died!" she finished as +though she had been reciting a new kind of creed.</p> + +<p>Some portion, at least, of this surprising indictment +had made Mrs. Capron's tinted cheek pale with anger. +Clem Portal, too, was disturbed. She glanced fiercely at +Mrs. Gruyère, and remarked with great emphasis and +point:</p> + +<p>"Rot!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère looked as if she would have liked to snort +at this rude reception of her news; she contented herself, +however, with a sniff—a Colonial habit of hers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lace also roused herself to an effort. She had not +Mrs. Portal's pluck to fire boldly in the face of the enemy, +but she was inspired to make a little side-attack.</p> + +<p>"He would never <i>dream</i> of marrying a Colonial: Gerald +told me so."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère's nostrils broadened like a hippo's; she +could have tomahawked Mrs. Lace on the spot. For a +moment she cast her inward eye back across the trail of +Mrs. Lace's past—if she had only been a Johannesburg +crow, with three coats of whitewash, <i>how</i> Mrs. Gruyère +would have turned the waterspouts of truth on her! But +as it happened, Gerald Lace had extracted his blonde +bride from a tender home at Kingston-on-Thames—and +that was a far cry! And since her marriage, she was +known to be what is called "absolutely de-<i>vo</i>-ted." What +satisfaction can be got out of a woman like that? Mrs.<span class="pagenum">[313]</span> +Gruyère was obliged to hide her tomahawk for the time +being. Smiling a thin smile with an edge as sharp as a +razor to it, she addressed herself to the audience at large.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, no one will deny that May Mappin is +still throwing herself at his head. Isn't that so, Mr. +Abinger? You practically live with him and should +know."</p> + +<p>Abinger's answers were as various as Mrs. Portal's +sandwiches, and as liberally supplied with mustard.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="noin"> +1. Yes; but he didn't live with Miss Mappin.<br /> +2. Carson had not asked his advice about the best +place to spend a honeymoon.<br /> +3. Miss Mappin had not told him that she loved Carson.<br /> +4. He did not read Carson's letters.<br /> +5. He could not swear that Carson was not already married.<br /> +6. All women were in love with Carson, anyway.<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>At that, Mrs. Gruyère sat back satisfied.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," she said triumphantly, "and no good can +come of it." She made a hollow in her lap for her cup of +tea and began rolling her veil into a thick, black stole +across the end of her nose.</p> + +<p>No one was quite sure what she meant, and no one +particularly cared, but Mrs. Portal thought it quite time +poor silly May Mappin was left alone. Mrs. Portal talked +scandal herself and enjoyed it, but she didn't backbite, +which is the difference between good and ill nature.</p> + +<p>"You ask too much, Mrs. Gruyère," said she, sipping +tea from her blue cup, delicately as a bee sips honey from +a bluebell. "When you are in love with a man like Evelyn +Carson, the only thing you can do is to pray with fasting +and tears that no bad may come of it."</p> + +<p>"When <i>I</i> am in love!" said Mrs. Gruyère loudly.<span class="pagenum">[314]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Mrs. Lace with a shocked little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it true, Mr. Abinger?" Clem asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Carson is not so black as he's painted," said he +with a great air of liberality.</p> + +<p>"As he paints, I suppose, you mean," pertly rejoined +Mrs. Gruyère.</p> + +<p>"There is a form of colour-blindness that makes its +victim see everything black!" said Mrs. Capron drily. +Mrs. Gruyère sniffed again.</p> + +<p>"You need be colour-blind when you look at his eyes," +she said unpleasantly; "but some people have a morbid +liking for deformity."</p> + +<p>They all looked astonished.</p> + +<p>"<i>Deformity!</i>" cried Mrs. Capron; "why, everybody +admires his striking eyes!"</p> + +<p>"And, <i>dear</i> lady," said Abinger, with great <i>tendresse</i>, +"do you really suppose that the colour of Carson's eyes +has anything to do with it? It's the flame inside him that +draws us and scorches us. He's made up of fire and iron, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Brass," said Mrs. Gruyère neatly—for her.</p> + +<p>At this opportune moment Carson sauntered round the +corner and joined them, and Mrs. Gruyère's face became +so like a Bougainvillea flower that there was hardly any +difference, except that the Bougainvillea was prettier.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Sir Evelyn?" said Mrs. Portal, tendering +him her hand tranquilly. "Talking of brass, can it +be true that you are very rich?"</p> + +<p>Seeing no chair, Carson seated himself next to Abinger +on the floor—"two bad, dissolute men, cheek by jowl," +said Mrs. Gruyère to herself.</p> + +<p>"Not very," he said apologetically, smiling at them all +with his unusual eyes. "Not so rich as Abinger. He says +he has two pounds a week for life. But we think he +exaggerates."<span class="pagenum">[315]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal and Mrs. Capron began to laugh, and Mrs. +Lace to wonder how they could wear such nice boots on +such small incomes. But Mrs. Gruyère, thoroughly disgusted +with the contemptible tone of the conversation, +was about to rise and leave the scene, when there came +a general exodus from the drawing-room, preceded by +Portal and a girl, who was laughing in her throat like +a bird about to begin a song.</p> + +<p>It was Poppy.</p> + +<p>The two bad men looked up.</p> + +<p>She was amazingly arrayed in a gown that was a poem +composed in France—silky, creamy muslin, curving from +throat to hip, and from hip to foot in sleek full folds like +the draperies of a statue. Some unwonted emotion had +brought a faint spot of colour to the high-pitched bones of +her cheeks, and the pupils of her eyes were so large they +seemed to fill her eyes with darkness. She wore a wide +hat of pastel-blue straw, wreathed with silken poppies of +an ashen shade, and round her neck was slung a great +rope of blue-and-green Egyptian scarabei, which had cost +her the whole price of one of her plays, and which repaid +her now by adding in some mysterious way to her glowing +personality.</p> + +<p>Clem Portal rose, and, under cover of general conversation, +said swiftly to her:</p> + +<p>"If Mrs. Gruyère puts you to the question—<i>you paint</i>—charming +little water-colours. You are going to do my +miniature."</p> + +<p>Poppy stood there, smiling at her through the spraying +veils of her hair. Her glowing loveliness had the +effect of making the other women in the verandah seem +colourless. Even Mary Capron's classical beauty was +dimmed.</p> + +<p>Carson felt the old dream stir. He gave her a long, long +look. As for Abinger, the expression of utter astonish<span class="pagenum">[316]</span>ment +and bewilderment had passed from his face; he +was smiling.</p> + +<p>"So <i>this</i> is Miss Rosalind Chard!" he said softly, but +not too softly for Carson to hear him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> is she, do you say?" he asked in a low tone.</p> + +<p>They had both risen from the floor.</p> + +<p>"A Cheltenham College girl, with pretty ankles," was +the enigmatic response.</p> + +<p>Unaccountably, they both found themselves at Mrs. +Portal's elbow. She introduced them with a gay inclusive +little: "<i>Les amis de mes amis sont mes amis</i>"; then turned +away to bid a guest good-bye.</p> + +<p>Miss Chard met Abinger's insolent mocking glance +fearlessly, with a prepared heart and, therefore, a prepared +smile; then turned to Carson for the first time: looking +into his eyes the smile drifted out of her face and suddenly +she put up one of her hands and touched, with a +curious mystical movement, a dark-green stone she wore +at her throat as a brooch. To both men she gave the +impression that she was crossing herself, or touching a +talisman against something evil.</p> + +<p>Abinger stared, grinning. Carson, extremely disconcerted, +appeared to turn a deeper shade of brown, and his +eyebrows came together in an unbecoming line over his +brilliant, sad eyes. Abinger, well acquainted with the +Irishman's temper, knew that the girl's action had got him +on the raw. If she had been a man she would have been +made answerable for a deadly insult. As it was, Carson +struggled horribly with himself for a moment, then smiled +and made a characteristic remark.</p> + +<p>"You are very <i>un-Irish</i>, Miss Chard, in spite of your +face and your superstitions."</p> + +<p>This, said with great grace and gentleness, meant that +no real Irishwoman would have had the abominable taste +to notice what Mrs. Gruyère had termed his "deformity."<span class="pagenum">[317]</span> +But the girl either could not, or would not, taste the salty +flavour of his compliment. She made a curious answer.</p> + +<p>"I do not profess to be Irish."</p> + +<p>For some reason Carson took this for a fresh affront, +and it was more than he could put up with. All his easily-lighted +fires were ablaze now, and the reflection of them +could be seen in his eyes. He gave her one fierce look, +then turned away without a word. Abinger stood grinning. +But the lilac eyes filled with tears, and the scarlet mouth +went down at the corners like a child's.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mustn't mind Carson," said Abinger easily. +"You see, he has unfortunately got a real Irish monkey +for sale."</p> + +<p>"An Irish monkey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Have you never heard of the species? Carson's +is quite famous. It used to be a source of revenue to the +Transvaal and Rhodesia for years—they thought nothing +of giving him fifty pounds for letting it out on the +spree."</p> + +<p>Her tears had slipped back unused to whence they +came; she was now dry-eyed and rather haughty.</p> + +<p>"How could I know?" she began stiffly.</p> + +<p>Abinger apparently thought it not wholly out of place +to deliver her a short lecture on the undesirability of +hurting people's feelings, together with the information +that Carson, though hot-tempered and rather mad, was +one of the finest gentlemen in the world and happened +to share the misfortune of his nationality with a few of +the most charming people in South Africa, not excluding +their pleasant hostess—Mrs. Portal.</p> + +<p>By the time he had finished his remarks Miss Chard had +regained her tranquillity.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said she sweetly. "I think it very nice +and friendly of you to tell me all these things. I suppose +you are an Irishman, too?"<span class="pagenum">[318]</span></p> + +<p>Some emotion kept Abinger dumb for several seconds; +then under her tranquil gaze he recovered himself.</p> + +<p>"No, I am a cosmopolitan; incidentally of Scotch +birth."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" Miss Chard looked politely interested. "You +flatter yourself chiefly on the first, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I did, until to-day."</p> + +<p>"To-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. A cosmopolitan's chief pride, you see, is in the +fact that he can conceal his nationality, whilst able to +detect instantly that of the person he is speaking to. +Now I should never have guessed that <i>you</i> are—English."</p> + +<p>Her colour remained unchanged: her eyes regarded him +steadfastly.</p> + +<p>"You took me for some new kind of barbarian, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>He moved a hand deprecatingly: "Not at all; but if +I had been asked for an expression of opinion, I should +have said, 'A little Irish vagabond dragged up in Africa.'"</p> + +<p>The girl's sweet laugh fell from her lips.</p> + +<p>"What a ridiculous thing to say! You evidently have +not heard that I have only been in Africa for a few weeks +or so—my <i>first</i> visit."</p> + +<p>Then, as though the conversation had ceased to interest +her, she turned away and began to talk to Portal—who +introduced to her a man with a satanic expression on a +woman's mouth as Dr. Ferrand. The doctor immediately +began to talk to her about "home!"</p> + +<p>She stemmed that tide.</p> + +<p>"Why talk about 'home'?" she said impatiently. +"It is far more interesting out here."</p> + +<p>"Why?" cried Ferrand the poetical. "<i>Why?</i> Because +the air of 'home' still hangs about you. By just looking +at you I know that you have lately heard the jingle of +hansom bells, and 'buses rumbling on asphalt, and voices +crying, 'Only a penny a bunch!'; that you have been tasting<span class="pagenum">[319]</span> +the fog and getting splashed with the mud and smelling +the Thames...."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Chard; "and I infinitely prefer the +smell of mangoes."</p> + +<p>Ferrand would have turned away from her, if he had +been able to turn away from any woman.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal, who had just joined them, agreed with +her.</p> + +<p>"How can anyone compare the two lives—flowers in +your hands and the Indian Ocean blue at your feet, to +London with smuts on your nose and nutmeg-graters in +your chest?"</p> + +<p>But still Ferrand looked at Miss Chard.</p> + +<p>"'She is London, she is Torment, she is Town,'" +he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Don't believe it," said Mrs. Portal in her other ear. +"He is his own torment: he has his own box of matches.—Good-bye, +Mrs. Gruyère ... Good-bye, Mrs. Lace; +so glad—Thursday, then, for polo, and you're going to +call for me; good-bye, good-bye. (You're not going, +Cora, you and your husband are staying to supper.)... Good-bye, Mrs. Leigh ... yes—don't forget.... +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Everyone was going except the elect few who had been +asked to stay to what was called "supper" on Sunday +night, because no one wore evening-dress—but was really +an extra-specially excellent dinner. They gathered at +the end of the verandah, where Carson was swinging little +Cinthie Portal in a hammock and talking to Mrs. Capron +seated on the low stone balustrade above the steps.</p> + +<p>She was a picture in pale-blue muslin, with deep-red +roses on her hat. The colour of her hair gave the impression +that she was gilt-edged and extremely valuable. +Certainly she was the best-dressed Roman in Natal, +perhaps even in Africa; but at the moment she was<span class="pagenum">[320]</span> +wondering how she could possibly get the address of +Miss Chard's dressmaker without asking for it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course</i>, you are staying, Mary," said Mrs. Portal, +sitting down by her and putting an arm around her waist. +"And you, too, Karri?"</p> + +<p>But Carson had a grievance. He was suffering such +bitterness of spirit as only Irishmen with their half-mystical, +half-barbaric, half-womanish natures can suffer +about nothing at all. The sun had gone out of his sky, +bitterness was in his mouth, and a snake ate his heart +because a girl, whom he did not know or care about, repudiated +Ireland, and touched a stone against the evil of +his strange, Irish eyes. And he was conscious of the girl +standing at the other end of the hammock now; he could +feel the new movement in the hammock since her hand +rested on it, and she, too, swayed it gently; and he knew +that she was looking at him with dewy and wonderful +eyes. Nevertheless, he excused himself to Mrs. Portal.—Thanks—he +was sorry, but he must go and look after +Bramham—he had promised—etc.</p> + +<p>They all expostulated. And Rosalind Chard's eyes, +through the veils of her hair, besought him to look her +way. With all her heart she willed him to look her way. +But after he had finished excusing himself to Clem Portal, +he looked Mrs. Capron's way instead.</p> + +<p>Portal said that for two brass pins he would go himself +and fetch Bramham. De Grey said that Bramham +would probably be found dining peaceably at the Club, +with no thought of Carson. Abinger declared that he +had, in fact, heard Bramham arrange to go and dine with +a man from the Rand. Mrs. de Grey remarked that it was +a shame that poor Mr. Bramham, even now that his wife +was dead, could not go anywhere for fear of meeting +Mrs. Gruyère, who always came and stood near him +and began telling someone in a loud voice about his<span class="pagenum">[321]</span> +poor devoted wife living and dying like a saint at +home.</p> + +<p>"Just as though it wouldn't have been far more saintlike +to have come out here and minded her sinner, if he +<i>is</i> one, which I don't believe," said Mrs. Capron.</p> + +<p>"<i>De mortuis!</i>" broke in Clem, gently; and de Grey +said, laughing:</p> + +<p>"This country is full of sinners who keep their saints +at home—and I want to say that some of the saints have +a jolly good time. We saw two of them giving a dinner-party +at the "Café Royal" last time we were home; and +for saints, they did themselves remarkably well—didn't +they, Cora? And looked remarkably well too."</p> + +<p>"Yes: it's a becoming rôle—dressed by <i>Paquin</i>," +said Cora de Grey drily. <i>She</i> never looked well, and +had never had anything better than an Oxford Street +gown on her back: but her tongue was as dry as the Karoo, +and that helped her through a troublesome world.</p> + +<p>Abinger began to stammer softly, and everybody listened.</p> + +<p>"B-Bramham will be able to come forth at l-last. Mrs. +Gru' has a new nut to crack."</p> + +<p>He smiled sardonically and felt in all his pockets as +though about to produce the nut—but everyone knew that +this was merely a mannerism of his. Mrs. Portal looked +at him apprehensively, however, and for one moment +Poppy left off willing Eve Carson.</p> + +<p>"And it will t-take her all her time to do it," he finished +gently—even dreamily.</p> + +<p>"You frighten me!" said Clem. "What <i>can</i> you mean?"</p> + +<p>Poppy had the most need to be frightened, but she returned +to her occupation. It was now Mary Capron's +turn to intervene. Perhaps some of the "willing" had +gone astray, for she had certainly given Poppy all her +attention for the last five minutes.</p> + +<p>"Miss Chard," she cried suddenly. "I keep wonder<span class="pagenum">[322]</span>ing +and wondering where I have seen you before. <i>I know</i> +we have met."</p> + +<p>Her tone expressed extraordinary conviction, and everyone +gazed at Poppy with curiosity and even a faint hint +of suspicion—except Clem, whose eyes were full of warmth +and friendliness, and Carson, who pretended to be bored.</p> + +<p>But Poppy only laughed a little—and by that had her +will of Carson at last. He forgot to be bored, and gave +her a long, deep look. Unfortunately, she was obliged to +turn to Mrs. Capron at this moment to make an answer.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she said pensively, "we were rivals for a +king's affection in some past age——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Capron's proud, valuable look came over her, and +she stiffened as if she had received a dig with a hat-pin: +the men enjoyed themselves secretly. But no one was +prepared for the rest of the context.</p> + +<p>"—Of course, <i>I</i> was the successful rival or it would have +been I who remembered, and not you."</p> + +<p>This solution left Mrs. Capron cold-eyed and everyone +else laughing in some fashion; but there was a nervousness +in the air, and Clem vaguely wished that the gong +would sound; for long ere this the dusk had fallen deeply, +and little Cinthie was asleep in the hammock. It appeared +that Carson still held to his plan to depart, and chose +this moment to make his farewells in a small storm of +abuse and remonstrance. One person minded his decision +less than she might have done ten minutes before. The +eyes veiled behind mists of hair knew that their service +had not been in vain. The invisible hands, that had +dragged and strained at Eve Carson's will, slackened +their hold and rested awhile. Only: as he went down +the flight of shallow stone steps that led to the gate—a +tall, powerful figure in grey—a woman's spirit went with +him, entreating, demanding to go with him, not to Bramham's +home, but to the ends of life and death.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[323]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">NEARLY a week passed before Bramham again saw +Poppy, for private affairs unexpectedly engrossed +him. He made time, however, to write her a letter full +of excellent business advice. Later, he called at the Royal +with her papers, and found her writing letters in the library. +She had just come in, and a big, plumed, grey hat, which +matched her pale grey voile gown, lay on the table beside +her. Moreover, the flush of animation was on her cheek +and a shine in her eye.</p> + +<p>"Oh! come now; you look as if you had taken fresh +hold," said Bramham approvingly. "I've brought back +your papers, and thanks awfully for letting me look through +them. It is pretty clear that if you would only work, +you could be coining money as fast as you like. You've +caught on at home and everywhere else. Your books +have been the wonder of this country for months, and +descriptions of your plays have been cabled out to every +big centre—but, of course, you know all this."</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"And, of course, you know how your little book of +poems rang up the country from end to end! By Jove! +if the Durban people only knew who they had in the +midst of them——"</p> + +<p>She looked at him quickly, apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"It is more important than ever to have no one know. +Since I saw you and talked to you I have reconstructed +my plans entirely. Life seems to mean something to me<span class="pagenum">[324]</span> +again for the first time since—" She closed her eyes. +He did not speak, only looked at her with compassionate +eyes and waited.</p> + +<p>"I have made up my mind not to let everything go +to wreck," she began again presently. "I'm going to work +again—I <i>am</i> working." She threw back her head and +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" cried Bramham. "I can't tell you how +pleased I am to hear it. As a business man, I hated to +see such a chance of making money chucked to the winds—and +as a—well, as a plain man, I can't help applauding +when I see what it does to your looks."</p> + +<p>"You are certainly plain spoken," said she, smiling. +"But I want to tell you—I've taken a little house. I've +just been there with the painter, and it's all going to be +ready by the end of the week."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"Facing the bay—a funny little bungalow-cottage, with +an old-fashioned garden and a straggly path through sea-pinks +right down to nearly the edge of the waves."</p> + +<p>"It sounds altogether too romantic for Durban. I +expect these features exist only in your imagination. But +can you possibly mean Briony Cottage?"</p> + +<p>"But, of course."</p> + +<p>"Good—it <i>is</i> a dear little place—and with the bay right +before you, you'll hardly know you're down in the town."</p> + +<p>"I'm having a companion." She made a mouth, +and Bramham himself could not disguise a faint twist of +his smile.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Portal said it was necessary, if I didn't want +to be black-balled by the Durban ladies, so she found me +a Miss Allendner, a nice little old thing, who is lonely +and unattached, but eminently respectable and <i>genteel</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I know her—a weary sort of plucked turkey," +said the graceless Bramham, "with a nose that was once<span class="pagenum">[325]</span> +too much exposed to the winter winds and has never +recovered. Never mind, you'll need someone to keep off +the crowd as soon as they find out who you are——"</p> + +<p>"But they are not going to find out! Charlie, I see +that I must speak to you seriously about this. I believe +you think my not wanting to be known is affectation; +it is nothing of the kind. It is <i>most imperative</i> that my +identity should be kept secret. I must tell you the reason +at last—I am working now for money to fight out a case +in the Law Courts before anyone in Africa knows who I +am. Under my own name no one will recognise me or be +particularly interested; but, of course, pleading as <i>Eve +Destiny</i> would be another matter. I couldn't keep that +quiet."</p> + +<p>"A law case! Great— Well, Rosalind," he said +ironically, "you certainly do spring some surprises on +me. Is it about your plays? Why can't you let me +manage it for you? But what kind of case can it be?"</p> + +<p>"A divorce case—or, rather, I think a nullity case is +what it would be called."</p> + +<p>"A <i>what</i>?" Bramham could say no more.</p> + +<p>"Don't look at me like that, best of friends ... I +know, I know, you are beginning to think I am not worth +your friendship ... that I don't seem to understand +even the first principles of friendship—honesty and candour!... +Try and have patience with me, Charlie.... +Perhaps I <i>ought</i> to have told you before ... but +I've never told a single soul ... in fact, I have always +refused to consider that I am married. It is a long story, +and includes part of my childhood. The man who adopted +me and brought me up in an old farmhouse in the Transvaal +allowed me to go through a marriage ceremony with +him without my knowing what I was doing ... an old +French priest married us ... he couldn't speak a word +of English ... only Kaffir ... and he married us in<span class="pagenum">[326]</span> +French, which I could not understand at that time. Afterwards, +my life went on as usual, and for years I continued +to look upon the man simply as my guardian. At last, +here in Durban, when I was just eighteen, he suddenly +sprang the story upon me, and claimed me for his wife. +I was horrified, revolted ... my liking for him, which +arose entirely from gratitude, turned to detestation on +hearing it.... I believed myself to have been merely +trapped. In any case, whatever I might have felt for +him didn't matter then. It was too late. I belonged to +... the man you know I belong to ... I didn't know +what to do at first. There were terrible circumstances +in connection with ... the man I love ... which made +me think sometimes that I could never meet him again +... I would just keep the soul he had waked in me, and +live for work and Fame. But the man I was married to +wanted to keep me to my bond ... and then suddenly +he found out ... something ... I don't quite know +how it came to pass, but he <i>knew</i> ... I was obliged to +fly from his house half clad.... It was <i>then</i> I found +refuge with Sophie Cornell."</p> + +<p>"And these things all happened here? Do you mean +to tell me that blackguard was some Durban fellow?"</p> + +<p>"He did live here at that time."</p> + +<p>"And now?"</p> + +<p>"He appears to be here still ... I saw him the other +day. He behaved to me as though I were really Miss +Chard ... but I know him. He will fight tooth and +nail ... I don't suppose he cares about me in the least, +but he will lie his soul away, I believe, and spend his last +penny for revenge."</p> + +<p>"Well, upon my soul! I can't think who the fellow +can be!" said Bramham artlessly, and Poppy could not +refrain from smiling.</p> + +<p>"I don't think there would be any good in telling you,<span class="pagenum">[327]</span> +Charlie. You may know him ... in fact, you are +sure to, in a small place like this ... and it would only +make things difficult for you."</p> + +<p>Bramham was plainly vexed that she did not confide +in him, but she was perfectly well aware that he knew +Abinger intimately, and fearing that something might +leak out and spoil her plans, she decided not to tell him.</p> + +<p>"You should have tackled the thing at home," said +Bramham thoughtfully. "They'd have fixed you up in +no time there, I believe."</p> + +<p>"No, I had advice about it, and was told that as the +ceremony had taken place in the Transvaal, and the man +is out here, I must go to the Rand Courts ... and, +by the way, I must tell you—I wrote to the mission monastery +which the old priest belonged to and made inquiries. +They wrote back that old Father Eugène was dead, but +that they had already gone into the matter on behalf +of <i>my husband</i>, who had made representations to them. +That they could only inform me that the ceremony performed +by the Father was absolutely valid, and they were +prepared to uphold it in every way. They added that +they were well aware that it was my intention to try and +disprove the marriage and for my own purposes escape +from my sacred bond, but that I must not expect any +assistance from them in my immoral purpose.... So, +you see, I have them to fight as well. Another thing is, +that the only other witness to the ceremony was a woman +who would swear her soul away at the bidding of the man +who calls himself my husband."</p> + +<p>"By Jove! It looks as if you're up against a tough +proposition, as they say in America!" was Bramham's +verdict at last. "But you'll pull through, I'm certain, +and you've pluck enough. As for money—well, you +know that I am not poor——"</p> + +<p>He stopped, staring at her pale face.<span class="pagenum">[328]</span></p> + +<p>"Don't ever offer to lend me money," she said fiercely +rudely.</p> + +<p>"Why, you let me lend you some before! And were +unusual enough to pay it back." Smiling broadly, he +added: "I never had such a thing happen to me before!" +But she would not smile. The subject seemed an unfortunate +one, for she did not regain her joyous serenity +during the rest of the interview.</p> + +<p>He went home wrapped in cogitation, turning over in +his mind the name of every man in the place on the chance +of its being the name of the culprit. Abinger's name, +amongst others, certainly came up for consideration, but +was instantly dismissed as an impossibility, for he had +plainly given everyone to understand that—after the +time of his disappearance from the Rand, until his readvent +in Durban on the day Bramham had met him +coming off the Mail-boat—he had been travelling abroad, +and there was no reason to disbelieve this statement. +Moreover, Bramham was aware of other facts in Abinger's +private life which made it seem absolutely impossible that +he could be the villain of Rosalind Chard's tale.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The day Poppy moved to her new home, Clem Portal +was the first person to visit her and wish her luck and +happiness there.</p> + +<p>They took tea in the largest room in the house, which +was to be Poppy's working-room and study. It was long +and low, with two bay-windows, and the walls had been +distempered in pale soft grey. The floor was dark and +polished, and the only strong note of colour in the room +a rose-red Persian rug before the quaint fireplace. The +chintzes Poppy had come upon with great joy in one +of the local shops: ivory-white with green ivy leaves scattered +over them—a great relief from the everlasting pink<span class="pagenum">[329]</span> +roses of the usual chintz. The grey walls were guileless +of pictures, except for the faithful blue <i>Hope</i> which overhung +the fireplace above vases full of tall fronds of maidenhair-fern, +and some full-length posters of the Beardsley +school in black-and-white wash. Poppy's writing-table +was in one window, and on the wall where she could always +see it while at work was a water-colour of a little boy +standing in a field of corn and poppies. The tea-table +was in the other window. She and Clem sat looking +at the blue bay flapping and rippling under the afternoon +sunlight, with the long bluff ridge sleeping sullenly +beyond.</p> + +<p>"You've found the sweetest place in Durban," said +Clem. "Whenever I feel like a mealie—a <i>green</i> mealie—which, +alas! is very often, I shall sneak down here to +'simplify, simplify.' While you work I'll sit in the sun +in the Yogi attitude and triumphantly contemplate +eternity and jelly-fish."</p> + +<p>Later, she said:</p> + +<p>"Mary Capron wanted to come too, but I told her I +must have you all to myself to-day. I'm afraid she was +rather hurt, but ... I was not sure whether you liked +her, Poppy. I do hope you are going to, dear, for I love +her, and we shall be a triangle with sore corners, if you +<i>don't</i>."</p> + +<p>Poppy was dreaming with her tea-cup in her lap, and +the glitter of the bay in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Do you think three women ever get on well together?" +she asked evasively. "There is always one out."</p> + +<p>Clem was quick to see the meaning of this. A look of +disappointment came over her gay, gentle face.</p> + +<p>"Mary and I have been friends for years," she said. +"She is the only woman I have never had any inspiration +about; but though I am blinded by her beauty, I know her +to be good and true. It would be a terribly disloyal thing<span class="pagenum">[330]</span> +if I deserted her for you ... what am I to do if you +two don't like each other?"</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i> love Mrs. Capron, Clem, she won't need to +bother about the liking of a woman like me."</p> + +<p>"She likes <i>you</i>, however. And I'm sure when you get +to know her better, you'll like her.... I daresay when +two beautiful women first meet, a feeling of antagonism is +natural. But <i>you</i> should be above that, Poppy. And +poor Mary is a subject for pity rather than dislike—any +woman is who has drawn blank in the big lottery. I +daresay you know <i>that</i> about her—most people do."</p> + +<p>"I have gathered that she is not very happily married," +said Poppy.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen him?"</p> + +<p>"I believe the first time I ever saw you, Clem, he was +with you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, I remember now—and we talked of you, the +girl with the Burne-Jones eyes." Most women would +have made this an easy stepping-stone into the flowing +brook of confidences, and found out where Poppy was +going to on that sunny day, and where she had been all +the long years since; but Clem Portal had an instinct +about questions that hurt. Her husband often said of +her:</p> + +<p>"She is that lovely thing—a close woman!" Now, the +peculiarity of a close woman is that she neither probes +into the dark deeps of others, nor allows herself to be +probed.</p> + +<p>"Nick Capron was not <i>quite</i> impossible in those days," +she continued; "but now a good place for him would be +under the débris heaps outside de Beers'. When she first +met him he was a romantic character on the down-grade. +Had been all over the world and gone through every kind +of adventure; lost a fortune at Monte-Carlo on a system +of his own for breaking the bank; written a book (or<span class="pagenum">[331]</span> +more probably got it written for him) about his adventures +as a cowboy in Texas; and made quite a name for +himself as a scout in the war between Chili and Peru. +Amongst other things he has an intimate knowledge of +torpedoes and is supposed to have been the author of the +plan that sent the Chilian transport, the <i>Loa</i>, to the bottom +by a torpedo launched from an apparently harmless fruit-boat. +At any rate, he was seen on the fruit-boat, and +when he came to Africa shortly afterwards, they said it +was to escape the vengeance of the Chilians. Mary, who +was on a visit to this country, met him at the Cape when +everyone was talking about him. Unfortunately, when +women hear sparkling things about a man, they do not +always think to inquire about the sparkling things he +drinks—and how much <i>that</i> has to do with the matter. +She fell in love with him, or his reputation, and they were +married in a great whirl of romantic emotion. Well, +you know what happens to people who engage in +whirling?"</p> + +<p>Poppy looked up, anxious to learn, and Clem continued +with the air of an oracle of Thebes:</p> + +<p>"After a time they find themselves sitting still on the +ground, very sick. That is Mary's position. She sits +flat on the ground and surveys a world that makes her +feel sick. Nick Capron, however, continues to whirl."</p> + +<p>"She must have great courage to face the situation," said +Poppy sincerely.</p> + +<p>"She has more than courage," said Clem, alight with +loyal enthusiasm. "She is one in a thousand. You +know enough of Africa, I daresay, Poppy, to know that +life out here is just one huge temptation to a beautiful +unhappily-married woman. The place teems with men—good, +bad, and indifferent, but all interesting (unless +drink is sweeping them down hill too fast), and they all +want to be kind to her. Many of them are splendid<span class="pagenum">[332]</span> +fellows. But the best of men are half-devil, half-child, +and nothing more, where a beautiful woman is concerned. +You know that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>What Poppy <i>did</i> know was that Clem had far greater +knowledge of the world of men and women than she +had, and she was only too interested to sit and imbibe +wisdom. She frankly said so.</p> + +<p>"I thoroughly understand these things," Clem replied +without pride. "Sinners can never take me by surprise, +whatever they do. Perhaps it is because I might easily +have been a devil of the deepest dye myself, but for luck—Billy +is my luck."</p> + +<p>This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy +could not refrain from a trill of laughter.</p> + +<p>"I think you are one of those who paint themselves +black to be <i>en suite</i> with the people you like, Clemmie," +she said; "but you're not extraordinarily clever as an +artist."</p> + +<p>"Not so clever as <i>you'll</i> have to be when Mrs. Gruyère +comes round to have her miniature done," said Clem +maliciously. "I must think about going, darling. Mary +is coming to fetch me in her carriage and she will be here +in a minute or two now. Before I go, I want you to promise +me to steal away whenever you can. If you sit too +much over work you will fall asleep, and have to be put +in the poppy-garden instead of flaunting and flaming in +the sunshine and being a joy to behold. What a fascinating +flower it is! Both your names are fascinating ... +<i>Eve Destiny!</i> ... what could have prompted it, I +wonder?"</p> + +<p>"Simply an idea. I am a child of destiny, I always +think—at least, the old blind hag seems to have been at +some pains to fling me about from pillar to post. Eve—" +She turned away, knowing that she could not mention +that name without giving some sign of the tumult it<span class="pagenum">[333]</span> +roused within her. "Eve—was the most primitive person +I could think of" (the lie did not come very glibly), "and +<i>I</i> am primitive. If I were my real self I should be running +loose in the woods somewhere with a wild-cat's skin round +me."</p> + +<p>"Well, you wouldn't run alone for long, that's very +certain," laughed Clem.</p> + +<p>"No, I should want my mate wherever and whatever +I was"—Clem laughed again at her frankness, but she +went on dreamfully—"a Bedouin, or a shaggy Thibetan +on the roof of the world, or a 'cassowary on the plains +of Timbuctoo.' Oh, Clem! the sound of the wind in +forest trees—the sea—the desert with an unknown horizon, +are better to me than all the cities and civilisation in the +world—yet here I sit!" She threw out her hands and +laughed joylessly.</p> + +<p>"You ought to marry an explorer—or a hunter of big +game," said Clem thoughtfully, and got up and looked +out of the window. "Here comes one in the carriage with +Mary. But he is an Irishman, so I wouldn't advise you to +look <i>his</i> way.... An Irishman should never be given +more than a Charles Wyndhamesque part on the stage of +any woman's life ... a person to love, but not to be in +love with...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clem! You are Irish yourself——"</p> + +<p>Clem did not turn round. She went on talking out of +the window and watching the approaching carriage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I love everyone and everything from that +sad green land ... the very name of Ireland sends a +ray of joy right through me ... and its dear blue-eyed, +grey-eyed people! Trust an Irish-woman, Poppy, when +she is true-bred ... but never fall in love with an Irishman +... there is no fixity of tenure ... he will give +you his hand with his heart in it ... but when you come +to look there for comfort, you will find a bare knife for<span class="pagenum">[334]</span> +your breast ... unstable as water ... too loving of +love ... too understanding of another's heart's desire +... too quick to grant, too quick to take away ... +the tale of their lips changing with the moon's changes—even +with the weather.... Hullo, Mary! Here I +am.... How do you do, Karri?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Capron's carriage had pulled up before Poppy's +little side-gate, which gave on to the embankment. She +was gowned in black, a daring rose-red hat upon her lovely +hair, and by her side was Evelyn Carson. She waved at +the two women in the window, but did not leave the +carriage. Carson came instead, making a few strides of +the little straggly, sea-shelled path.</p> + +<p>"We've come to drag Mrs. Portal away," he said to +Poppy, after shaking hands through the window, "having +just met her husband taking home two of the hungriest-looking +ruffians you ever saw."</p> + +<p>Clem gave a cry of woe and began to pin on her hat.</p> + +<p>"The wretch! I thought he was going to dine at the +Club."</p> + +<p>"He gave us strict orders to send you home at once," +laughed Carson, "so Mrs. Capron won't come in."</p> + +<p>"Who are the men?" demanded Clem.</p> + +<p>"Two brutes just arrived by to-day's boat, with a +sea-edge to their appetites. I should say that nothing +short of a ten-course banquet would appease them."</p> + +<p>Clem's groans were terrible.</p> + +<p>"Cook will have prepared half a chicken's wing for +me. She always starves me when I'm alone. You come +back with me," she commanded Carson. "If you talk +beautifully to them they won't notice the lightness of the +<i>menu</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I'd rather come when you are prepared," +said the graceless Carson. "I'm hungry, too. When +you've gone I'm going to ask Miss Chard for a cup of tea."<span class="pagenum">[335]</span> +Smiling, he plucked a sea-pink and stuck it in his coat. +They were in the garden now on the way to the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Deserter! Well, Mary, <i>you'll</i> have to come and let +them feed upon your damask cheek—something has got +to be done."</p> + +<p>Poppy exchanged greetings with Mrs. Capron, and presently +the two women drove away, leaving her and Carson +standing there with the gleam of the sunlit bay in their +eyes. Turning, she found him staring in an odd way at +her hair, which she was wearing piled into a crown, with +the usual fronds falling softly down. Her lids drooped +for a moment under his strange eyes, but her voice was +perfectly even and conventional as she asked if he would +really care for tea.</p> + +<p>"I should, indeed—and to come into the restful grey +room I got a glimpse of through the window. It reminded +me of a cool, cloudy day in the middle of summer."</p> + +<p>Pleasure at his approval brought a faint wave of colour +into the face she was determined to mask of all expression. +She led the way indoors, he following, his eyes travelling +swiftly from the crowned head she carried with so brave +an air on her long throat, down the little straight back +that was short like the classical women's, giving fine sweeping +length from waist to heel.</p> + +<p>She rang for fresh tea and went to the tea-table. Carson +stood about the room, seeming to fill it.</p> + +<p>"If you are fond of grey, we have a taste in common," +he said, and she gave him a quick, upward glance. The +face which Africa's sun had branded her own looked +extraordinarily dark above the light-grey of his clothes +and the little pink flower stuck in his coat. It seemed to +her that no woman had ever loved so debonair a man as +this Irishman with his careless eyes and rustling voice.</p> + +<p>"I love <i>green</i> best of all colours," she answered steadily; +"but one gets tired of green walls now that they are<span class="pagenum">[336]</span> +fashionable and everyone has them—" her voice broke off +suddenly. In his looming about the room he had stopped +dead before <i>Hope</i> over the mantelpiece. The cup Poppy +held rattled in its saucer. He presently asked who the +picture was by, and where he, too, could get a copy of +it.</p> + +<p>"I like it," he said. "It seems to me in a vague way +that I know that picture well, yet I don't believe I have +ever seen it before ... strange...!" He stared at it +again, and she made no response. For the moment she +was back in a little upper chamber in Westminster.</p> + +<p>He came presently over to the tea-table, and was about +to sit down when another picture caught his eye—the +water-colour of the little child among the poppies and +corn. He stepped before it and stayed looking for a long +time. At last he said, laughing constrainedly:</p> + +<p>"You will think I am mad ... but I imagine I know +<i>that</i> picture too ... that little chap is extraordinarily +like someone I know ... I can't think who ... but +I'm certain ... is it some of your work, Miss +Chard?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her with keen inquiry, but his glance +changed to one of astonishment. Her eyes were closed +and she was pale as a primrose; her hands had fallen to her +sides.</p> + +<p>A moment afterwards she recovered herself and was +handing him a cup of tea with some inconsequent remark. +She had made absolutely no response to his questions +about either picture, and he thought the fact rather +remarkable.</p> + +<p>Afterwards they talked and he forgot surprise (for the +time being) in listening to the shy graces of thought to +which she gave utterance and watching her inexpressibly +charming delicacies of manner. When he left her the +magic of her was on him; she had bound him with the spell<span class="pagenum">[337]</span> +of his own country; but he did not know it. If he <i>had</i> +known it he would have repudiated it with all his strength, +for already he was a bound man.</p> + +<p>"His honour rooted in dishonour stood."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[338]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">THE women of Durban received Poppy into their midst +with suspicion and disfavour, which they carefully +veiled because they could find out absolutely nothing, +damning or otherwise, about her, and also because Mrs. +Portal's introductions were as good as a certificate of +birth, marriage, and death, and to be questioned as little; +and Mrs. Portal's position was such that no woman dared +assail her for exercising her privileges. What they could +do, however, was narrow their eyes, sharpen their claws, +and lie in wait, and this they did with a patience and zest +worthy of their species.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, those who sought Poppy might sometimes +find her at the house of Mrs. Portal; but not as often as +she wished, for work chained her almost perpetually, and +she was working against time. She was straining every +nerve to have her work finished and paid for, and her law +case quietly settled in Johannesburg, before the time +came for Carson to set out for his five years' exile in Borapota. +She was working for freedom and bondage and +life—for, indeed, all that life had to offer her now was +the word of a man bidding her to follow him into bondage. +It was hard on her that while she worked she must +lose time and opportunities of meeting him and winding +more spells to bind him. But—she had grown used to +fighting her battles against odds. So she gave up six +solid hours of daylight and two of the night to hard labour; +and she made a rule never to count the hours, which were<span class="pagenum">[339]</span> +many, that were spent at her desk <i>dreaming</i>. For no +writer does work of any consequence without dreaming, +even if the dream is not always of work.</p> + +<p>Miss Allendner might have found life a dull affair in +Briony Cottage had she not been of that domesticated +type which finds satisfaction and pleasure in managing a +household and ordering good meals. Under her rule the +little cottage became a well-ordered, comfortable home, +where things ran on oiled wheels, and peace and contentment +reigned. No one and nothing bothered Poppy, +and the long, bright hours of day were hers to work in +uninterruptedly. Such visitors as called, and some did +call, if only out of curiosity, were received by Miss Allendner, +and regaled with dainty teas and mysteriously +impressive statements as to Miss Chard's <i>work</i> which unfortunately +kept her so busy that she could see no one—<i>at +present</i>. The companion had of necessity been let into +the secret of her employer's work and identity, for Poppy +was a careless creature with letters and papers, and it +irked her to have to exercise caution with an intimate +member of her household. Poor Miss Allendner almost +exploded with the greatness and importance of the information. +But she was a faithful and trustworthy soul, +and happy for the first time in all her needy, half-rationed +life.</p> + +<p>If Poppy had been a bread-and-butter woman she might +have been happy, too, in some fashion, within the trim, +well-ordered confines of comfortable mediocrity. But it +was not there that her desire lay. She had tasted of the +wine and fruit of life—Love, and wanderings in far lands, +and vagabondage. Bread-and-butter could never satisfy +her again.</p> + +<p>Work was wine, too. She felt the fire of it circling in +her veins, even when wearied out she flung her books +and pencils from her and ran out to the sea. And play<span class="pagenum">[340]</span> +was wine—when on some lovely evening she arrayed herself +amazingly, took rickshaw and Miss Allendner and +ascended the wide, sloping road that led to Clem Portal's +home on the Berea.</p> + +<p>The Portals' social circle varied, because it was constantly +being enlarged or decreased by the comings and +goings of travellers and visitors; for, besides knowing +everyone worth knowing in South Africa, they could +beckon friends and acquaintances from the four poles. +Add to this that they were both charming, witty, cultivated +people, with the true Irish love for bestowing hospitality +and the true Irish grace in bestowing it, and it +will be easily understood that all delightful and interesting +people who came to South Africa sought them as the +bee seeks clover.</p> + +<p>As a background to new faces could always be found +those of fixed and steadfast friends—Mrs. Capron's—the +de Greys'—the Laces'. Always Carson, when he came to +Natal; and Abinger, because he was both interesting and +something of a crony of Bill Portal's.</p> + +<p>A sprinkling of Durban people came and went.</p> + +<p>Evening is a pleasant time in Natal, and the Portals' +moonlit gardens and lawns and long verandahs lent themselves +agreeably to strolling people, tired of the clang and +glare of the day. With someone always at the piano to +sprinkle the still air with melody, it was pleasant to saunter, +the dew in your hair and all the sounds of the night-things +about you, while you talked with someone whose interest +interested you, or gossiped of life as it could, or would, +or might be, or of "Home," meaning England, which +through the glamour of an African night seems the moon +of all men's Desire. There are more intense sudden joys +in Life than these, but few more poignantly sweet.</p> + +<p>To be Mrs. Portal's friend was to share her friends, +to know them, to gossip with them, to criticise and be in<span class="pagenum">[341]</span> +turn criticised by them. Sport, books, music, pictures, +people—all that goes to the making of life worth the living, +came under discussion; and in Africa, where everyone +is using every sense of mind and body, living and feeling +every moment of life, there are always new things to be +said on these subjects—or perhaps only things that are +so many centuries old that they sound new. Truth, after +all, is older than the everlasting hills.</p> + +<p>Naturally, there was never much grouping. General +conversation has more than a liability to platitude, or, +at best, to flippancy, and the finest talking is never done +in groups, but <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Indeed, it is on record by a +thinker of some importance that the best things men +say are said to women who probably don't understand +them:</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:21em"> +<p>"To the women who didn't know why<br /> +(And now we know they could never know why)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And did not understand."</span></p> +</div> + +<p>That is as may be. Remains the fact that the best +talkers (apart, of course, from orators, politicians, and professional +diners-out) do not talk for a crowd, and the most +potent phrases and epigrams—when epigrams are not +<i>vieux jeu</i>—are made for one, or at the most, two listeners.</p> + +<p>Poppy's ears took in many pretty and many witty +things.</p> + +<p>Bill Portal was a blithe soul, overflowing with gay +parables and maxims for the unwise, whom he claimed +to be the salt of the earth.</p> + +<p>Abinger was epigrammatic, sardonic, and satanic, and +he never asked for more than one listener—a woman +for preference, as she would certainly repeat what he said—and +there were other reasons. But the women of the +Portals' circle recognised a serpent when they met him, +however leafy the garden, and always preferred to listen +to his wisdom in twos and threes. With Poppy he never<span class="pagenum">[342]</span> +encompassed any talk at all, unless she felt Clem strong +at her back. He smiled at this: the smile of the waiting +man to whom everything cometh at last.</p> + +<p>Nick Capron never graced the assemblies with his handsome +dissipated presence. His lust was for poker and his +fellow-men—which meant the Club and small hours. He +was never even known to fetch his wife. But many a man +was pleased and honoured to do his duty for him. Sometimes +she stayed all night with her friend Clem. Sometimes +Carson took her home in a rickshaw.</p> + +<p>The women with attentive husbands pitied her amongst +themselves; but she gave no sign of discontent, and they +never ventured to offer sympathy. Invariably she looked +wonderfully beautiful—and, therefore, it was not necessary +for her to exert herself to much conversation. Since +Poppy's soft thrush-note had first been heard in Clem +Portal's verandah, Mrs. Capron's laugh had been silent: +though it was a pretty laugh, too. But her smile was as +alluring as the sound of a silvery brooklet, and sometimes +the sympathetic wives trembled when they saw their +husbands lingering near her—not to talk, but to look. +She sat so fearlessly under bright light, and looked so +flawlessly good. It was, indeed, a comfort to remember +that she was as good as she looked, or she would not be +Mrs. Portal's closest friend. It was remembered, too, +that she had never tried to beguile any woman's man +away from her.</p> + +<p>When one wife after another had ceased to tremble for +her man, realising that this Circe did not use her toils, +they rewarded her by saying amongst themselves that it +must be sad to be so <i>cold</i>. This warmed the coldest of +them—with a glow of self-satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Mary Capron did not bother about any of them. The +riddle she sought to read was Rosalind Chard. Always +she watched Poppy, and pondered where she had seen her<span class="pagenum">[343]</span> +before. Poppy suspected this, but it did not agitate her. +She had prepared another soft-answer-warranted-not-to-turn-away-wrath +if Mary Capron should attack her in the +open again. But Mary Capron, if she was not witty, +was wise. She was no fencer, and had no intention of +encountering Miss Chard's foil with the button off. She +preferred to choose her own weapon, time, and place, and +to pursue the little duel in her own fashion. She was +merely "getting her hand in" when she said to Abinger, +looking dreamily at Poppy the while:</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of a Sphinx without a secret?"</p> + +<p>"It's what Wilde taxed the modern society woman +with being, I believe," he answered idly; he was easily +one of the best-read men in Africa. "But it would not +apply out here."</p> + +<p>"No," she said dreamily. "Everyone has a secret in +this country, haven't they? even girls."</p> + +<p>At another time she and Carson were near when Poppy, +with her arm in Clem's, presented Luce Abinger with a +suave answer, so heavily encrusted with salt, that even +his seasoned tongue went dry. However, his impertinence +had warranted punishment, so he bore it as best he might. +And Clem's tact oiled the troubled waters.</p> + +<p>But Mary Capron said something to Carson that kept +him awake that night.</p> + +<p>"She's <i>quite</i> clever, isn't she? Only it's a pity she has +to begin at the beginning for herself."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Carson had scarcely been struck by Miss Chard's <i>cleverness</i>—considering +that on both his first and second meeting +with her she had had odd lapses of something very like +<i>gaucherie</i>. But he thought her interesting, arresting, +and beautiful. He knew of no reason why he should +think of her at all; but he sometimes found her face and<span class="pagenum">[344]</span> +her voice amongst his thoughts and considered the fact +a curious and rather annoying thing.</p> + +<p>And the sight and sound of her had an extraordinary +power at times to rouse to active, vivid life, a dream of +the past that was old grief and pain.</p> + +<p>Circumstance sometimes threw them together in the +verandahs or out under the Southern-Cross flaming above +the garden, and Poppy's low laugh might be heard mingling +with his voice; but she did not always laugh because she +was amused.</p> + +<p>Carson's silver tongue could take on an amazingly sharp +edge. Being an Irishman, he was a law unto himself, +with a fine taste for unconventionality in other people. +But if he knew South Africa from one end to the other, +he also knew men and cities, and the rules that govern +women all the world over. Gradually he had become to +be aware that Miss Chard outraged the most important of +these by being both unclassifiable and mysterious. Even +in what calls itself society in South Africa, women and their +belongings and connections must be above-board and open +to inspection. An unattached woman has got to prove +her right to social status there, as elsewhere. If she cannot, +she must prepare to take the consequences—and the +least unpleasant of these is to have the worst believed of +her.</p> + +<p>Of course, Rosalind Chard was backed by Mrs. Portal, +but that did not prevent tongues from wagging.</p> + +<p>Carson took it upon himself to let Miss Chard know +something of these things whenever Fate ordained that +he and she should walk under the stars together.</p> + +<p>It was wittily done, by the delicate instrumentality of +chosen implication, and it never missed the mark: the +arrow quivered in Poppy every time. Hot and cold, +with sudden rages and terrors, she would turn on him +only to find the strange eyes so pleasantly indifferent;<span class="pagenum">[345]</span> +his expression so guileless that it was hard to suspect him +of malicious intent. Her refuge was a little laugh. Carson +told himself sardonically that the game amused him. +It may have done so. Doubtless Indians were amused +when they threw barbs at their staked victims. But as +a fact, something more than an Indian sense of humour +would have been appeased in him, if, instead of the brave +smile that flickered across his victim's face, or the little +dry retort that her lips gave out even while they quivered, +she had answered him haughtily with the pride of race or +family or position—the pride of <i>anything with a root to it</i>. +That was the important point: what were the roots of +Rosalind Chard? That she had pride was plain enough—the +fine pride of courage; the pride of a slim, strong +young tree that stands firm in winds that tear and beat, +flaunting a brave green pennon.</p> + +<p>But what was the name of the tree? In what strange +garden had it first grown? Was it of a garden at all? +Or a highway? Whence came the suggestion that it had +bloomed in the desert?</p> + +<p>Carson scarcely realised that he fiercely desired information +on these matters. He supposed it to be curiosity +about a pretty and interesting girl—pure curiosity. He +had heard things said, a word dropped here and there—mostly +by women, and he knew that harsh winds had +begun to blow round the young slim tree with the brave +green pennon.</p> + +<p>So out of <i>pure curiosity</i> he tormented her when opportunity +arose; and she—gave him witty, gentle little restrained +answers, with her hand against her heart when +the shadows allowed. Or if she could touch a tree she had +greater strength to bear her torment and to laugh more +easily.</p> + +<p>Of all the rest she was careless. Let them think what +they would—Clem was her friend.<span class="pagenum">[346]</span></p> + +<p>If her personality and appearance had been less fascinating, +probably the gossip about her mysterious appearance +in Durban without friends or connections, or a known +home, would have died a natural death. But with her +first coming to Clem's house, her loveliness seemed to have +grown. In the heat of a room there was a dewiness about +her that began in her eyes, and was wonderfully refreshing +to the jaded spirit. In the chill of the late evening she +seemed to glow with a warmth that was cheering to the +coldest heart. Unfortunately, she sometimes forgot to +be conventional and ordinary in little social matters. +Clem never took notice of such trivialities, but Mrs. Capron +and the other women would raise delicate eyebrows and +even the men exchange inscrutable glances.</p> + +<p>One day Mrs. Capron said:</p> + +<p>"Clem, didn't you tell me that Miss Chard was a +Cheltenham College girl?" in an incredulous voice. (It is +not always convenient to be faced with your statements +made at a pinch.)</p> + +<p>"Mary," was the answer, after a little pause, "that girl +has got a wound that bleeds inwardly, and has spent her +life trying to hide it from the world. She has had no time +to notice the little conventionalities and banalities that +count with us."</p> + +<p>"One wonders sometimes if she ever had the opportunity—that +is all. She walked into the dining-room ahead of +Lady Mostyn and everybody else last night——"</p> + +<p>Clem winced; then, remembering Lady Mostyn's outraged +face, laughed.</p> + +<p>"Well, one hardly picks up those things at school, +<i>chérie</i>—and she may have been on a desert island ever +since."</p> + +<p>"That would be an interesting reason for her bad manners, +darling, but——"</p> + +<p>"I won't admit that they are bad—only unusual; and,<span class="pagenum">[347]</span> +besides, she has the excuse of genius. If I might only tell +you what I know of her work——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Miniatures?</i>" asked Mrs. Capron wickedly.</p> + +<p>"No: lovey-dovey darling—don't tease and don't be +uncharitable—you are much too beautiful to be a cat. +Some day that girl will burst forth upon us all in the glory +of fame."</p> + +<p>"Clem, you are infatuated."</p> + +<p>"You'll see," said Clem. "Only be patient and kind—I +must really go and see what cook has for lunch. If +she gives us curried mutton once more and stewed guavas +and custard, Billy will calmly proceed to bust."</p> + +<p>She escaped.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[348]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">MRS. PORTAL knew that Poppy was working as for +her life, but she did not know why. Only, sometimes, +out of the deep love and sympathy she felt for the +girl, she longed to know the truth. The truth was far even +from her far-seeing eyes.</p> + +<p>She believed that there must be a man somewhere in +the world whom Poppy loved, for well she knew that +such a wound as Poppy hid could only have been dealt +by a man's unerring hand—and none but a loved hand +could strike so deep! With all the mystical-religious, +loving side of her nature, Clem prayed that life might +yet do well by her friend and give her her heart's desire; +but hope did not rise very high. She was fond of quoting +that saying:</p> + +<p>"The things that are really for thee gravitate to thee. +Everything that belongs to thee for aid or comfort shall +surely come home through open or winding passages. Every +friend whom not thy fantastic will but the great and tender +heart in thee craveth, shall lock thee in his embrace."</p> + +<p>—and she would have liked to believe it, but Life had +taught her differently. In the meantime, in so far as she +was able, she watched faithfully and anxiously over Poppy's +destiny, dragging her from her desk when the lilac eyes +grew heavy and the tinted face too pale for health; making +up gay little parties to drive or walk or go to the theatre, +arranging merry dinners and excursions—anything that<span class="pagenum">[349]</span> +would distract, and presently bring back vivacity and +strength, and renew courage.</p> + +<p>If it had not been for these things it is very certain +that Poppy, with all her resolution and purpose, must +have broken down from overwork and the strain of seeing +the man she loved turn his eyes from her perpetually. +For there were desperate hours when she obliged herself +to face the fact that Evelyn Carson gave no sign of any +feeling for her but a certain polite curiosity. In the +black, despairing days that never fail to come to highly-strung, +temperamental people, she bitterly derided herself, +her work, her cause, asking what it was all for?</p> + +<p>To win freedom from Luce Abinger and cast herself +into the arms of Eve Carson? But were his arms open +to her? Plainly not. Plainly here was another of the +"little songs they sing in hell"—of the woman who loves, +but is beloved not by the beloved.</p> + +<p>Oh! she had her black and desperate days—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"And the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>But afterwards <i>Hope</i> played for her on the one brave +string—and she took up her pen and worked on.</p> + +<p>On a stormy, sullen day towards the end of April she +wrote the concluding words of the two things she had +been working on at the same time—a play and a novel. +They contained the best work she had ever done, for +though they were begun for the love of a man, they were +gone forward with, for the love of her craft, and, as all +good craftsmen know, it is only in such spirit that the best +work is achieved. All that remained to do was to go over +and through the manuscripts once more, when they had been +typed, to polish here and re-phrase there; and just to linger +over all for a day in sheer delight and surprise. She was not +peculiar among writers, in that, apart from the plan and +construction of a thing, she never remembered from day<span class="pagenum">[350]</span> +to day what she had written, and always felt the greatest +surprise and freshness in re-reading passages which had +sped from her mind to paper in inspired moments, and +which, if not written at those moments, would have been +lost for ever.</p> + +<p>Schopenhauer was not the only person in the world to +discover that a beautiful thought is like a beautiful woman. +If you want to keep the one always you must tie her to +you by marriage, if the other, you must tie it to you with +pen and paper or it will leave you and never return.</p> + +<p>On that morning when she made her finished work into +two tall piles of exercise-books before her on her table, +the measure of content was hers that is felt by even the +heaviest-hearted when they look upon good work done.</p> + +<p>She laid her head on the books and tears fell softly +down, and her heart sang a little song that was pure thankfulness +and praise for the goodness of God.</p> + +<p>And while she sat, there came a little tap at the door.</p> + +<p>Miss Allendner entered with a letter, and Poppy, taking +it from her, saw that it was addressed in the small, strong +writing she had not seen for years, but which she instantly +recognised as Luce Abinger's. She laid it down mechanically +on the table.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Abinger brought it himself," said Miss Allendner, +"and would not leave it until he heard that you were +here and would receive it at once. He said it was <i>very</i> +important."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Poppy quietly, and sat staring at +the letter long after her companion had left the room.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, she laid her head on the books again, but +wearily now, and the tears of her eyes were dried up and +so was the little chant of praise in her heart. She was +afraid—afraid of the letter; of the look she had seen in +Luce Abinger's eyes of late—the old, hateful look—and of +the fight before her. Now that she had done the work and<span class="pagenum">[351]</span> +would have the money to fight with, she was afraid. But +only for a time. Those who have fought with any of the +grim forces of life—sorrow, pain, poverty, despair—and +defeated even the least of these in battle, have strength to +fight again, and secret springs of courage to drink from in +the hour of need. Poppy rose from her table at last +with such new courage in her, that she could laugh disdainfully +at the sealed letter and all it contained of threats, +or commands. She left it sealed and lying there for some +other hour's perusal. It should not spoil <i>this</i> her glad +day of finished tasks.</p> + +<p>She locked the door upon it and her work, and went to +her room to change her gown and get ready to spend the +rest of the day with Clem Portal. She would probably +stay the night, but she took nothing with her, for she had +now quite a collection of clothes at Clem's for emergencies.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On the afternoon of the same day she sat dreaming in +a Madeira-chair in Clem's drawing-room, while the latter +meditated on the piano, trying to compose an air sufficiently +mournful to set to the words of a little song of +Poppy's called "In Exile." Softly, she sang it over and +over to long slurring chords—curiously sweet and strange.</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:17em"> +<p class="cen">I.</p> +<br /> +<p>Across the purple heather<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The winds of God blow sweet.</span><br /> +But it's O for the smell of London<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the roar of a London street!</span></p> +<br /> + +<p class="cen">II.</p> +<br /> +<p>Upon the wine-dark waters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun strikes clean and hot.</span><br /> +But it's O for a London garden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the woman who loves me not!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>"You say you are no musician, Clem, but I never knew<span class="pagenum">[352]</span> +anyone who could make lovelier sounds come out of a piano," +Poppy said.</p> + +<p>Clem laughed.</p> + +<p>"Dear, I can't play at all: it is this little song that sets +chords singing in my head. What were you thinking of +when you wrote it?"</p> + +<p>"Of Dr. Ferrand, I think, that first Sunday I came here. +You remember how he talked of London?—and you said +that he had 'his own box of matches and could make his +own hell any day in the week,' like poor <i>Dick Heldar</i>. +The circumstances seemed to indicate that there was some +woman in England who didn't love him—but I daresay +that applies to a good many men out here."</p> + +<p>"The most usual circumstance," said Clem laughing, +"is that the woman loves too well. Some men find that +hardest of all to bear."</p> + +<p>Poppy reflected on this for a while.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean wives! It is curious how many +people seem to marry to live apart, isn't it, Clem?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I call it the cat-and-reptile game," said Clem, +swinging round on the music-stool and beginning to run +her hands through her crinkly, curly, fuzzy dark hair +with seven red lights in it. "The cat catches the reptile, +scratches him, bites him, wounds him, puts her mark on +him for good, and as soon as he has no more kick left in +him, off she goes and leaves him alone."</p> + +<p>Poppy was laughing.</p> + +<p>"Well, some of the reptiles make marvellous recoveries," +said she, remembering one, at least, whom she had +known.</p> + +<p>"You can't blame them for <i>that</i>—it isn't very interesting +to be dead, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"As for the cats who don't leave their reptiles," continued +Poppy, thinking of some of the dull people she +had recently met, "nothing could be deader than the pair<span class="pagenum">[353]</span> +of them. And then they label themselves 'happily +married.'"</p> + +<p>"Now, Poppy, I won't have you walking over my +cabbages and onions."</p> + +<p>"I'm not, Clem—but they don't make marriage look +alluring to anyone with an imagination, do they? Of +course, it is wonderful to see your happiness——"</p> + +<p>"Yes; Bill and I <i>are</i> rather wonderful"—Clem jumped +up in a hurry—"I must <i>absolutely</i> go and get some socks +and stockings to mend. There is a pile as big as a house +waiting—" She flashed out of the room.</p> + +<p>"She won't discuss her happiness with me," thought +Poppy. "It is too sacred!"</p> + +<p>By the time Clem came back a settled gloom was over +everything; the rain was heavily pelting against the windows; +occasionally a bright beam of light shot through +the room, leaving it as grey as a witch; afterwards the +thunder groaned like some god in agony.</p> + +<p>"You won't be able to see to darn holes," said +Poppy.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you don't know Billy's holes," Clem answered +sadly. "And Cinthie inherits the gentle trait. It is <i>too</i> +bad, for I hate darning."</p> + +<p>She settled as near the window as she dared, and sat +peering her glimmering head over her work, while they +talked in desultory fashion: but the storm got worse, the +thunder groaned more terribly.</p> + +<p>"God sounds as though He is tearing His heart out to +throw it under the feet of dancing women and men," said +Poppy, in a voice that rang with some unusual emotion.</p> + +<p>Clem Portal looked at her in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Darling, I ought to rebuke you for blasphemy."</p> + +<p>To her astonishment the girl burst into wild weeping.</p> + +<p>"No ... it isn't blasphemy ... I am in pain, Clem +... these storms ... a storm like this reminds me of<span class="pagenum">[354]</span> +when I was a child ... I was once out in a storm like +this."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Yes ... once ... on the veldt ... for three days."</p> + +<p>"On the veldt!" repeated Clem; a streak of lightning +tore through the room, showing her for an instant a tortured +face. She reached out and took the girl's hands in hers, +gripping them tight. Dimly, through the rumble of the +thunder, she heard Poppy's voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... out on the veldt ... I, whom you think +have only been in Africa for a few months at a time ... I, +the gently-nurtured English girl! ... educated at Cheltenham +College! ... I did not actually tell you these things, +Clem, but I let you believe them ... they are all lies ... +I was born in Africa ... I have roamed the veldt lean and +hungry ... been a little beaten vagabond in the streets."</p> + +<p>"Dear," said Clem, with the utmost tenderness and +gentleness; "what do these things matter—except that +they have made you suffer? ... they have made you +the woman you are, and that is all I care to know.... I +have always known that there was a wound ... don't +make it bleed afresh ... I love you too well to want +to hear anything that it hurts to tell ... always believe +this, Poppy ... I love and trust you above any woman I +have ever known."</p> + +<p>"Clem, you are too kind and good to me.... I am +not worthy even to speak to you, to touch you.... It +is nothing when I say I love you ... I bless you ... +I think there is nothing in the world I would not do for +you.... I did not know one woman could be so sweet +to another as you have been to me ... you are like the +priceless box of sweet-smelling nard that the harlot broke +over the feet of Christ ... and I ... Ah! Christ! +What am I?"</p> + +<p>Dense blackness filled the room. In it nothing was<span class="pagenum">[355]</span> +heard but the sound of deep weeping. Outside the storm +raged on. But when next a gleam of light flashed through +the windows, the figure of a kneeling woman was revealed +clasped in another woman's arms.</p> + +<p>"I am weary of falseness, Clem ... weary of my lips' +false tales ... since I have been near you and seen your +true unafraid eyes ... the frank clear turn of your mouth +that has never lied to anyone ... I have died many +deaths ... you can never know how I have suffered ... +pure women don't know what suffering there is in the world, +it is no use pretending they do ... they are wonderful, +they shine.... O! what wouldn't <i>we</i> give to shine with +that lovely cold, pure glow ... but they can't take from +us what our misery has bought."</p> + +<p>"Poppy, don't tell me anything," the older woman +said steadily. "I don't want to know ... whatever +Life has made you do, or think, or say ... I don't care! +I love you. I am your friend. I know that the root of you +is sound. Who am I that I should sit in judgment? It +is all a matter of luck ... God was good to me ... I +had a good mother and a fleet foot ... when I smelt +danger I ran ... I had been trained to run ... you +had not, perhaps, and you stayed ... that's the only +difference——"</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed bitterly at the lame ending.</p> + +<p>"The difference lies deeper than that ... you are +generous, Clem, but truth is truth, and I should like to +speak it to you now and always ... confession has no +attractions for me, and I once told a man I should never +confess to a woman——"</p> + +<p>"Silence is always best, dear," Clem said. "When a +woman learns to be silent about herself, she gains power +that nothing else can give her. And words can forge themselves +into such terrible weapons to be used against one—sometimes +by hands we love."<span class="pagenum">[356]</span></p> + +<p>"It would be a relief to clean my heart and lips to you, +dear, once and for all. Let me tell you—even the name +I use is not my own!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care. What does a name matter?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my name is not Rosalind Chard, nor Lucy Grey, +nor Eve Destiny, nor Anne Latimer, nor Helen Chester, +though I have called myself by all of these at some time +in my life. My real name is Poppy Destin ... 'an +Irish vagabond born in Africa.'"</p> + +<p>"What do these things matter?"</p> + +<p>"My life, for the last three years, has been a struggle +in deep waters to keep myself from I know not what +deeper deeps——"</p> + +<p>"I have always maintained that a woman has a right +to use whatever weapons come to hand in the fight with +life, Poppy."</p> + +<p>"So have I," Poppy laughed discordantly, "and my +weapons have been—lies. Oh, how I have lied, Clem! All +the tears of all the years cannot wash me clean of the lies +I've told ... I feel you shivering ... you hate me!"</p> + +<p>"No, Poppy—only I can't understand why! What +could have been worth it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! you think nothing is worth blackening your soul +for, Clem! That is where you will not understand."</p> + +<p>"I will try to understand, dear one ... tell me. One +thing I am sure of, it was never wanton. You had some +miserable reason."</p> + +<p>"<i>Miserable!</i> I am misery's own!" she cried passionately. +"She marked me with a red cross before I was +born.... Well! let me tell you ... have you ever +noticed the look of candour and innocence about my face, +Clem? More especially my eyes?... all lies! I am +not candid; I am not innocent ... I never was ... +even when I was twelve I could understand the untold tale +of passion in an old black woman's eyes ... she had<span class="pagenum">[357]</span> +only one breast, and she showed me that as a reason for +having no home and children of her own.... I understood +without being told, that in the sweet hour of her life +the cup was dashed from her lips ... her lover left her +when he found her malformed.... Immediately I began +to sing a pæan of praise to the gods that <i>my</i> lover would +never go lacking the gift of my breasts. I made a song—all +Africa knows it now:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"'I thank thee, Love, for two round breasts——'"<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"And what harm in that?" cried Clem, staunchly. +"When Cinthie is twelve, will you want her to be thinking +of lover's caresses?"</p> + +<p>"You would not have been, either, if you'd had a +mother's caresses. Your nature was starving for love, +poor child!"</p> + +<p>"You have a tender heart for sinners."</p> + +<p>"I don't consider you a very bad sinner, darling."</p> + +<p>"You don't know all the lies yet.... I am going to +tell you <i>something</i> of what the last three years have been +... three years of lying to get a living ... lying to get +money: the stage, governessing, serving in shops, nursing +invalids, reading to old women ... there was a great +variety about my <i>rôles</i> in life, Clem, except for one faithful +detail.... Everywhere I went and in everything I undertook, +a man cropped up and stood in the path. There was +something special about me, it seemed, that brought them +unerringly my way—nothing less than my <i>wonderful +innocence</i>. That drew them as the magnet draws steel +... lured them like a new gold-diggings.... And they +all wanted to open the portals of knowledge for me ... +to show me the golden way into the wondrous city of Love. +And I?... I had the mouth and eyes of a saint! Sin +was not for me.... I was pure as the untrodden snow! +I looked into their eyes and asked them to spare me ... I<span class="pagenum">[358]</span> +told them I was good and adjured them by their mothers to +leave me so. At first they were always deeply impressed, +but later they became slightly bored.... The affair +nearly always ended in weariness and a promise on my part +never to forget that I had a <i>real</i> friend if I should ever want +one, and I understood very well what <i>that</i> meant, but invariably +I pretended that I did not, and went my way +innocent-eyed.... But there were variations on this ... +sometimes they insisted on showing me devoted friendship +in the meantime ... and their purses were to hand. In +such cases I always helped myself liberally ... I had +an unerring instinct that I should shortly be seeking a +new home—a new friend ... and that instinct never +played me false ... soon I was on the 'out trail' once +more, looking for a way to earn a living and stay <i>pure</i> +and <i>innocent</i>. Once I was almost content with an old +woman. I washed her and dressed her, and, incidentally, +was sworn at by her ... but the salary was high.... +Alas! like the widow of Nain she had an only son ... a +decent boy, too ... but when he had looked into my eyes +and found me good, there was the old tale to tell.... <i>He</i> +used to give me lovely presents ... I was never too +good to take presents, Clem—under protest.... He +wanted to marry me, but marriage was not in my plan ... +then the old mother found out, and I had to go. Another +man in Birmingham, whose children I taught, gave me +<i>hundreds</i>—just for being good! would have given me thousands +only that his wife read memoranda of some sum once +and flew to the worst conclusions ... she believed I had +stolen her husband and was as bad as I could be ... no +one could be surprised at what she called me ... but +it was quite untrue in its literal meaning. I had to go +back to London, and there was nothing at first to go back +to but the stage.... I did not stay <i>there</i> long ... +innocence is not very valuable on the stage—except in the<span class="pagenum">[359]</span> +play!... and though I have a special talent for acting +<i>off</i> the stage, I am too nervous <i>on</i> it to open my lips ... +so there was no hope for advancement that way ... I +had to begin again on the old round."</p> + +<p>"But, Poppy, dear, forgive me, I can't understand—why? +<i>why?</i>... what was it all for?"</p> + +<p>"For money, Clem. I wanted money."</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it!—Oh! <i>not</i> for money!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; for money. Some women are bad for money; +there is nothing they will not do to get gold in their hands. +I was <i>good</i> for money ... a saint, an angel, a virgin—most +especially a virgin."</p> + +<p>"Don't hurt me like this," Clem said. "Whatever you +say can make no difference to me. I <i>will</i> love you. I +<i>will</i> be your friend. But—is there anything in the world +that money can get that was worth it all? I ask out of +sheer curiosity—<i>is</i> there?"</p> + +<p>Poppy answered her "Yes!" And after a long time a +few words dropped into the silence of the room.</p> + +<p>"I wanted the money for my child."</p> + +<p>The storm had died away at last, leaving a terrible +peace behind it. The colour of the evening sky was sard-green, +than which nothing can be more despairing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal sat with her head drooped forward a little +as if very tired, and Poppy arose from her seat, pushed +open a window, and stood looking out. The smell of wet +steaming earth came into the room. Presently, speaking +very softly, she continued her narrative:</p> + +<p>"I wanted all the money I could get for my son. He +had no name, no heritage ... his father ... had, I +believed, married another woman. I was resolved that +he should at least have all money could give him.... I +thought that when he grew up he would turn from me +in any case as a woman who had shamed him and robbed +him of his birthright, so that it did not matter <i>what</i> I did<span class="pagenum">[360]</span> +while he was yet young, and yet loved me, to insure him +health, a fine education, and a future. First it was to give +him the bare necessaries of life, later to provide a home in +the country where he could grow up strong and well under +good, kind care ... then, my thoughts were for his future +... Oh! I hoped to redeem my soul by his future, Clem!... +So I worked and lied ... and lied and took ... +and lied and saved ... not often with my lips did I lie, +Clem ... but <i>always</i> with my eyes. I had at last amassed +nearly eight hundred pounds ... you will think that +remarkable, if you will remember that always I amassed +it virtuously ... that there is no man of all I met in those +years who can call me anything but a good woman—abominably, +disgustingly, vilely <i>good</i>.</p> + +<p>"And then ... I was introduced to a financier, who, +because of the charm of my innocent eyes, told me that, +in a few weeks, he would transform my eight hundred +pounds into eight thousand pounds. Incidentally, he +remarked that we must see more of each other ... and +I looked into <i>his</i> eyes and saw that they were <i>not</i> innocent,—and +that there would be a difficult day of reckoning for +me later on ... but for eight thousand pounds, and +secure in mailed armour of <i>purity</i>, I risked that ... +especially as he was just leaving England for a few weeks +... I handed over my eight hundred pounds without +a qualm, for he had a great name in the financial world. +In less than three weeks his dead body was being hauled +over the side of a yacht in the Adriatic, and my eight +hundred pounds was deader than Dead-Sea fruit, for I +never heard of it again ... nor wanted to ... the need +of it was gone ... my boy was dead!"</p> + +<p>"Poppy! Poppy!" Clem got up and drew the girl +down to the floor by her side. "Rest your head on me +dear ... you are tired ... life has been too hard for +you.<span class="pagenum">[361]</span></p> + +<blockquote><p> +"'Dost thou know, O happy God!——'<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"Life has been brutal to you. I think of my own +sheltered childhood, and compare it with yours—flung +out into the fiery sands of the desert to die or survive, as +best you might!... The strange thing is that your +face bears no sign of all the terrible things that have overtaken +you! I see no base, vile marks anywhere on you, +Poppy.... It cannot all be acting ... no one is clever +enough to mask a soiled soul for ever, and from everyone, +if it really <i>is</i> soiled.... You <i>look</i> good—not smirking, +soft goodness that means nothing, but brave, strong goodness +... and I <i>know</i> that that look is true ... and so +I can love you, after all these things you have told me ... +I can love you better than ever. But <i>why</i> is it, Poppy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. If it <i>is</i> so, the reason must be that all +was done for Love, Clem ... because always I had a +sweet thing at my heart ... the love I bore to my child, +and to the father of my child. Because, like the mother +of Asa, 'I built an altar in a grove' and laid my soul upon it +for Love. I want to tell you something further. Being +<i>good</i>, as the world calls it, has no charm for me. Many +of the men I have spoken of had a sinister attraction. +<i>I understood what they felt.</i> I looked into eyes and saw +things there that had answers deep down in me. I am a +child of passionate Africa, Clem ... the blood in my +veins runs as hot and red as the colour of a poppy.... It +is an awful thing to look into the eyes of a man you do not +love and see passion staring there—and feel it urging in +your own veins, too. It is an awful thing to know what +it is that he is silently demanding, and what that basely +answers in your own nature.... Yet there are worse +things than this knowledge. A worse thing, surely, would +have been to have gone hurtling over the precipice with +some Gadarene swine!... Clem, if I had been <i>really</i> +innocent those years, nothing could have saved me. I<span class="pagenum">[362]</span> +should have gone to the devil, as they call it, with some +vile man I had no love for, just because I didn't know how +to keep out of the traps laid for me by my own nature—and +then I should have 'been at the devil' indeed! But +I had bought knowledge with the price of my girlhood ... +and I had mated with my own right man.... I had +looked at life, if only for an hour, with love-anointed eyes +... and so, it came to pass that I had a memory to live +for, and a child to fight for ... and courage to fight my +greatest enemy—myself. I think no one who knew the +workings of my heart would deny me courage, Clem."</p> + +<p>"No, and it is a noble quality, child—the noblest, I +think, when it is used to fight one's own baser nature. +That only would keep a woman beautiful ... it is to +<i>that</i> you owe your beauty, dear."</p> + +<p>"Then it is to you I owe it to a great extent—for it +was you who first put the creed into me of courage—and +silence—and endurance. Do you remember the night +you wished me good-bye over your gate, Clem?"</p> + +<p>"I remember everything—but, dear, there is one thing +that grieves and bewilders me—why, <i>why</i> could you not +have earned a clean, fine living with your pen ... where +was your gift of writing?"</p> + +<p>"It left me, Clem, when I tried to earn money with it. +I could not write. I tried and tried. I sat to it until +my eyes sank into my head and hollows came to my cheeks—until +we were hungry, my little Pat and I—and cold. +For bread and firing I had to leave it, and turn to other +things. After the boy died ... it came back and mocked +me. I wrote then to ease my pain ... and everything I +have written since has been successful ... found a ready +market and in some sort Fame ... but it was all too +late!"</p> + +<p>"Poor child! everything has mocked you!" Clem put +her arms round the girl and kissed her tenderly; then<span class="pagenum">[363]</span> +drew away and assumed an ordinary pose, for a maid had +come into the room bringing lights, and with the intimation +that she was about to sound the dressing-bell, as it +wanted only half an hour to dinner-time.</p> + +<p>"Heavens!" cried Clem; "and I hear Billy's voice in +the garden; Eve Carson's, too, I believe. <i>Fly</i> to your +room, Poppy. I expect Sarah has laid out one of your +gowns."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[364]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IT was, indeed, Carson whom Portal had brought home +with him. They had encountered in West Street, +and Bill had insisted on bringing him back just as he +was in the inevitable grey lounge suit, assuring him that +there would be no one to find fault with his appearance +but Mrs. Portal, who was notoriously forgiving.</p> + +<p>So Carson came, and had no faintest inkling that Poppy +was there too. Being an old <i>intimé</i> of the family, he knew +his way about the house and after leaving Portal's dressing-room, +he sought the nursery, was admitted by Cinthie's +nurse, and stayed talking and romping with the child long +after the second bell had sounded and dinner been announced, +with the result that Portal insisted on taking +Poppy into dinner, while Clem sought the recalcitrant in +the nursery. Later, they came laughing to the dining-room, +and for the first time Carson knew of Poppy's +presence. She was sitting facing the door, and a big silver +candlestick, with wide branching antlers, framed her in +a silver frame. With her mysterious, tendrilly hair, her +subtle scarlet mouth and Celtic cheek-bones, she had the +alluring appearance of a Beardsley-drawing without any +of its bloodlessness, for her gown was as scarlet as the poppies +of the field, and she glowed with inward fires at seeing +Carson. The deep, sweet glance she gave him as they +greeted made him glow too, with gladness of living, and +some other radiant reason that for the moment was not +clear to him. He only knew that weariness was gone from<span class="pagenum">[365]</span> +his veins and that the splendour of life had come back at +last with the rush and swell of full-tide.</p> + +<p>After dinner they all went into the verandah and the +men smoked there. Clem never smoked, but she liked the +smell of cigars. Poppy had long broken herself of the +cigarette habit. Later, Portal said he must go and write +two important letters to catch the mail—after that they +would have a game of Bridge if anyone liked. Clem said +she would go and play to the others her setting to "In +Exile," of which she was very proud. She sang it softly +over and over to them for a while. Afterwards she wandered +through Chopin's "Prelude" into Schubert's gentle "Andante." +Then unaccountably she began to fling out +into the night the great solemn chords of a Funeral March. +It was a wonderful thing, full of the dignity of sorrow, +underlaid by thin wailings that spoke of little memories +of all the past sweetnesses of the dead. There was a place +in it that made Poppy think her dead child's arms were +round her neck, and another where Carson thought of +Alan Wilson and his thirty-one brave companions lying +under the stars up in lonely Zimbabwe. At another time, +he remembered a man dear to him, killed at Gwelo in the +second native rising; he seemed to see the fellow with his +hands in his pockets whistling to his dogs in a peculiar way +he had.</p> + +<p>Through all the playing Poppy and he sat in the verandah, +side by side, in two low canvas chairs. A fold of her gown +lay across his feet. They were absolutely silent and they +did not look at each other. Carson was staring straight +before him, but without a turn of his head or flicker of his +eyelids he was conscious of every tiniest detail of the woman +by his side. He saw the gracious line of her cheek and +throat and thigh and foot; but, more than that, he believed +he saw the spirit of her too, gentle and sad, but brave and +desirable to him beyond the soul of any woman—<i>and his</i>.<span class="pagenum">[366]</span> +She was his. He was certain of that now. He had taken +the knowledge from her eyes when they met that night; +and yet it seemed old knowledge to him, something he had +known since the beginning of time.</p> + +<p>Her hand lay within reach of his, but he did not touch +it. Only too conscious of the mysterious magnetism of +the flesh, he strove with all the fine instincts and high +aspirations his spirit had ever given birth to and his body +honoured, to free himself from the shackles of the flesh and +give to this woman whom he loved and blessed a greater +salute than the mere touching of hands.</p> + +<p>As for her—her eyes were closed. She, too, was reaching +out with spirit-hands to him. Inasmuch as human souls +which are aloof and lonely things can communicate—theirs +met and hailed each other as mate until the end of time.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Clem freed them of sorrow. She began to +play something that was like an old piece of brocade all +flowered over quaintly with tiny leaves, true lovers' knots, +and little pink-and-blue rose-buds. Presently the brocade +became a stately dress, worn with powder and patches and +high scarlet-heeled shoes.... Portal, having finished his +mail, came back to the verandah, and Clem closed the +piano then and came out too. They sat and talked, and +no one again suggested cards.</p> + +<p>The night was fresh and sweet after the rain, and the +sky above alive with newly-washed stars. Far away, +Durban flashed and sparkled, and just above the bay +there was a great splash of vermilion against the darkness +of the bluff—sometimes it showed streaks of carmine +in it. They discussed the phenomenon, and eventually +concluded that a boat out on the water was afire. Whatever +the cause, it certainly gave the finishing touch to the +picturesque beauty of the night.</p> + +<p>A little after eleven Carson left. He shook hands with +everyone at parting, and for a brief instant he and Poppy<span class="pagenum">[367]</span> +drank another deep draught of joy from each other's +eyes.</p> + +<p>No sooner had he gone than Clem said:</p> + +<p>"Poppy, you are to go to bed instantly, and stay there +until I give you leave to get up. You look like a spectre."</p> + +<p>Poppy took her hand and kissed it. She was trembling +with happiness, but she dared not speak of it. Clem put +an arm round her.</p> + +<p>"I must come and see if your room is all right."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but who are these midnight vigilantes in the +garden?" exclaimed Portal. "I believe I hear Bramham!"</p> + +<p>Bramham, indeed, it was who came into the light with +a crumpled and weeping woman clinging to his arm.</p> + +<p>"What the——?" softly demanded Portal of Heaven, +and Clem stared. Poppy swiftly recognised Miss Allendner.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she cried, stepping forward.</p> + +<p>Miss Allendner only wept more violently.</p> + +<p>"This poor lady has been greatly upset," said Bramham, +and placed her in a chair. Then he spoke with the +brevity of a good man with a bad tale:</p> + +<p>"Miss Chard's house has been burnt to the ground; +fortunately no one is hurt, but everything is destroyed."</p> + +<p>"Burnt! <i>burnt?</i>... <i>everything?</i> My work ... my +freedom—" cried Poppy wildly with clasped hands.</p> + +<p>"Everything! Nothing left but a few bricks and some +melted iron. I wonder you didn't see the flare-up—it +lighted the whole bay. The thing was discovered too late +to do anything but get Miss Allendner out." His firm +brevity left him. "Oh, Lord, I <i>am</i> sorry!" He stared +dismally.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Poppy!" cried Clem, with pitiful voice, and they +all drew round the pale girl. She did not speak for a +time—just stood there in the light streaming from the +drawing-room windows, white and still; and presently +some tears fell down her face. Then she said:<span class="pagenum">[368]</span></p> + +<p>"Poor Miss Allendner. Shall we put her to bed, in my +bedroom, Clem? She is worn out!"</p> + +<p>The women went away. At the gate Bramham said to +Portal:</p> + +<p>"And there is worse to come.... That crazy Allendner +turkey was shrieking round the fire like a lunatic ... +imploring the crowd to save the writings of <i>Eve Destiny</i>, +the South African writer—everybody knows who she is +now ... the place is humming like a beehive with the +news ... and it will be in all the news-rags in the morning.... +She'll be more broken up over that than anything +... for reasons of her own she didn't want it known.... +Oh, it's a hell of a country, Portal."</p> + +<p>This thing was news also to Portal. Mrs Portal being +that lovely thing, a close woman, he knew nothing of +Poppy's identity with <i>Eve Destiny</i>.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[369]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">WHEN Carson left the Portals he did not go home. +He turned his face towards the higher heights of +the Berea, and those surmounted, tramped on—on past +darkened blind-drawn, lonely houses, and long stretches +of gardens and vacant lands, until he came at last to the +cliff-side that overlooks Umgeni. Afterwards he tramped +and tramped, without knowing or caring where he went, but +always with the light silent feet of the athlete. Irishmen +are natural athletes. Also, if they are <i>real</i> Irishmen, that +is, born and brought up through boyhood in their own land, +they have learned to play "Handball"; and so their feet are +as light as their hands are swift to feel and their eyes to +observe. For a man whose lot must be cast in the sinuous +paths of Africa—jungle or money-market—there could be +no better training than constant play in his youthful days +in an Irish ball-court, for it teaches quickness of wit and +limb more than any game ever played, as well as developing +both sides of the body, thus making for perfect symmetry. +Carson had a passion for the game, and he went hot with +anger when he thought how neglected and ignored it was +amongst the fine sports of the world. "Pilota," the Spanish +national game, has some resemblance to "Handball," +and is played by men of all classes in Spain. But in Ireland +with the exception here and there of a gentleman enthusiast, +who has learnt his love of the pastime at his college, only +the poor fellows play it now, and those usually the roughest +of their class, who are obliged to depend for their "courts" +on the proprietors of public-houses.<span class="pagenum">[370]</span></p> + +<p>All young Irish boys love "Handball," however, and +Carson had often thought it a wistful thing to see little +ragged chaps watching a game with eyes alight, holding +the coats of players, on the chance of getting a chance to +play themselves when the "court" was vacated.</p> + +<p>In the Protectorate he had established, he meant to +build "ball-courts" and teach the fine stalwart Borapotans +to play the finest game in the world.</p> + +<p>But to-night, as he tramped, he did not think of these +things. The sports and pastimes of his boyhood were +as far from his mind as was the innocence of his boyhood +from his heart. He was trying to tramp out the remembrance +of a sin. Trying to obliterate from his memory +the face of a woman he did not love, never had loved, never +would love—but to whom honour held him fast. A +woman who had nursed him in sickness with devotion and +care—and who, when he was still physically weak, had +flung herself into his arms—at his feet, offering her life, +her love, her honour. And he had weakly fought, weakly +resisted, and at the last most weakly taken—taken just for +the love of pity, and the love of love and all the other loves +that Irishmen, above all men, know all about, and that +have nothing to do with Love at all.</p> + +<p>The bitter cud to chew now between his gritting teeth +was that he had never reaped anything but soul-misery +and sacrifice of fine resolves from the thing. Yet here +it was holding itself up before him like some pure star that +he must never cease from following after: a creed never to +be forsaken; an idol before which to sacrifice the rest of his +life—to sacrifice the most wonderful love that ever thrilled +a man's veins and shook from his life all mean and paltry +things.</p> + +<p>Oh, Lust past and Love present had a great fight in +the heart of Evelyn Carson, Bart., D.S.O., C.M.G., in the +early hours of that April morning. It must have been<span class="pagenum">[371]</span> +close on six hours that he tramped and fought, for when +at last he came by devious ways to Sea House, the shroudy +dawn was breaking over the face of the Indian Ocean.</p> + +<p>And Bramham was in his dining-room insanely drinking +whiskies-and-sodas.</p> + +<p>"What the——?" Carson stood in the doorway staring.</p> + +<p>"Waiting up for you, of course! Where have you been?" +said the drunk and dauntless Bramham.</p> + +<p>"I can't remember engaging you to wet-nurse me." +Carson was too savage with life to be polite even to the +best friend he had ever possessed. He strode into the +room, threw his soft hat rolled into a ball into a corner, +and would have passed through, but Bramham detained +him with a word.</p> + +<p>"Miss Chard's house was burnt to the ground last +night!"</p> + +<p>Carson came back and stood by the table. It seemed +to him that a good thing to do would be to mix a strong +whiskey-and-soda, and he did so, and drank it thirstily.</p> + +<p>"What was that you said, Bram?" he asked, later.</p> + +<p>"Miss Chard's house is burnt to the ground. The whole +town knows now that she is <i>Eve Destiny</i>, the South African +novelist——"</p> + +<p>"The how much?"</p> + +<p>"The South African novelist. The woman who wrote +the book of poems that set all the African mothers flying +to lock the nursery doors—and the plays <i>In a Tin Hotel +at Witpoortje</i> and <i>A Veldt Ghost</i>. Why, Carson, you don't +seem to know anything! You ought to employ someone +to dig you up every five years."</p> + +<p>Because of his desire for further information on this +interesting subject, Carson kept his temper between his +teeth and bore as best he might with Bramham's unusual +wit. It was to be remembered, too, that Bramham was a +"good man," and as such permitted a lapse. However, if<span class="pagenum">[372]</span> +the latter had anything more to tell he kept it to himself, +and only gave a repetition of his former statements with +a graphic description, which Carson was not at all interested +in, of the fire.</p> + +<p>One thing alone, stood out, a salient point in the narrative:</p> + +<p>"And I happen to know that everything she has is +burnt. With the exception of a few royalties, she is penniless. +All her finished work is burnt—everything she had +in the world. She had a face like a banshee when I told +her," was his complimentary conclusion.</p> + +<p>Carson departed and took a bath and shave on this +information. Afterwards he went down and looked at +the sea. When he came in to breakfast, a sane and calm +Charles Bramham was seated there before him—bathed, +groomed, dressed, eating an orange with a tea-spoon.</p> + +<p>They took breakfast with the appetites and serenity of +good men, who having passed an excellent night, were +about to attack the problems of the day with clear consciences. +There was nothing noticeable about Bramham, +except a thirst for tea.</p> + +<p>Just before they had finished, Carson casually said:</p> + +<p>"I'm going up to the Rand to sell everything I hold."</p> + +<p>Bramham regarded him piercingly, and at the moment +a <i>boy</i> entered with the morning papers. Each man +reached out for one, and turned with striking unanimity of +interest to the Market reports.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" cried Bramham instantly. "<i>East Rands</i> +at 5.5.0, and still sinking."</p> + +<p>Carson gave a groan, which meant, "Oh, Hades! why +didn't I sell at £10?"</p> + +<p>Bramham continued his dolorous tale, quoting all the +prices in which he and Carson were interested.</p> + +<p>"Main Reefs, Randfonteins, Crown Reefs, Knights—all +steadily sagging in sympathy; if you sell now, Karri, +you'll be in the cart."<span class="pagenum">[373]</span></p> + +<p>And Carson knew that Bramham spoke the thing that +was. In the state of the market it would mean ruin to +sell. The loss would be so great that he doubted if he +would be able to pay up the inevitable deficiency at his +bank. He reflected that possibly a few of his syndicate +shares might pull him through, but what good was that! +He wanted <i>money</i>—money to marry Rosalind Chard and +take her with him to Borapota; to free <i>her</i> from the cares +of life and money for evermore.</p> + +<p>As he stared gloomily at Bramham, the colour of his +prospects were of the same hue as the black scowl on his +brow. But like all speculators, he was not long without +a ray of hope. His face suddenly cleared.</p> + +<p>"What about my claims on the South Rand?" he +demanded blithely.</p> + +<p>"Have you still got those?" cried Bramham in surprise. +"Good! How many?"</p> + +<p>"Half interest in a hundred?"</p> + +<p>"By George! Well, you'd better go up and see what +Charlie Rosser can do. If there's anything to be made +he'll do it for you."</p> + +<p>They rose from the table.</p> + +<p>"When shall you go? To-day?"</p> + +<p>"No; to-day I have every moment occupied until six +o'clock."</p> + +<p>"There's a good train to-night at nine."</p> + +<p>"I can't go to-night—I have something else to do."</p> + +<p>A transforming look flashed across Carson's face. Whatever +grace of heart was his showed in his eyes for a moment +as he thought of the girl who would be waiting for him +to-night.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[374]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">"CLEM, scuttle up—we'll be late," shouted Portal. +"What <i>is</i> she doing, Miss Chard?"</p> + +<p>"Hearing the bratiken's prayers, I think."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd hurry her up."</p> + +<p>Poppy went out into the hall and stood at the nursery +door, which was ajar. Clem's voice could be heard inside +arguing with a small, sullen one.</p> + +<p>"Say them now, Cinthie—'Gentle Jesus——'"</p> + +<p>"No, mummie."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling."</p> + +<p>"I want you to sing 'Bye-low Lady.'"</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, my dearest" (sound of a kiss); "there +isn't time. Daddy's waiting for me to go to the theatre; +we'll have longer sings to-morrow night. Say prayers +now, Cinthie."</p> + +<p>"No, mummie."</p> + +<p>"Go on now, darling. Mother'll be cross with you in +a minute. 'Gentle Jesus——'"</p> + +<p>"No, mummie."</p> + +<p>A silence.</p> + +<p>"'Gentle Jesus'—Go on now, Cinthie—'Gentle Jesus—'"</p> + +<p>"'Gentle Jesus'—sat on a wall," said the small voice, +and burst into a peal of laughing. There was a rustling +and Clem appeared at the nursery door gowned and gloved, +her face bearing traces of smothered laughter. But from +the door she called back, in a voice intended to be most +hauntingly sad:<span class="pagenum">[375]</span></p> + +<p>"Mother's sorry her little girl is so naughty to-night. +Good-night, Cinthie."</p> + +<p>"G'night," was the cheerful response.</p> + +<p>Clem came out into the hall and shut the door, and +putting her arm in Poppy's hurried to the drawing-room, +where Portal was offering up loud prayers for patience, +and bemoaning the miserable, wasted lives of all married +men.</p> + +<p>"Time is simply nothing to them, I tell you!" he chanted. +"It is no concern of theirs! They cannot wear it, nor give +it to their offspring to play with! As for punctuality, it +is a rule invented for men and dogs only—and rickshaw +pullers. Ours has been waiting at the gate for twenty +minutes—but <i>that's</i> all right—what do <i>we</i> care for the first +act of a play?"</p> + +<p>Clem took not the slightest notice. She turned to Poppy.</p> + +<p>"And, darling, when you've finished your coffee I wish +you'd go in and hear her prayers. She feels very much +injured to-night—you will, won't you? I am so vexed that +we have to go out and leave you—and <i>I do</i> wish you would +have come too. It might have made you forget all about +that wicked fire."</p> + +<p>"I shall be quite happy here, Clem. I have much to +think of and plan; and, of course, I'll mind Cinthie. Be +off now."</p> + +<p>Poppy hustled her into her cloak and laces and saw them +both off into the rickshaw. Afterwards she returned to +the drawing-room, poured out her coffee, and took it +into the nursery. Cinthie's little straight, white bed stood +in the centre of the room, and she was lying with the sheet +drawn up to her chin, two long pigtails stretching down +on either side of her, and two big, dark eyes glooming out +of the little, soft, dark face. Beside her on the pillow two +still, inanimate forms glared glazily at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Cinthie!"<span class="pagenum">[376]</span></p> + +<p>"Eum!"</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Cinthie!"</p> + +<p>"Hallo!"</p> + +<p>"You asleep?"</p> + +<p>"No, not yet."</p> + +<p>"Sure you're not?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not, Poppy." She sat up in bed and gave a +lively prance to show she was awake.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've come to have a little talk."</p> + +<p>Cinthie made a joyful noise that sounded like <i>corn-cookoo</i>, +and gave another prance.</p> + +<p>Poppy sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her coffee, +tendering to Cinthie an occasional spoonful, which was +supped up rapturously.</p> + +<p>"Who've you got there with you?"</p> + +<p>"Two my chil'ren."</p> + +<p>"Which ones?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Daisy-Buttercup</i> 'n <i>Oscar</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh! have they said their prayers yet?"</p> + +<p>A pause, then:</p> + +<p>"I didn't tell them to say prairses to-night."</p> + +<p>"Not?" cried Poppy, in shocked surprise.</p> + +<p>"No." (A pause.) "They's too tired."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but Cinthie! Fancy, if they died in their sleep! +How sorry they'd be they hadn't said their prayers."</p> + +<p>An uncomfortable pause. Poppy drank some more +coffee.</p> + +<p>"I know <i>you</i> would never go to sleep without saying +<i>your</i> prayers."</p> + +<p>A silence.</p> + +<p>"I hope you prayed for me to-night, sweetness?"</p> + +<p>A silence.</p> + +<p>"—And for that darling mummie of yours?"</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"—And your lovely daddie?"<span class="pagenum">[377]</span></p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"—Because I know they couldn't enjoy themselves at +the theatre, or go to sleep to-night, or anything, if you +didn't. But of course, you did. Good-night, sweetness—give +a kiss."</p> + +<p>"G'night!" The little figure bounced up and put its +arms round her and kissed her all over her face. Poppy +tucked her in carefully.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you prayed for mummie and daddie and +me," she said fervently. "Good-night, darling-pet."</p> + +<p>"G'night."</p> + +<p>"You don't have the candle left, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Shall I put the mosquito-curtain round?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, please."</p> + +<p>Poppy flicked it well with her handkerchief and arranged +it round the bed like a big, white bird-cage; then taking +the candle in her hand, walked slowly to the door.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-night."</p> + +<p>"G'night."</p> + +<p>She opened the door and went out slowly.</p> + +<p>At the last conceivable instant, as the door was on the +point of closing, a little voice cried:</p> + +<p>"Poppy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sweetness."</p> + +<p>"I want a drink of water."</p> + +<p>Poppy went back, poured a glass of water, and carried +it to the delinquent, who took a mouthful; then said, +slowly and sorrowfully:</p> + +<p>"I think I'll say prairses, Poppy."</p> + +<p>"All right darling!" She sat down on the bed again +and put her arms round the slim figure, who, kneeling +with her nose snuggled into the soft, white shoulder, said +her "prairses" at express-speed down into Poppy's evening-gown:<span class="pagenum">[378]</span></p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:12em"> +<p>"Gen-tuljeesus, meek n' mil',<br /> +Lookup pon a little chil';<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pitimysimplisitee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suffer me t' come to Thee.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>"Our Fath 'CHART in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. +Thy King and come, Thy will be done 'Nearth as 'tis +'Neaven. Give us 's day our <i>DAILY BREAD</i> N' forgive +us our trespasses 'gainst us. But 'liver us from evil. +For Thine's kingdom, Power and GLORY, frever and +ever, Amen.</p> + +<p>"Our Father, please bless my darling Mummie, and +take care of her at the theatre, and my lovely Daddie, +<i>and</i> Grannie, <i>and</i> Grandad, <i>and</i> Poppy, <i>and</i> all the servants +in <i>this</i> house, <i>and</i> all the little children in the world, +<i>and</i> fill our hearts with love 'n kindness, Amen—now I +must say my <i>Latins</i>."</p> + +<p>Clem was Catholic and Bill Protestant, and the result +was a strange medley of prayers for Cinthie. She kneeled +up, crossed herself solemnly in Latin, and began to chant +the lovely words of the Angelical Salutation:</p> + +<p>"<i>Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus tecum: benedicta +tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus.</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Sancta Maria! Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, +nunc et in hora mortis nostræ. Amen.</i>"</p> + +<p>Afterwards she fell into a peal of laughing.</p> + +<p>"Why do you laugh, darling?" Poppy gravely asked, +and the answer was:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Poppy! Wouldn't <i>Nunc</i> be a funny name for a +dog!"</p> + +<p>Then once more the sheets were tucked in, the mosquito-net +arranged, and a kiss blown through it.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Pansy-face!"</p> + +<p>"G'night, Red-rose!" responded Cinthie ardently.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Gold-heart!"</p> + +<p>Cinthie thought laboriously for a few seconds, struggling<span class="pagenum">[379]</span> +for a fitting response. At last, just as Poppy reached the +door, she shouted breathlessly:</p> + +<p>"G'night; White-soul!"</p> + +<p>At that Poppy gave a cry and ran back once more and +hugged her.</p> + +<p>When at length she tore herself away from the warm, +loving little arms and went alone to the drawing-room, +heavy tears were splashing down her cheeks and her lips +were like a wistful, sorrowing child's. She stood in the +open window and stared out at the beauty of the night. +Above in the solemn purple sky was the Cross, picked out +in scarlet stars. Far below twinkled the town lights, and +at quick intervals the Bluff Lighthouse sent long, sweeping, +golden lines across the bay, revealing for an instant the +shadowy fabrics of ships and sailing craft lying safe in dock.</p> + +<p>Out at sea a great liner steamed slowly to anchorage, +hundreds of lights flashing from her three tiers, and presently +the rattle of her cable through the hawse-pipes +floated distinctly up to the heights, the throbbing in her +breast died away, and she lay rocking softly like some great +tired bird nested at last.</p> + +<p>In the dim valley a Zulu boy, heart-hungry for his +home-kraal, was making music of an infinite sweetness +and melancholy on that oldest instrument in the world, +a reed-flute. The sound brought further tears to Poppy, +and a burning in her throat. It seemed the voice of her +heart wailing, because she had never been a child, because +"earth was so beautiful and Heaven so far"; because she +loved a man and was beloved of him and darkness lay +between them! At that, she longed passionately with +every sense and nerve in her for Evelyn Carson. She +ached in the very bones and blood of her for a sight or +sound of him. If he would only come——!</p> + +<p>"Oh, God! be good to me for once!" she cried with +soundless lips. "Let him come—I will do the rest. There<span class="pagenum">[380]</span> +is no barrier I cannot break down between him and me. +He is mine—dear God, you <i>know</i> that he is mine! I +bound him with my hair, my lips, my soul. I gave him of +my best, I gave him my girlhood—<i>I bore his son</i>." The +green leaves of the passion-plant trailing over the window +lapped gently against her cheek, and she put up her hands +to them. "Oh, trees, leaves, all green things, help me—let +him come——"</p> + +<p>And he came, through the open gate, up the broad +pathway, straight to her.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were closed tight to stop her tears, but she +heard him coming as she stood there with the shaded +lamps behind her in the empty room, and the silver night +on her face. He came so close to the verandah that he +could look in upon her, and plainly see her pale emotion-wrung +face and the tears urging through her tightly-closed +lids and dripping from her lashes. Her lips opened and +her breath came heavily, and the sight of her took strange +hold of him. His own lips unclosed; the marks self-mockery +had made about them had been wiped out; his +handsome, haggard eyes had changed, boyhood had come +back to them.</p> + +<p>"Won't you come into the garden?" His voice had +all the sweetness of Ireland in it. She unclosed her eyes +and came out to him, the tears still shining on her cheeks: +a pale, ardent woman—strangely like a narcissus.</p> + +<p>He put an arm through hers and they walked together +in the gracious dimness.</p> + +<p>Down the centre of the garden dividing two lawns ran +a high hedge of Barbadoes-thorn. It is a shrub garlanded +with white tiny flowers of a perfume probably the most +pungent in the world—much like the gardenia, or tuberose, +but heavier, sweeter. To-night this perfume hung +upon the air, and stayed with these lovers all their lives +after. They sat on the grass under a giant flamboyant<span class="pagenum">[381]</span> +tree and a tiny green tree-frog sang a love-song to its +mate in the branches over their heads. But they did not +hear. They were deaf to everything now save the drumming +in their hearts and the urging of their pulses. Carson +had his arm about her, half for her support, wholly +because he could not help it. Her tears were still on her +face, and he leaned so close that his cheek was wetted by +them. One heavy drop fell on his lips and he tasted the +salt of it, and it was as if he had tasted blood. Suddenly he +turned her lips to his and began to kiss her with a mouth +of flame.</p> + +<p>"Eve! Eve!" she cried, afraid of her gladness. He +did not speak; nor could he, if he would. Only he dragged +kisses from the mouth he had desired so long; the eyes he +had looked away from; the curving, cloven chin; the throat +that shone in the darkness like a moony pearl. And when +he came to her lips again, they kissed him back with wild, +sweet kisses. Her arms were round him too. One held +his throat and her eyes were shut and sealed.</p> + +<p>After some short, blind moments, in which she was lost, +and he torn in two between desire and iron-determination, +he lifted her suddenly to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Darling, my heart, good-bye—for a little while," he +said; "and then—<i>never</i> good-bye again. The next time we +kiss, you must be my wife."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[382]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">CARSON left the next day for Johannesburg as he +had intended, speaking to no woman after he had +parted from that pale, ardent one under the flamboyant tree. +Other women, indeed, had ceased to exist for him. With <i>one</i> +he knew there must yet be a scene, most painful and bitter, +which could not be shirked; the thought of it, <i>when</i> he +thought of it, turned his heart cold—but it must be confessed +that he did not think of it often. He was too busy in his +first weeks of absence to think of any woman much—even +the best-beloved. Up to his eyes in affairs, and among a +hundred old friends and haunts in the busy, virile life of +the Rand, he had scarcely time to turn up the book of his +mind for a page he knew was there, illumined with letters +of fire and gold. But always he wore a red rose in his heart. +Always a star glimmered at the back of his life, colouring +the days golden.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in the night-hours, or with the dawn, a vision +of her face would come to him, so sharp and clear, that it +seemed her body must be in the room, as well as her spirit, +and almost she would fill the arms he put out for her. +In those hours it was made clear to him how Love can +wrench the spirit from the body and send it speeding across +the miles to the Beloved.</p> + +<p>He had not asked her to write, nor did he write himself. +Their love was not one which needed to be kept afire by +words; already it burned too fiercely for peace. Letters +would have been a delight, it is true; but he was artist<span class="pagenum">[383]</span> +enough to realise the value of restraint from small joys +that a great joy may be more complete, and he knew that +their meeting would be the dearer and sweeter for this +intervening silence "too full for sound or foam."</p> + +<p>Moreover, his affairs were critical. He required all his +coolness and judgment for the share market, and the +letters he must write if he wrote at all to her, though they +would not have disabled him for the fight, must at least +have left him less calm and unshaken than he desired to be +at this juncture. Fortune is a woman, and a jealous one +at that. She must be wooed and worshipped, and all +others forgotten for her sake before she will bestow her +smiles. Carson approached her in a spirit of ravishment. +His desire was for her favours, and he was prepared to drag +them from her, if she would not give. He was prepared to +buy and sell as never before in all his gay, careless life—feverish +for gain.</p> + +<p>The glance with which he searched the face of Fortune +was neither imperialistic nor altruistic now, but purely +personal; he was thinking, plotting, planning for the +future; but the details of that same future were too wild +and sweet to be thought upon. They sang a song in his +veins that would not be silenced.</p> + +<p>His first business was to find Charlie Rosser, his broker, +the shrewdest, straightest man on 'Change,' and a personal +friend at that. But the slump was affecting people's +health. All Johannesburg was laid up, nursing its lungs, +its hump, or its pet stocks, and Rosser was amongst the +invalids. So Carson's first week was spent at a loose end, +for he was too wise a citizen of the world to venture upon +the seas of finance, of which he had no great knowledge, +without a good man at the helm. Most days, however, +found him making his way through the crowded streets +to "the Chains" for news of the market. Things were +as bad as they could be, and every man had a tale of dolour<span class="pagenum">[384]</span> +to pitch, but no one looked dolorous. The high, fine air +of Johannesburg is a wonderful thing for making people +think they are all muscle and no nerves—and they don't +find out their mistake until after they have made their +pile, or lost it, when the "finding out" doesn't matter, +anyway.</p> + +<p>The place was always home to Carson, and "full of +friendly faces," and he trod its streets as familiarly as the +decks of his own soul.</p> + +<p>One morning, just before High Change, he found an +extra jostle going on amongst the crowds of brokers and +dealers "between the Chains." Everyone was agog. +The market had come better from London. In anticipation +of a demand at High Change, shares were changing +hands merrily. Carson was hailed blithely by friend and +foe alike, offered everything he didn't want, and alternately +elated and depressed by the news that came to +him concerning the stocks in which he was interested. +But on the whole, the outlook was bright.</p> + +<p>"Boom!" was the hilarious word that cleared the horizon +of clouds. "There's going to be a boom!" men shouted, +and their eyes were full of the bland joy of piracy. Rumours +had come that the "Corner House" was supporting the +market for <i>their</i> special stocks, and other houses followed +the lead. Johannesburg is the most sensitive market in +the world—it responds to outside influence as the violin to +Sarasate.</p> + +<p>In the midst of the dust and din Carson caught sight +among the crowd of a puffy red face, with grim eyes and +the sweeping moustache of an Algerian pirate. He was +waving frantically at Carson and yelling:</p> + +<p>"My office! Come and pow-wow!"</p> + +<p>In five minutes Carson had trailed Rosser to his lair, +and they were deep in a discussion of prospects. Rosser's +tips were no better than any other, but his opinion on the<span class="pagenum">[385]</span> +trend of the market was always worth hearing, and usually +as nearly right as possible.</p> + +<p>"Shall I sell or hold?" demanded Carson, when his +affairs had been laid upon the board and swiftly scanned.</p> + +<p>"Hold?" screamed Rosser. "Everything is going to +the devil. Do you think I take any stock in this good +news? Why—<i>the country is rotten</i>. The British public +is steadily selling. This improvement can't last—it's only +a flash in the pan. Sell! This is your chance. Sell all +you've got. Sell calls—sell your shirt—sell <i>anything</i>—up +to ninety days. Destruction comes after."</p> + +<p>This was Carson's mood also. But he had an anchor +now that deterred him from advancing too gaily towards +the breakers. He first examined Rosser from top to toe +with steely eyes, then advanced the objection that if he +had to pay brokerage on the whole amount out of his call-money, +he wouldn't make a heap of profit. Rosser began +to prophesy, but without sanctity.</p> + +<p>"No calls will be taken up this year. Hell! I've a +good mind to run the biggest bear account you've ever +dreamt of, Carson. Take my advice and sell, man. Sell +on 'fixed delivery' and 'buyer's option' and 'to arrive'—play +bear till all is blue." He suddenly became calm and +business-like. "Think it over for a few moments while +I read my letters, and then decide."</p> + +<p>In old days Carson would have embraced the proposition +with the devil-may-care philosophy of the usual Rand man, +that if "bearing" smashed him up he'd be no worse off +than a hundred better men who'd done the same thing +before him. But now—he was feverish for gain—the +thought of loss was unendurable. Rosser suddenly looked +up at him with a waiting smile.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Damned if I don't do it, Charlie. You can sell calls +on everything I've got, this morning—here's the list,<span class="pagenum">[386]</span> +and in the afternoon you can sell everything I haven't +got on 'fixed delivery,' or 'to arrive.'"</p> + +<p>"Good, man!" cried Rosser.</p> + +<p>"And what about my block of South Rands?"</p> + +<p>This was Carson's hold-by. The biggest stone in his +box. He had bought these fifty shares at a sheriff's sale +for twenty pounds each, years before, and though he had +often wanted the money, some indefinable superstition +had kept him cheerfully paying up licences and hanging +on. <i>Now</i> rumour went, the Big House wanted them.</p> + +<p>"What will you take for them?" asked Rosser, grinning. +"Cost?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Carson violently, "nor double, nor quadruple. +I'll do or die by those damned things."</p> + +<p>Rosser regarded him cynically, but with affection. It +had not escaped the grim eyes that Carson here present +was not the notoriously careless, indifferent Carson of the +past.</p> + +<p>"You sound to me like a man who wants to buy a +trousseau for himself," he remarked, but his gibe brought +no blush to the brazen cheek before him, and he did not +dream that he had made a bull's-eye.</p> + +<p>"But you're quite right, Karri.... You're going to +make a big bag out of that little preserve ... only keep +cool ... and if Wallerstein asks you about them, say +they're not for sale ... I haven't time to tell you any +more now." He was looking at his watch. "By Cli! I +must get away to 'Change. Where shall we meet +afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"At the Club," said Carson briefly. "One sharp. My +table is third on the left as you go in ... don't be late."</p> + +<p>They parted. Rosser for 'Change, and Carson to walk +swiftly away down Commissioner Street towards Jeppestown, +past the City-and-Suburban-Township-blocks, with +the fine buildings that look so substantial and impressed<span class="pagenum">[387]</span> +every new-comer with the stability and security of life +and fortune in the great mining centre. The place was +teeming with life and apparent prosperity. But a grim +smile hovered on Carson's lips. He knew, as well as +Rosser, that things, so far from being secure and stable, +were, under the corrupt Boer Government, rotten to the +core, and could never be on a sound basis until England +intervened. But this was '98, and the time was not yet.</p> + +<p>Punctually at one Rosser arrived at the Rand Club. +Carson was deep in an <i>indaba</i> with two men he knew well, +and the talk was all of shares and money—big business +had been done on 'Change. Rosser was cold-eyed and +inaccessible until the other men went, then he brightened +and told Carson what he had done.</p> + +<p>"I've sold everything on time!" he said. "Committed +you—roughly—to ten thousand pounds of sales +... sixty days ... buyer's options."</p> + +<p>If Carson's spirit groaned, his face gave no sign; but the +little broker was as sensitive as the market. He looked at +the other keenly.</p> + +<p>"Don't do the business if you're afraid; I'm perfectly +satisfied to go into it alone. Why! I'm so certain of +the coming fall that I advise you to run a bear account +up to fifty thousand pounds. Hell! Carson, what's come +to you? I've never known you like this before."</p> + +<p>"I've got a touch of fever," said Carson irritably, but +he did not specify the peculiar brand he was suffering +from. He was ashamed of his funk—but the best of men +get attacks of it in certain circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you'll make up your mind to stick to it for +three months you'll make ten thousand pounds at least."</p> + +<p>"Three months!" It was Carson's turn to cry "Hell!" +But presently he said firmly: "Go ahead, Rosser, and sell +another ten thousand—buyer's options, this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Right!" cried Rosser gaily, and with a heart at peace<span class="pagenum">[388]</span> +proceeded to acknowledge his friends at various tables, +while Carson turned up the wine-list. They had been +eating and drinking steadily through lunch.</p> + +<p>"Coffee, 1830 Brandy, and '94 Coronas," was Carson's +order, and when the waiter had come and gone, Rosser +sadly said, looking at his glass:</p> + +<p>"I wonder how long it will last!"</p> + +<p>"What, the market?" Once more the teeth of Carson's +soul chattered.</p> + +<p>"No—Karri, you're all to bits—the brandy. There +can't be much of it left. Now let's get to this South-Rand +proposition. Look here—you know I'm a few +pounds to the good ... and I'm really smitten with +my bear scheme. If you're anxious about it, I'll stand in +with you ... share and share. But only on the condition +that you give me a share in your South Rand claims."</p> + +<p>"Let's hear the proposition," said Carson, beginning to +take a more cheerful view of life through his smoke rings.</p> + +<p>"You have fifty claims? Wallerstein will give you +one hundred pounds each for them; but they are worth +five times that if the business is properly engineered. +They're a long way from the out-crops, but the reef +<i>must</i> be found dipping through them, and the Big House +<i>must</i> have them to make up their area. Now what I propose +is this: You leave the business to me. Value the +claims say at two hundred pounds each, and give me half +of what I can get over that."</p> + +<p>It did not take Carson very long to come to a conclusion. +He knew he was dealing with one of the straightest +men and best fellows in Johannesburg, and there was no +faintest chance of his confidence being abused. He closed.</p> + +<p>"I'll have an agreement drawn up, relating to the +claims, at once," said Rosser. "What about the bear +scheme? Shall I stand in with you, or will you stand +alone?"<span class="pagenum">[389]</span></p> + +<p>"I'll stand alone, thanks, old man." All Carson's careless +nerve had come back to him, with the memory of a +face fair to see. He knew, in spite of his words, that +whatsoever fortune befell—poverty or riches—he would +never again stand alone in the world.</p> + +<p>"Good, man!" cried Rosser. "I must scoot. I've two +appointments before 'Change this afternoon—so long!"</p> + +<p>Carson was left to his own many and various devices.</p> + +<p>The market rose steadily for a week. The air was full +of good and gentle rumours. An Industrial Commission +was to be appointed! The iniquitous Dynamite Monopoly +was to be smashed! Native labour was to be guaranteed +at lower wages! Everything in the garden was +to be lovely! And everyone wore a brow unsullied by +care! And bears were tumbling over each other in every +direction to cover.</p> + +<p>Carson had some bad times with himself, but his under-lip +never slackened. Rosser's grip on the market was +firm and unhesitating. He sold heavily "to arrive."</p> + +<p>"I have never known anyone who made money—worth +talking about—by buying and holding," was the creed +he offered to Carson. And in this case he was right. +Suddenly the reaction began. Shares fell with a bump, +and kept steadily on the down-grade for months.</p> + +<p>At the end of the first month Carson's bear account closed +with a handsome profit to himself of twelve thousand +pounds.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, negotiations had been proceeding over +the South Rands. The lifelessness of the market did +not affect the fact that the "Big House" wanted Carson's +claims, and was steadily working to get them by hook or +by crook. But Carson and Rosser were both up to every +hook and crook of the game. They held the cards and +they knew it, and when four hundred pounds each was +offered for the shares, they only sat and smiled like little<span class="pagenum">[390]</span> +benign gods. Further, Rosser airily informed Wallerstein, +the representative of the "Big House," that he would not +consider anything under one thousand pounds. However, +in secret conclave, the two conspirators agreed to take +eight hundred pounds apiece—not bad for claims that had +cost Carson twenty pounds each at the sheriff's sale. +Rosser was for holding out for a thousand, but Carson's +time was running out, and his patience.</p> + +<p>"No: get a definite offer for eight hundred pounds, and +close on it," were his orders, and on that decision he rested, +as much as a man <i>can</i> rest in Johannesburg, taking the +days quietly and dining sanely at nights with old friends. +But he got little joy of their society, for the reason that +though he knew their lives and interests, they knew nothing +of the most vital and important part of his. They had +never seen those lilac-coloured eyes with the big, black +velvet centres; they could know nothing of the sweet, wild +strain on his heart. He felt like a man who stood on the +walls of a citadel filled with treasure, parleying with friends +and enemies alike, but allowing no one to enter.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he grew horribly lonely; the days dragged +and the nights brought memories that set him in bodily +torment.</p> + +<p>Fortunately at this juncture Forsyth, an old crony, +carried him off to the Potchefstroom district for some +veldt shooting. The air, the long tramps, and the joy of +sport, filled in the days, and found him too tired at nights +to do anything but fall log-like into the blankets.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[391]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">POPPY and Cinthie were sitting in the garden together +under an orange-tree, which was set in the midst +of the thick fence of Barbadoes-thorn. Poppy's muslin +gown was of a colour that made her look like a freshly-plucked +spray of lilac, and she wore a wide white hat, +trimmed with convolvulus.</p> + +<p>Every ornament she possessed had been burnt except +a jewelled pendant she always wore round her neck, and +her big malachite brooch; but now on the third finger of +her left hand she wore a ring—a great, gleaming emerald, +which had arrived in a little box that morning from +Johannesburg.</p> + +<p>She had seen Clem looking at it with wondering eyes, +but as yet she had not been able to explain, for Clem that +day was rather more especially busy than usual. During +breakfast she had been flitting in and out constantly to +her husband's bedroom. Portal had been suffering from +a bad attack of slump fever, and instead of doing the +"camel-trick," and feeding on his hump, he required a +special <i>menu</i> which kept the cook and his wife busy. He +had been more or less confined to his room for three days. +It is true that he made wonderful recoveries in the evenings, +and rising up donned glad raiment and went to +the Club to dine. But when the morning papers arrived +he was worse than ever.</p> + +<p>The moment breakfast was over Clem had flown to +prepare the drawing-room for a committee-meeting of<span class="pagenum">[392]</span> +ladies interested in the fate of fifty able-bodied domestics +arriving by the following week's mail-boat.</p> + +<p>So Cinthie and Poppy had taken to the bush for shelter. +For since Poppy's identity had become known, everyone +was anxious to examine her closely, to see what colour +her eyes were, whether her hair was real, and how she +behaved generally in the strong light of notoriety which +enveloped her. The feeling about her had entirely changed. +People said they understood <i>now</i> why she should be so +strange-looking, and alone. She was a genius—the +newspapers said so! And as such they opened their +arms to her, and their doors, and bade her enter. But +instead, she invariably fled with Cinthie into the bush.</p> + +<p>Cinthie was six now, and growing tall. Her brown +holland overall was a mere frill about her neck, and looked +anæmic beside the deeper colouring of her legs. Her +sailor-hat hung at the back of her by its elastic, and in +the corner of her mouth she thoughtfully sucked the end +of one of the long streaks of hair. In her fingers she held +a large and discoloured lump of dough, which she was +kneading and pinching with the busy concentration of a +beetle rolling a <i>mis bolitje</i>. Her nine dolls were seated, +some against a flat rock, some against the tree, but all +gazing stonily at their mother, except the banshee, who +lay prone on her back, her arms extended as if to embrace +the universe, her beady eyes fixed revengefully on Heaven.</p> + +<p>Poppy, sharing the trunk of the tree with the dolls, +leaned lazily peeling an orange, which had kindly dropped +from the branches above. Other oranges were lying about +on the short grey-green grass.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do with that dough, Cinthie?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"Make pudding."</p> + +<p>"Who for?"</p> + +<p>"For my chil'ren." She dipped her fingers into a doll's<span class="pagenum">[393]</span> +tea-cup full of water, which stood at the elbow of the +banshee, and continued to knead; the dough now clung +to her fingers in long, elastic threads, and her face showed +a deep and vivid interest in her occupation.</p> + +<p>"Are these all the children you've got?"</p> + +<p>"No; <i>Minnie-Haha</i> and <i>Danny Deever's</i> inside. They +been naughty. They's in bed."</p> + +<p>"What on earth did they do?"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't say they prairses last night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how naughty!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I don't love them when they don't say prairses +for their daddy."</p> + +<p>"Their daddy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he lives in England. He has been living in +England for twenty years. They have never seen +him."</p> + +<p>"Goodness!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it's very sad." She wagged her head dolefully.</p> + +<p>Presently she unplucked the dough from her fingers +and began to spread it out on the large, flat stone, patting +it smooth with the palm of her hand. Thereafter, she +made a pattern round its edges with a doll's fork, as she +had seen cook do.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could make puddings like you," said Poppy, +lying on her elbow and eating her orange.</p> + +<p>"I can make nicer ones'n this," said Cinthie boastfully. +"I can make Best-pudding-of-all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do tell me, Cinthie, so when I have nine children +I can make it for them too."</p> + +<p>Cinthie looked at her dreamfully.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you won't have any children," she said. +"Perhaps you'll be a widow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Cinthie, don't be unkind—of course, I shall have +some! Go on now, tell me about the pudding."</p> + +<p>Cinthie rubbed her nose and reflected for a long time.<span class="pagenum">[394]</span> +At last, solemnly, with a long think between each +sentence, she delivered the recipe.</p> + +<p>"Get some dough ... dip it in water for a minute +or two ... get some pastry ... dip it into water +twice ... roll it hard ... put it into the dish on top +of everything—" Long pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Straighten the edges ..." (she carefully cut all +round the dough on the stone with the handle of the fork); +"bang it with your hand and it will come straight" (she +banged the dough with the palm of her hand); "then +spread a little water over it ... and there!" She sighed +and took a fresh mouthful of hair.</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall just make a pudding like that," said +Poppy determinedly.</p> + +<p>The gentle slurring of a silk petticoat was heard on +the dry grass, and Mrs. Capron joined them, smiling +mischievously.</p> + +<p>"The committee meeting is over," she said, "and Clem +has gone to see Lady Mostyn off on <i>The Scot</i> and taken Miss +Allendner with her. She hopes she will be back for lunch, +but is not sure; if not, we are to go on without her. She +gave me leave to come and look for you two in the garden, +so you can't very well kick me out, even if you don't +want me. Hyacinthie, your nurse is walking about with +two baked bananas smothered in cream, asking everyone +if they've seen you."</p> + +<p>"Ooh!" Cinthie slashed the hair out of her mouth in +anticipation of her favourite eleven-o'clock lunch. "Mind +my babies!" she commanded Poppy with a menacing eye, +and sped up the lawn, disappearing into the trees surrounding +the house. The two women looked after her +with entirely different emotions in their eyes. Mrs. Capron +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Fleet of foot, but, alas! that one should have to say<span class="pagenum">[395]</span> +it of Clem's child—flat of foot also." She seated herself +daintily upon the rock which had served for Cinthie's +kitchen-table; her eyes fastened themselves upon the +emerald ring. She had never seen a ring on Poppy's hand +before.</p> + +<p>"Her feet are scarcely formed yet," said the latter; +"and Clem has perhaps let her wear sandals too long."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Capron withdrew her fascinated eyes from the +ring and shook her head sadly.</p> + +<p>"She will grow up ugly in every way; and it is just as +well. If she had Clem's temperament and charm and +Bill's beauty she might wreck the world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—only herself," said Poppy, with a tinge of +bitterness. "The world goes gaily on, whatever befalls. +But I don't agree with you at all about Cinthie's looks!"</p> + +<p>"Most people do. Someone was saying to me the +other day—I forget who—Mr. Abinger, perhaps—that +Cinthie looks like the incarnation of all the deviltries Clem +and Bill have left undone, all the wickedness they have +kept under."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Abinger is a better judge of deviltries than of good +women," said Poppy drily.</p> + +<p>"He is a rip, of course. But, then, rips always unerringly +recognise other rips," smiled Mary Capron, and +Poppy smiled too, though she was not extremely amused.</p> + +<p>"Are you accusing Clem of being a rip?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, though Bill is so charming he must +have been one some time, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"I think he is nearly nice enough to be Clem's husband," +said Poppy curtly, "and too entirely nice for any other +woman." It was an old suspicion of hers that Mary +Capron was not as real as she pretended to be in her +friendship for Clem.</p> + +<p>"You are a very loyal friend, Miss Chard; and I hope +you don't think that I am <i>not</i>, just because I find it intensely<span class="pagenum">[396]</span> +interesting to talk about the people I care for?" Mrs. +Capron spoke with a quiet sincerity that made Poppy +feel ashamed of her thought, for, of course, most women +do find it interesting to talk of people they care for. The +best of friends do it. After all, Mrs. Capron had said +nothing that a friend might not lightly say.</p> + +<p>"I would never talk about her to anyone but you," +continued Mrs. Capron, "and I know that you love her as +much as I do. But I see that you think I am wrong."</p> + +<p>"I think, Mrs. Capron, that one would be a stock or +a stone to know Clem, and yet not be intensely interested +in her husband, her child, and everything that concerns +her," Poppy answered warmly. "I could sit all day and +watch her face, wondering how she came to know so much +about life without being old, or bitter, or uncharitable +about anything in the world."</p> + +<p>"She will tell you that the deep lines she has on her +face are only little mementos of Africa—that Africa always +puts her marks on the faces of those who love her. But"—Mary +Capron's voice was very gentle and sad—"I +happen to know that she has been <i>pounded in the mortar</i>."</p> + +<p>Poppy sat silent, thinking how great must be a nature +that could be pounded in the mortar of life, and come +out with nothing but a few beautiful marks on the face. +Further, her thought was that if Mary Capron knew Clem's +sorrows, Clem must love her very much indeed, and she +must be worthy of that love.</p> + +<p>She determined that she would never again allow herself +to feel jealous of the bond of friendship existing between +the two women. Mary Capron spoke again in a very +low voice.</p> + +<p>"What I am terribly afraid is that her suffering is not +over, but only beginning."</p> + +<p>Poppy stared at her startled, and saw that the beautiful +brown eyes were filled with tears.<span class="pagenum">[397]</span></p> + +<p>"Sorrow has her elect!" said the girl gently. "Dear +Mrs. Capron, do not let your sympathy for Clem beguile +you into telling me anything that she would not wish me +to know; I believe you have her confidence. I wish I +had too. But I would rather not hear anything ... of +her inward life ... from anyone but herself." Poppy +began falteringly, but she ended firmly, for she was convinced +that she was right. She had laid her whole life bare +to Clem, and if Clem had wished to give her confidence in +return, she had had endless opportunities to do so in their +intimate talks. She felt that she was right in stopping +Mrs. Capron from saying anything further. But already +Mrs. Capron had gone further.</p> + +<p>"<i>Once</i> I have seen her in the ashes of misery and despair. +I would rather die than witness it again."</p> + +<p>Poppy sat up and rested her hand on those of the +trembling, troubled woman before her.</p> + +<p>"Don't," she said soothingly; "don't fret—Clem is +brave and strong enough to fight every imaginable trouble +in the world; and <i>don't</i> say anything more; I'm sure she +would not wish it."</p> + +<p>"But I <i>must</i> ... I must tell you.... She is going +to suffer again—<i>terribly</i> ... and I want to save her if I +can, and I want you to save her."</p> + +<p>"Me!" faltered Poppy, listening in spite of herself. +"What can I do?"</p> + +<p>Mary Capron's tears were falling thick and fast now.</p> + +<p>"Clem's sorrow is a terrible one," she said brokenly. +"She loves a man with all the depth and passion her +nature is capable of—and the man is not her husband."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Poppy went white to the lips. She sat rigidly +against the orange-tree and stared at the other woman. +"Clem!... I'll never believe it ... <i>Clem!</i>" Afterwards +she said burningly: "If it <i>could</i> be true, how could +you sit there and betray her?"<span class="pagenum">[398]</span></p> + +<p>Mary Capron's eyes flamed at her through the tears.</p> + +<p>"How dare you think I could do it idly?... You +think no one feels love for her but yourself ... I hope +you are prepared to show your love and prove it ... +by saving her. If <i>I</i> could do it, I would. Let me tell +you, Rosalind Chard, that there is <i>nothing</i> in this world +that I would not give up for Clem, or do for her. And +you? Can you say that too? Or is your love of the +school-girl type—all marks of exclamation and admiration +and—was it <i>condemnation</i> that I heard in your voice?" +She spoke scornfully, yet there was a wondrous, thrilling +appeal in her words. "Would you condemn her, Rosalind? +Do you know nothing of love, then? That it is +always the best whom it attacks most violently—that no +one can keep one's heart from straying ... that there +are men in the world who when they call must always +be answered ... whom no woman can fight successfully +against...."</p> + +<p>But Poppy could only whisper to herself: "Clem! +Is there <i>any man in the world</i> who could beguile Clem from +the straight, clear way on which her feet are set ... +away ... to the deep pits whence comes the wailing of +... transgressors! Is there <i>any man</i> ... in the world?..." +Suddenly she sat up straight and rigid, and her +head struck the trunk of the orange-tree. A look of +terror was in her face. She knew the answer. <i>She knew +what she was going to hear.</i></p> + +<p>What came dully to her ears was something she had +long known—long, long.</p> + +<p>"—And when he went away to Borapota she was like +a woman mad with grief ... I thought she would have +died.... She besought me, <i>besought</i> me to go as far as I +could with him ... Nick and I ... in case he should +sicken and die of fever.... He did get fever again ... +was terribly ill at Borwezi ... and always his one cry<span class="pagenum">[399]</span> +was for her.... Nick would tell you ... he too knows +... it was always <i>Loraine</i>...."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" The girl under the tree gave a cry and covered +her smitten eyes with her hands.</p> + +<p>"Always it was <i>Loraine</i>. That was his secret name for +her.... I never knew till after I came back that it really +is her name ... I asked her one day ... she only +said it was her name, but that she never let anyone use +it ... <i>he</i> used it though ... he ... <i>he loved her</i>... +Miss Chard, I believe that he loves her still ... it is +not possible that a man could cease to love a woman +like Clem ... a girl's face might attract him ... and +draw him for a while ... but <i>Clem</i> ... a man would +always come back to her ... she is the kind that men +come back to ... are faithful to for ever.... Oh, +child! I believe I have hurt you bitterly ... deeply +to-day ... forgive me ... it is for <i>her</i> sake ... I +love her ... do <i>you</i> love her ... enough to spare +her?"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Poppy's hands fell away from her eyes, which were +dull now, like the eyes of a dead woman, she was alone +in the garden. She sat on—all through the morning, far +into the afternoon hours, and no one disturbed her.</p> + +<p>Indoors an odd thing had happened. The servants had +laid lunch for five people, according to the after-breakfast +instructions of their mistress. But of the five people +who were to sit down in the dining-room not one appeared. +Mrs. Portal had telephoned up from the Point that she +and Miss Allendner could not be back in time, and so +would lunch on the ship with Lady Mostyn. Nurse had +received the message on the telephone, but there was +no one in the house to deliver it to. Mrs. Capron had +come to the nursery window and informed nurse (just +free from beguiling Cinthie off to her mid-day <i>siesta</i>),<span class="pagenum">[400]</span> +that she felt faint and ill, and had decided to take a rickshaw +home instead of remaining for lunch. Then, Mr. Portal, +after sleeping badly all night and breakfasting in his room, +had gone afterwards to lie in the garden, to see if he could +sleep there. But when Sarah went to seek him he was +nowhere to be found. His book was open on the grass, +and the cushion he had taken for his head had a dent in +it, showing that it had been used. Both were lying by +the Barbadoes-hedge, under an orange-tree that grew +in the middle of it, but Mr. Portal had gone. Nurse, +however, believed that from the nursery window she had +seen him walking out of the garden with his hat pulled +right down over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"But then, again," she said to cook, "I really couldn't +be sure, for he looked so strange, and walked so funny. +If I didn't know that master doesn't drink, I should have +said he'd had a drop too much. But there, he's not well—maybe, +that's why he looked so queer!"</p> + +<p>As for Miss Chard, no one thought about her; the +servants supposed that she had gone with Mrs. Portal to +the Point. If Sarah had thought of looking over the Barbadoes-hedge +just at the place where Mr. Portal had been +lying, she would have seen Miss Chard sitting there, sometimes +staring vacantly before her, sometimes holding her +face against the orange-tree as though for comfort.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[401]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">ON their way home from the Point, Mrs. Portal and +Miss Allendner looked in for a while at a friend's +house on the Musgrave Road, where an "At Home" +was in full swing.</p> + +<p>Everyone clustered about Clem with solicitous inquiries +for the health of Miss Chard, and she found herself detained +a good while longer than she had intended. When at +last she reached home she was flushed with haste, for +not only were there people coming to dine, but two women +friends were arriving that night to stay for some days; +and the margin of time she had allowed herself to dress, +give a final survey to the bedrooms, inspect the <i>menu</i>, +and attend to the table-flowers, was far from wide. Also, +she had a longing for a few moments' gossip and rest in +Poppy's room, for through the rush of small affairs she +had been barely able to exchange a word with her friend +all day.</p> + +<p>As soon as she entered the hall Sarah handed her a +telegram, which she tore open and read immediately, +supposing it to be from one of her expected guests. But +as her eyes fell on the flimsy paper, both Sarah and the +elderly spinster saw by the change that swept over her face +that this must be something more serious than a guest's +telegraphed regrets. A look of blank astonishment was +followed by one of horror. Her lips went white and the +deadly shade crept over her face, seeming to age it suddenly. +Then, her dazed eyes perceived the two women<span class="pagenum">[402]</span> +looking anxiously at her. Instantly she controlled herself; +gave an order to Sarah, asked Miss Allendner if she +could possibly arrange the table-flowers for her as she +didn't think she would have time to do it herself, and with +apparent indifference took up and read the cards of some +visitors who had called during the afternoon. She even +called Sarah back and made some inquiries as to whether +any of the visitors had asked to see Miss Chard.</p> + +<p>"They did so, ma'am. But I could not find Miss +Chard anywhere, and I thought she was with you—afterwards +she came in from the garden."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Sarah—give cook as much help as you can +this evening."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>yes</i>, m'm."</p> + +<p>The maid went her ways, and Mrs. Portal to her room.</p> + +<p>When she had closed her door she stood still and re-read +the telegram upon which her hand had retained a convulsive +clutch. Afterwards, with a little groan, she +dropped it and fell upon her knees by her bed. Kneeling +there, her face buried in her hands, she after a while lost +count of time, and did not hear a knock on her door.</p> + +<p>When the senses are dulled by suffering they play +strange tricks on the poor human beings who depend on +them. Poppy, who knocked, imagined that she distinctly +heard a voice say:</p> + +<p>"Come in," and opening the door she softly entered.</p> + +<p>Clem sprang to her feet and turned her haggard face to +the intruder, anger in her eyes; and Poppy, aghast and +trembling, suddenly shrank back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clem!... I beg your pardon," she stammered. +"I was so certain I heard you say 'Come in' ... I ... +Oh, you <i>know</i> I would not dream of intruding on you...." +She was whiter even than when she entered; her lips +were quivering so much she could hardily speak coherently. +Unwittingly she had seen Clem kneeling there—abandoned<span class="pagenum">[403]</span> +to misery! And now she saw the tragic eyes that looked +at her—and she knew what it all meant! <i>This</i> was the +first moment in the whole long day Clem had had to +herself ... and she ... <i>she</i> must needs intrude on +the secret grief of the woman she loved <i>and had robbed</i>! +She put out her hand with a gesture that implored forgiveness +and told of love. Almost for the moment she +forgot her misery in Clem's. But Clem had turned away +and was standing at her dressing-table. Over her shoulder +she said in a strained voice:</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter ... I don't mind <i>you</i> ... I +have had some bad news. But don't ask me about it, +dear. I can't speak of it—<i>even with you</i>!"</p> + +<p>Was this said in bitterest irony? Poppy wondered +dully, and she did not know what she answered before she +left the room, and that did not matter, for Clem Portal +did not hear. They were two people walking in heavy +darkness that cut them off from the voices of their +fellows.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the house rang with the laughter +and merriment of the two new arrivals—old friends of +the Portals—who had come down from Maritzburg to +spend a few days and attend the Durban Club Ball, which +was to take place the next night. In the drawing-room, +before dinner was announced, Clem's laughter was the +gayest of all; but to Poppy's ear there was a note in it +like the clank of a broken bell. The Maritzburgers were +two light-hearted, pretty women of the military set, whose +husbands' regiments had so recently come from India +that they were still keenly and sorely feeling the difference +between Simla and the benighted capital of Natal. But +their repinings were for the time forgotten in vivacious +crowing over the fact that their husbands had been unable +to accompany them at the last moment, so that there +would now be nothing to prevent them from having<span class="pagenum">[404]</span> +a delightful fling and dancing their heels off at the coming +ball.</p> + +<p>"Robbie is all very well up to supper-time," cried +Mrs. Dorand to the world at large, "but after supper he +gets sleepy, and I meet his sulky face at every corner +imploring me to come home."</p> + +<p>"<i>Everybody</i> knows how foolish Theodore is about my +adoration for your Billy, Clem." The wife of Major Monk +was a violet-eyed, jolly girl from the Curragh. "But +<i>now</i> I shall be able to dance with him uninterruptedly all +night."</p> + +<p>"Indeed then you won't," said Clem, "for he's been +called away on business quite suddenly, and I doubt +if he'll be back in time for the ball—so we shall be a hen +party."</p> + +<p>Amidst moans and expostulations she added: "But I +daresay I can beat up a few wild-geese from somewhere. +There are several coming to-night." She proceeded to +recount the names and accomplishments of the men +expected, and during the tale the rest of the party arrived +and dinner was announced.</p> + +<p>Poppy found herself upon the arm of Luce Abinger.</p> + +<p>There were moments during the course of that dinner +when she believed herself to be on the point of going mad; +when the lights and the jewels and the wine and the +faces were all hideously mixed, and she could have shrieked +like a banshee at the two merry Maritzburg women, +and fled from the table and the house. But always she +was recalled to herself by just glancing to the head of +the table where Clem Portal sat, the wittiest and most +charming of hostesses, with two badly-painted streaks of +red in her cheeks, and flaming lips which gradually lost +their colouring and looked oddly at variance with the rest +of the "make up" by the end of the dinner. Even bad +dreams come to an end some time.<span class="pagenum">[405]</span></p> + +<p>If there were two things in Poppy's world impossible +to associate with peace and gratitude, they were assuredly +the darkness of a garden and the exclusive society of Luce +Abinger. Yet she found herself during a part of that +nightmare-evening looking upon these things as blessings +for which to be distinctly thankful to Heaven.</p> + +<p>Two other people were sauntering afar, and in the +drawing-room a quartette had settled down to Bridge, +with Miss Allendner at the piano playing the stilted +<i>polonaises</i> and polkas of her vanished youth.</p> + +<p>Abinger and Poppy talked together in a friendly, natural +fashion that they had never known before. He congratulated +her about her work, said how much he had +enjoyed reading her last book, and asked her if she had +sold the African rights of her plays, as they were sure +to bring in a large sum. She told him she had long ago +sold all rights and spent the money; that, indeed, she had +spent most of her money, and must begin to think about +earning more at once. He knew, of course, about her loss +of all the work she had recently done. Suddenly the +recollection swept over her that it was to fight him that +she wanted the money. She stood still in their idle sauntering, +and faced him. All the terror and misery of the +past, that he indirectly had been the cause of, came back. +Yet she could not hate him when she saw his haggard, +distorted face. And how ill he looked! For a moment +she forgot her wrongs, in womanly pity.</p> + +<p>"You look ill, Luce," she said kindly.</p> + +<p>"I am ill; I am a starving man." He came near her +and looked at her. "You and I are both starving—for +something we can't have. I have never been able to +discover what it is you want—or, to be more precise, <i>who</i>—but +you know very well who it is, and what, that I want."</p> + +<p>She drew back from the look in his eyes. His tone +changed instantly; he looked and spoke idly.<span class="pagenum">[406]</span></p> + +<p>"Well—my offer holds good at any time."</p> + +<p>"Your offer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes ... don't forget it ... I know that the mere +fact of money is nothing to you ... but you're not +happy. If you like work and fame, well—you don't +look like a girl who does, that's all!"</p> + +<p>They were walking now over the dew-spangled lawn, +and she was wondering what he meant. Suddenly he +stood still and began to stammer at her incoherently.</p> + +<p>"When I told you the truth in that letter, I did not do +it in the spirit that a man throws up the sponge—don't +think that! I did it," he continued hoarsely, "to be fair +and square with you for once. To begin again with the +way clear before us—if you will. It was a rather fine thing +to do, I thought," his tone changed to the old, sneering +one; "but like all the fine things I've ever done it ended +in repentance. I know now that I was a fool to tell +you."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about, Luce?" she wonderingly +asked. Then for the first time since she had locked her +studio door on it she remembered his unread letter. "Is +it something you told me in the letter you sent to the +cottage?—I never read it. It was burned unopened the +night of the fire."</p> + +<p>A change came over his face. His scar seemed to twitch +and gleam spasmodically in the moonlight. There was a +silence. Then very softly he began to laugh, looking at +her intently and feeling in all his pockets.</p> + +<p>"What was in the letter, Luce?" she said beguilingly. +She knew now that it was something she ought to know. +But he only went on laughing softly. She tried to recall +and understand the words he had been saying, but she +could not.</p> + +<p>He thought of all the furious rage and contempt he had +expended on himself within the last few weeks while he<span class="pagenum">[407]</span> +waited and waited for some word of thanks from her for +the fine generous thing he had done in telling her the +truth at last—that she was not his wife at all; that Carmen +Braganza, the beautiful Spanish dancer, whom he had +secretly married in Johannesburg, was still living at the +time of the ceremony between himself and Poppy——</p> + +<p>And she had never read the letter! All was as before!</p> + +<p>She did not know, and there was still a fighting chance +that, wearied out with the strife and siege, she would +turn and surrender.</p> + +<p>Then he would say:</p> + +<p>"Yes—but we will not take the world into our confidence +about the little ceremony in the White Farm. +We'll go and be married publicly."</p> + +<p>Thinking of these things, what could he do but look at +her and softly laugh?</p> + +<p>As for her, sick at heart, hopeless, remembering her +misery, she turned away and set her desolate face towards +the house, where a woman whom she loved well wore two +little painted flames in her cheeks.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"What need to strive, with a life awry?"<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Life was awry with everyone it seemed! What did it +matter what Luce Abinger had to say?</p> + +<p>She had no fight left in her. Her feet, as she walked +up the sloping lawn, seemed too heavy to lift—they +caught in the grass as she stumbled wearily towards the +house, Abinger following.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Luce," she said lifelessly as they reached +the verandah. She felt no anger towards him now. She +let him take her hand and she listened without resentment +to his whispered words.</p> + +<p>"When are you coming back to your home and your +husband, Poppy?"</p> + +<p>Indoors, the card-party had broken up. The travellers<span class="pagenum">[408]</span> +were tired, and Clem was for hunting them to bed. The +men made farewells and went, Abinger with them, and +Clem and Miss Allendner hustled away to the rooms of the +guests. Poppy took the opportunity of slipping into the +narrow little writing-room, which opened off the hall and +was meant for common-use. She wished to write out a +telegram, and she knew there were forms to be found +there. Sitting down to the desk she found the stack of +forms and began to write on the top one. But someone +had been using it before her, and with a violent hand and +stubby pencil had left an entire message deeply indented +on the form beneath the one that had been used and torn +off. With the first word Poppy wrote the ink flowed +from her full pen into the rutted words, outlining a part of +the message, and she read all then as dully and unthinkingly +as she had done everything else that evening.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Come back to me. You have never been out of my heart +for a moment since first I loved you.—Loraine.</i>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>The address was a code word, care of the Rand Club, +and the words were in Clem's writing. It was the last +link in the chain. If Poppy had had any lingering, hoping +doubt in her mind, it fled now. She forgot the words she +had meant to write, and then she told herself they didn't +matter in any case. Vaguely she remembered to tear the +form off and destroy it; then rose from the desk and +walked rather blindly to the door and out into the +lighted hall. Clem was waiting there to bid her good-night.</p> + +<p>The red had faded from her cheeks now, or else the light +was kinder, and her eyes looked big and dim. She put out +her hands, took Poppy's, and gave them a little, gentle +squeeze, and she smiled her own brave turned-up-at-the-corners +smile.<span class="pagenum">[409]</span></p> + +<p>"Life is a curious thing, Poppy," she said gently. "It +is hard to tell which is dream and which is real. Sometimes +I don't think any of it is real at all. Good-night +dear."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[410]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">AFTER a week or so at Potchefstroom, Carson returned +to Johannesburg, to find Rosser beating the town +for him, crazy with impatience. Wallerstein had offered +seven hundred pounds apiece for the South Rands, but +Rosser had not closed; he considered it madness not +to stand out for eight hundred.</p> + +<p>"It'll only be a matter of a week or two," said he. +But Carson gloomed and cursed. It maddened him to +find the thing still unsettled, for he had made up his mind +not to return to Durban until he knew definitely whether +he had poverty or wealth—both comparative, of course—to +offer to the woman of his heart. However, as he had +stayed so long already, a few days more could not make +much difference, he argued lifelessly with himself, so he +gave a grudging half-assent to Rosser and went his ways. +He still had several minor affairs to attend to, and various +people to see, but he did all half-heartedly. Choosing and +despatching a ring to Poppy was the only thing that +gave him any joy, and that was too poignant for pleasure. +Then, suddenly, in one day he grew restless and haggard. +Hunger was on him for the sight of a face, and at last he +knew he could wait no longer, but must go. The decision +came upon him suddenly in the Club with the sight and +scent of a gardenia Forsyth was wearing in his coat at +lunch-time. Now, between the scent of a gardenia and +the scent of Barbadoes-thorn there is scarcely any difference +at all, except that the gardenia's fragrance is perhaps<span class="pagenum">[411]</span> +more subtly insistent. Carson spun out of the Club into +a cab and in fifteen minutes was in his broker's office.</p> + +<p>"Close for seven hundred pounds each, Rosser," he said +briskly. "And get the whole thing fixed up as soon as +possible. I'm leaving to-night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I've already closed for eight hundred pounds +each," chirruped the elated Rosser. "The transfer is +completed and the money paid in." He pranced into an +inner office and produced voluminous documents. "Loot, +my son! Loot from the house of Rimmon! I take my +little fifteen thousand pounds and you take twenty-five +thousand. Isn't <i>that</i> all right? <i>Now</i> will you be good!"</p> + +<p>An hour later Carson regained his cab and was driven +to his rooms. A portmanteau at <i>Vetta's</i> head was a sufficient +indication of his intentions, and the rest of the afternoon +was spent in settling up his remaining business +matters and appointments by telegram and telephone. +Then he dined, and caught the eight o'clock express by +one minute and a half. <i>Vetta</i>, who was on the look-out +for him, indicated an empty first-class, and Carson fell +into it and slept like the dead until morning.</p> + +<p>Those were the days when the run between Johannesburg +and Durban occupied the better part of twenty-seven +hours. The first stop of any importance was at Volksrust, +the boundary town, and Carson roused himself to take a +look at country he knew well, and was not likely to see +again for many years. It was as early as five <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, and +a wet salt mist lay over everything, chilling him to the +bone as he opened his window and looked out at the bleak +Drakensberg looming through the haze, and tragic Majuba, +which throws a shadow athwart every brave man's path +as he passes. Later, the train dashed through the Laing's +Nek tunnel, and as it descended the sloping spur of the +range, Natal lay before Carson's eyes—all beautiful green +valleys and running water: the land of his desire. The<span class="pagenum">[412]</span> +mist had cleared from the air, but it still seemed to obscure +Carson's vision as he looked, and he passed Ingogo, and +Mount Prospect, with ill-fated Colley's monument, unknowingly. +Only the far blue haze that meant the coast +lured his eyes, for there for him lay heart's content.</p> + +<p>Presently, at Newcastle, came the faithful <i>Vetta</i> with +tidings of breakfast; and Carson scrambled amongst a +weary, sleepy crowd, in which he recognised no face, for +sandwiches and vile coffee flung at him, half in cup and +half in saucer. When he had breakfasted in this fashion, +taken a leisurely stroll, glanced in all the carriages to +see if there could possibly be any passengers he knew, +inspected the accommodation of <i>Vetta</i>, and inquired into +the matter of the latter's breakfast, he returned to his +carriage. There was still a residue of sixteen hours to get +through before the journey ended. Having no reading-matter +with him, he thought at first to kill time with +pleasant thoughts of a woman in a garden, but it was +presently borne in upon him that his consciousness, or +conscience, or memory, or whatever he may have cared +to call it, had another and less agreeable affair to consider +with him. Something within, that he would fain have +cursed into silence, earnestly solicited his attention to the +fact that the train which was crawling with him to the +woman he loved, was at the same time tearing with most +indecent haste towards one whom he had never loved, +and the hour in which he must tell her so. Presently the +thought of that hour lashed him, cut him with knives, +turned him sick.</p> + +<p>In time, he stared at the wild and rugged outline of the +Biggarsberg, until it seemed blurred with a red haze; and +as the flat and dreary land of stunted bush that lies between +Elandslaagte and Howick unrolled itself monotonously +before his window, rocks appeared to grin and gibe at +him, and isolated trees menaced him with gnarled arms,<span class="pagenum">[413]</span> +even as in Wiertzs's picture Napoleon is menaced by the +arms of women.</p> + +<p>As the hours passed his eyes grew bloodshot and his +throat dry. His mouth sneered with self-contempt; +unconsciously his lips opened and closed, and he swallowed +with the expression of a man who is tasting the bitterness +of death. But through all, his heart held steadfast to +one plan—the man's plan, the old plan that was in the +beginning and shall be till the end.</p> + +<p>Later, he lay on the seat of the carriage, his face to +the wall, his eyes closed, his hands clenched—thinking, +thinking. He would remember Poppy's shut eyes as he +kissed her under the flamboyant tree; how her throat +shone in the darkness. Then a voice, <i>not hers</i>, would break +in upon him, crying:</p> + +<p>"Evelyn, I love you. For your sake men may brand +me—swear you will never forsake me for another woman!"</p> + +<p>Did he ever swear? Was that his voice he seemed to +hear?—tender, fervent—swearing by her face, by his +life, by——</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord God! what a blackguard!" he groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>But his heart held steadfast to his plan.</p> + +<p>When at last evening fell, the train reached Maritzburg, +and the passengers poured out into the station dining-room. +Carson, haggard-eyed, found the bar, and drank +three brandies atop of each other. He was on the point +of ordering a fourth when a Maritzburg acquaintance +stepped in and saved him the trouble—slapping him on +the shoulder, and claiming his attention with a little scheme, +which he said Bramham was standing in with. It was +something about coal, but Carson never afterwards remembered +details, though he listened very politely and intently +to every word, for it was good to be spoken to by a decent +man as if he were another decent man, after those years +of degradation in the train.<span class="pagenum">[414]</span></p> + +<p>The four brandies might have been poured over a rock +for all the effect he felt of them; but when the starting +bell rang, he made his way back to the train through the +hustling crowd with a calmer mien, and leaning from the +window, wrung his acquaintance's hand with unassumed +warmth. Ever afterwards he felt real friendship for that +Maritzburg man.</p> + +<p>To his surprise, he found that he now had a fellow-passenger, +a lady. Her figure seemed vaguely familiar +as she stood packing her things into the rack, and when +she turned round he wondered where in the world before +he had met the unabashed gaze of those large brown eyes +beneath a massed fringe of dusty, crispy hair. She, on +her part, was regarding him with the pleased smile of an +old acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"Sir Evelyn Carson! How funny!" she said, and +smiled winningly. Carson bowed, and his smile was ready +and courteous, for, in truth, he was glad not to be alone; +but he continued to greatly wonder.</p> + +<p>"I believe you don't remember me!" said she archly. +"How unkind! And I've so often bowed to Mr. Bramham +when you've been with him in the old days. And you've +been to Brookie's office, too, when I was his seckertary."</p> + +<p>At last Carson was enlightened. He was, in fact, in +the pleasant company of Miss Sophie Cornell.</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes, of course—I remember quite well," said he. +Indeed, if she could but have known it, he remembered a +good deal more than was flattering, for Bram's tale of +highway-robbery was still clear in his mind. She had +changed a good deal since then: grown coarser and more +florid—and there were other things—! When a woman +has flung her kisses to the world as generously as summer +flings daisies in a green meadow, the tale of them is marked +upon her face for all who run to read. However, her +dress was black, and so extremely neat that it was a pity<span class="pagenum">[415]</span> +she should have spoiled its effectiveness by wearing a pair +of yellow <i>suède</i> evening shoes.</p> + +<p>Carson was not surprised when she informed him that +she had left the uninteresting field of typewriting, to adorn +a profession where beauty and wit are more readily +recognised and liberally remunerated.</p> + +<p>"I am in an <i>awfully</i> nice bar in Maritzburg," she told +him languorously. "Come in and have a drink next time +you are there—'The Falcon.' All my friends were <i>awfully</i> +annoyed with me for leaving <i>literary</i> work, but really +it was <i>so</i> dull—and, of course, it's a great mistake to think +one can't stay <i>a lady</i>, whatever one does; don't you think +so, Sir Evelyn, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" he gravely agreed.</p> + +<p>"I am treated as <i>quite</i> the lady by all the smartest men +in the town, and there's a great difference between that +and being bullied from morning to night by a little bounder +like Brookie, you know. Not that he didn't have his good +points. But still, the way he treated me in the end was +perfectly <i>frot</i><a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>, and there's no other word for it. In fact, +everybody did. Charlie Bramham, now, always said he'd +be my friend, but as soon as it suited him, he just scooted +off and never came near me again ... after persuading +me in the first place to come to Durban to work for +him."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Rotten.</p></div> + +<p>"Oh! Bramham's a good fellow," said Carson, smiling +at this new version of a tale of highway-robbery. "I +don't think he could have behaved very badly."</p> + +<p>"Good fellows and bad fellows are all just the same +when they're tired of you," said Miss Cornell feelingly; +adding, with great hauteur: "Not that I ever allowed +any man to get tired of <i>me</i>, Sir Evelyn, I assure you. +There's not a single fellow in Africa can say a <i>thing</i> about +me."<span class="pagenum">[416]</span></p> + +<p>This was very impressive, but Carson did not exactly +know what it might mean. He only knew that he was +growing a little weary.</p> + +<p>"And then there was a girl that I befriended. I took +her in when she came to my house without a rag to her +back, or a shoe to her foot, one night—fed her, clothed +her, and treated her like my own sister—or would have +done if she hadn't been such a cold-blooded, standoffish +<i>slang</i>.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Yet I can assure <i>you</i>, Sir Evelyn, that when +I was on the Durban Race-course three weeks ago, with +two <i>perfect gentlemen</i> from the Rand, she sat quite close to +me in a carriage with that Mrs. Portal, and though I +smiled and bowed to her <i>twice</i>, she deliberately looked +right through me.... I might have been a bit of rubbish +lying in the street...."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Snake.</p></div> + +<p>Something in this narrative dimly, though unpleasantly, +interested Carson. He forgot his weariness for the moment +and looked at the woman intently.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... what do you think of that? Deliberately +<i>cut</i> me ... me who had been her friend in need. I +supposed it was because she had managed to get taken up +by a big-pot like Mrs. Portal.... I said so to one of my +friends—such a nice boy—you may know him—Wolfie +Isaacs, of the firm of Isaacs and Jacobs. But after he'd +been away talking to some other men, he came back and +told me that <i>she</i> was the great authoress who wrote all +the cracked books and poems about Africa, and that +everyone was raving about her. He said I must have +made a mistake when I thought I knew her! What do +you think of <i>that</i>? The girl I had taken in without any +shoes to her feet!... and, oh my! couldn't I tell a +tale to her swell friend Mrs. Portal if I—" Something +in the steely expression of the face opposite suddenly +arrested her flow of eloquence.<span class="pagenum">[417]</span></p> + +<p>"Do you mind telling me whom you are talking about?" +said Carson quietly.</p> + +<p>"Certainly—I'm delighted to. It is only fair that +everybody should know what a <i>slang</i> that girl is, to cut +<i>me</i> like that, who had taken her in without asking a single +question about where she came from.... Och! but I +can tell you I found out afterwards, Sir Evelyn ... +she's as bad as she can be, that Rosalind Chard——"</p> + +<p>Carson's tanned skin had turned an ashy-yellow shade, +which was neither becoming nor artistic.</p> + +<p>"Woman—" he said in a low, hoarse voice, scarcely +audible; but his eyes said a great deal more than his lips; +and Miss Cornell, at first surprised, became angrily +red.</p> + +<p>"Och! don't you <i>woman</i> me!" she cried, bridling. +"So <i>you're</i> a friend of hers, too, I suppose! She's got +very grand all at once!... but I wonder if she told +you she used to be constantly in a house on the Berea +with Luce Abinger. That it was from <i>his</i> house she came +that night I took her in! My <i>boy</i> Zambani saw her come +through the gap in the hedge that led from Abinger's +garden. Ha! ha! and she pretending to be such a saint +all the time! Ask Mr. Bramham! He knows all about +it."</p> + +<p>Carson took it like a blow between the eyes. If he had +not been sitting, he would have reeled. As it was, he +leaned against the back of the seat and closed his eyes +for a moment, though the lids scorched like flame. But +the woman mistook his attitude for calm unbelief. She +thought he shut his eyes because he was pretending to be +bored, and she was furious.</p> + +<p>"And she pretending to be such a saint all the time," +she repeated. "A saint in the company of Luce Abinger!" +she laughed coarsely.</p> + +<p>Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering—as<span class="pagenum">[418]</span> +well as fury, and surprise, and misery, and four neat +brandies become suddenly potent would let him.</p> + +<p>Would this woman dare bade up her vile statement with +Bramham's name, unless—?... but there must be +some explanation. She and Abinger! Oh, God! <i>no!</i> +Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she +could not, he would kill her ... he would take her by +that long, fair throat——</p> + +<p>At that the coldness and calmness of moonlight fell +upon him like a pall; his brain cleared; he reflected on +the inflamed, furious face opposite him, surveying it +deliberately, insultingly, with stony, arrogant eyes. Slowly +his handsome lips took on a curve of incomparable insolence +and contempt—a look no woman could ever forgive. +In that moment Sophie Cornell knew what she was. The +colour left her face, and her lips and tongue went dry; +She had no words.</p> + +<p>His voice was almost gentle.</p> + +<p>"It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your" +(he paused) "<i>inducements</i>—to understand that Miss +Chard's reasons for——"</p> + +<p>"No," she sneered, hissing like a cobra. "No—of +course not—a <i>saint</i> like that! But I know well enough +what sort of a man Luce Abinger is—and so do you. His +name isn't spelt L-o-o-s-e for nothing."</p> + +<p>That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, +going on deliberately:</p> + +<p>"—For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to +your reasons—or shall we say inducements?"</p> + +<p>She hated him with her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but there <i>are</i> +other things of interest in the world besides—inducements. +And that the side of Mr. Abinger's character +which appears to be so well known to you, is one that he +reserves specially for ladies of your—distractions."<span class="pagenum">[419]</span></p> + +<p>He smiled and added:</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you hardly realise how distracting you are. +Here am I, for instance, with a number of pressing matters +waiting for my attention"—he put his hand into the breastpocket +of his coat and brought out a bundle of letters +and papers—"neglecting them to indulge in a fascinated +contemplation of you. But if you will be good enough +to release me——"</p> + +<p>Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue.</p> + +<p>"I hate Rosalind Chard," she said hoarsely, "but I +am sorry for her, all the same, if she gets you. I think you +are the worst devil I've ever met in my life. Talk about +the three bad men! Abinger and Charlie Bramham are +angels compared to you."</p> + +<p>"I will let 'Charlie' know of your favourable opinion +of him—he will be flattered. Pray excuse me!" He +looked apologetically at the papers in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh! go to hell!" she screamed. Carson bowed, and +with that insolent smile still lingering on his lips, gave +his attention to his letters.</p> + +<p>At Inchanga he stepped out of the carriage and looked +about him with careless interest, lighted a cigarette, and +presently lounged down the platform. Incidentally he +went into the telegraph-office and sent off a wire, requesting +Bramham to meet him at the station or be at home +waiting for him. When he came out of the little office +he was still smoking placidly, but the writing on the telegraph-form +resembled the writing of a drunken or palsied +man.</p> + +<p>On his return to the carriage he found that Miss Cornell +had been good enough to remove her distracting presence +to some other part of the train.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[420]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">IT was the night of the Club ball, the first and chief +event of the Durban season, and all the fashionable +world was busily pranking itself for the occasion.</p> + +<p>Bramham had dressed early, for he had been elected +by Mrs. Portal to be one of the wild-geese who were to +escort her house-party to the Town Hall. Just as he +was choosing some cigars for the night at the dining-room +table, Carson's telegram arrived. He whistled, +meditating upon it for a while.</p> + +<p>"Well, this Carson!" he called out to Abinger, who +was in a neighbouring room, also arraying himself for the +festival. "Wants me to meet him at the station, I thank +you!"</p> + +<p>"Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't do it, anyway," said Bramham, and sitting +down, hastily scribbled a note, saying that he could not +possibly wait on account of his engagement with Mrs. +Portal, but suggesting that Carson, on arrival, should +dress and come down to the Town Hall. He left this note +on the table, with instructions to the <i>boys</i> to see that +Carson got it as soon as he arrived; then jumping into +his carriage, he set off for the Portals' house.</p> + +<p>On his way up he had an impulse to call at the Caprons', +to see what arrangements Mrs. Capron had made for +going to the ball. He was aware that Nick had been +away for a week, and was not in the way of returning yet +a while. A man called Lessing had pitched a camp out<span class="pagenum">[421]</span> +beyond Inanda, to try some experiments in coursing +with six pedigree dogs he had imported from home, and +several other men had joined him, to see the sport and +incidentally get a little late fishing. Bramham had +received a note from Lessing that morning, asking him +to come out for a few days before they broke camp, and +mentioning that he should not be in for the ball, because +Capron, having put in a week's steady drinking without +anyone particularly noticing the fact, was now in the +uproarious stage and couldn't possibly be left. Whether +Mrs. Capron was aware of the state of affairs Bramham +did not know, but he thought that a friendly thing to do +would be to find out if she had arranged for an escort, +and, if not, to offer to call for her with Mrs. Portal's +party.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the carriage she came out into her +verandah, looking supremely lovely, as white-skinned, +red-haired women have a way of doing in a black setting.</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd just look in to make sure that you +were coming, Mrs. Capron," said Bram, his eyes shining +with the delight and excitement he always felt at the sight +of a pretty woman.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm coming, though Nick isn't," she said gaily. +"He is out at George Lessing's encampment, you know. +I've lent my carriage to Mrs. Portal for some of her party, +but Mrs. Lace is going to call for me—she will be here any +moment now."</p> + +<p>"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought +I might be of some use. When do you expect him back?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly. "I haven't +heard from him for several days. I expect he'll stay until +Mr. Lessing breaks up his camp."</p> + +<p>"Well, I must bustle on. I'm afraid I'm late, as it is +... but that's Carson's fault with his telegrams—" +He was off towards the gate.<span class="pagenum">[422]</span></p> + +<p>"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after +him.</p> + +<p>"No, coming back to-night—should be in by eleven," +said Bram, getting into his carriage.</p> + +<p>At the Portals' he found that some of the party had +already gone. Mrs. Portal was not quite ready, but Miss +Chard was in the drawing-room. She was resting in a +big chintz chair, with her white chiffon skirts foaming all +round her, and her hands holding a great bunch of shining +orange leaves that gave out a faint, crushed scent. She +had them held to her face when Bramham came in, and +her eyes were closed. She looked like a woman praying. +At the sound of him she started up, and the leaves dropped +rustling to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham +did not recognise. He looked at her in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!"</p> + +<p>"No—oh no ... not at all ... only I thought—" +She regained her composure rapidly and sat down again, +arranging her draperies.</p> + +<p>"I believe I must have been asleep, and you woke me +up," she smiled. Her face was as white as her gown, +but her eyes were dark and dilated, as if she were under +the influence of a drug. Bramham thought she looked +like death, until she smiled, and then he decided that he +had never seen her more alluring.</p> + +<p>"Unlucky man! you will have to ferry three of us +down!" she said. "Mrs. Portal is insisting on Miss +Allendner coming too. The poor soul has been so depressed +ever since the fire——"</p> + +<p>"Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a +quartette easily, but if you want more room for your +skirts, I'll sit up aloft."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit +up aloft too."<span class="pagenum">[423]</span></p> + +<p>They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance +or two from her now.</p> + +<p>"I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he +ventured.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, really—and whichever others you like." Bramham +seized her card blithely.</p> + +<p>"Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger +and Carson——"</p> + +<p>"But ... <i>he</i> ... has not returned?" she asked +quickly. It occurred to Bramham to be wily in the +interest of his dances. Carson is big enough and ugly +enough to look after himself, was his thought.</p> + +<p>"No ... not yet. But he <i>might</i> run in, mightn't +he? You're not thinking of going back on me, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" She turned away.</p> + +<p>He dotted his initials thickly on her card, for he had +discovered at a little informal affair that she danced +delightfully. When he gave it back, her hands were +trembling violently. Even the mention of Carson's +return had power to shake her whole being.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Portal came in, looking thin and worn, but with her +little gay air that carried everything along and made +people forget to observe that her eyes were ringed, and +her cheeks drawn, or what colour she was dressed in. +Laughing and apologising, she implored Poppy to give +a glance at the back of her gown to see if it was all right.</p> + +<p>"Really, I believe I laced it with my toes," she said. +"My hands haven't had a moment since daybreak.... +Come along, or we shall be late, and have to sit glued to +the wall all night.... Miss Allendner, you simply take +the shine out of us all in that gown ... you are <i>all</i> +shine ... I never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... +Come along, good peoples." She pushed the<span class="pagenum">[424]</span> +pleased old soul gently out of the room before her, and +Bramham and Poppy followed. Miss Allendner was, +indeed, at her best in a shining sequined gown, which +Mrs. Portal had been at some pains to reconstruct and +bring up-to-date.</p> + +<p>Eventually they set off—Poppy still carrying her bunch +of orange leaves, faintly scenting the carriage. Sometimes +when the others were absorbed in talk, she secretly +pressed them against her heart. She felt as though she +had gone back again to the days of her childhood, when +misery claimed her, and there was no hope of comfort, +or strength, or kindness, from anything but trees and +green leaves. She was glad that she wore her mother's +old green brooch and that there were great pieces of green +malachite in the high Empire comb she had stuck in her +piled-up crown of black, black hair; she needed all the +strength that green things could give her to-night.</p> + +<p>One of the first people they saw on entering was Mary +Capron, standing in the centre of the ball-room, a little +crowd of people about her, supremely beautiful in black +lace and diamonds. She came over to them at once with +a little loving pat of welcome for Clem and a brilliant smile +for the others. She half extended her hand to Poppy, in +friendliness; but Poppy turned away from her. She +could not welcome the touch of a hand that had smitten +happiness out of her life. They all moved down the big +ball-room together. There were little groups everywhere +of laughing men and women, and the seats that ran all +round the room were all occupied. The bandsmen up on +the stage, massed with palms and flags and greenery, +were making quivery-quavery sounds on their instruments.</p> + +<p>Other women came up and greeted them.</p> + +<p>"What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn +off our backs when the dancing begins ... don't you<span class="pagenum">[425]</span> +think it was a mistake to have the ball so early?... so +hot still!"</p> + +<p>Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women +say to the other in a low voice:</p> + +<p>"Clem's got paint on again.... She never used to +do it ... I wonder if Bill has been badly hit in the +slump? There's <i>something</i> wrong!"</p> + +<p>"I hear that Nick came in from the camp at the last +moment. Do you think it could possibly be true, Clem?" +said Mrs. Capron.</p> + +<p>"That depends on who told you."</p> + +<p>"Young Head. He said he heard someone say that +Nick and your Billy were both at the Club. Perhaps they +are going to surprise us by appearing." Mrs. Capron's +voice did not express much enthusiasm. Clem's eyes +flashed like lightning round the room, in search of young +Head, and she saw him immediately, busily collecting +dances. She had an inclination to rush straight over to +him, but she curbed it. Another inclination that almost +overwhelmed her was to fly from the hall, and take a +rickshaw to the Club; but she curbed that too, though to +do so cost an effort that threw up her rouge-spots more +clearly by reason of the increased pallor of her cheeks. +She continued to talk easily.</p> + +<p>"How did you get here, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? +This is my <i>Machinka</i> gown ... you haven't seen it +before, have you?"</p> + +<p>"Perfect, dear. I never saw you look more beautiful.... +Isn't Poppy wonderful to-night, too? ... she looks +like a woman who has stepped out of a dream ... no +wonder the men crowd round her. If I could only catch +her eye, we'd move on."</p> + +<p>When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her +elbow:<span class="pagenum">[426]</span></p> + +<p>"Don't forget <i>me</i>." Nothing could have looked more +out of place in that gay ball-room than Abinger's +scarred, sardonic face. But he stood there, cool and +irreproachably dressed.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left."</p> + +<p>"I am unfortunate." He shrugged and turned away, +and Poppy, looking round for the others, caught Clem +Portal's face with the mask off for one moment. With +that sight her faltering, fainting purpose changed to firm +resolution. Softly she called after Abinger, but when he +reached her again she seemed breathless.</p> + +<p>"I have a dance ... number five—" She held +out her card, and while he wrote upon it she spoke again, +swiftly and low. The preliminary soft bars of the first +waltz were already floating down the room.</p> + +<p>"Will you please be where I can see you—and reach +you <i>instantly</i> ... if I should want you?"</p> + +<p>A slight, bitter smile came to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good +place, I should say."</p> + +<p>Her eyes blazed at him for a moment. Then a subtle, +alluring look crossed her face, for all her lips were the lips +of a ghost. She half whispered to him:</p> + +<p>"Do you want me—<i>Luce</i>?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes looked into his for one short instant before she +veiled them quickly, and her heart seemed to turn over +within her, for desire stalked, naked and unashamed, +in the eyes of Luce Abinger.</p> + +<p>"Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Well—to-night—I think I may come—<i>home</i>," she +faltered; then without another word or look she turned +away, and took Bramham's arm for the first waltz.</p> + +<p>Abinger did not approach her again; neither did he +dance. He lounged conspicuously in a doorway, and if +anyone spoke to him, he snarled at them and they went<span class="pagenum">[427]</span> +hastily away. When the fifth dance came, he waited +until the music began; then walked across to where Poppy +was sitting, offered his arm nonchalantly, and they took +the floor together. When they had been dancing for a +few moments he spoke:</p> + +<p>"Poppy ... <i>to-night</i>?"</p> + +<p>"To-night," her pale lips gave back answer. Her feet +moved in time to the waltz, but she lay half fainting in +his arms. He had the daring to bend his head and touch +her face with his burning lips. Amid the flashing lights +of jewels, and the whirling faces, it was almost safe to have +gone unnoticed; everyone was too busy to watch what +others were doing.</p> + +<p>But there happened to be a man standing in a doorway, +hiding his grey travelling tweeds behind two or three +immaculates, who were trying to persuade him that it +would be quite a remarkable joke if he would come in +as he was, and pirouette amongst the dancers.</p> + +<p>"Come on now, Carson ... give us a taste of the old +Karri of old, mad days," a Rand man was saying; and +Carson, though listening and laughing, was watching two +people in the room. So it happened that he saw the kiss—and +the woman's face almost lying on Abinger's shoulder. +How could he know that she was dazed, half unconscious, +not knowing what she did, or caring? Abruptly he +pushed through the laughing group and stood full in the +doorway. For an instant he was on the verge of trampling +over everyone in the room to get to those two and tear +them apart; for an instant the other men thought they +were going to have a return of mad Carson with a vengeance, +and were sorry they had spoken; one of them laid a hand +on his arm. But in that instant a woman's eyes had +met Carson's—long, topaz-coloured eyes, full of eager +welcome and tenderness. The next moment he had flung +away from the other men, and was striding through the<span class="pagenum">[428]</span> +wide vestibule, down the Town Hall steps towards a rickshaw, +to take him God knew where. As he put his foot +on it a hand fell to his shoulder, and Brookfield's voice to +his ear—full of relief.</p> + +<p>"Carson! By gad! I'm glad you're back; Capron's +cut his throat, and they say he's dying at the Club. Come +on!"</p> + +<p>Carson stared at him with a stunned air.</p> + +<p>"Capron!" he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Yes; sliced his head off nearly. He was too drunk +to go home, so they hid him in Ferrand's room at the Club +with Portal in charge. But while Portal was out of the +room for a moment, Nick found Ferrand's best razor."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. +"I have business of my own."</p> + +<p>"You've <i>got</i> to come, Karri. He's raving for you. +Someone said you'd arrived, and Ferrand told me to find +you, or he'd have another hæmorrhage. Come on, now. +He won't keep you long; he's booked!"</p> + +<p>Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got +into the rickshaw and went off together.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later a woman shrouded in a long, black +satin cloak, her head muffled in veils, slipped down the +steps and beckoned a rickshaw. In a whisper she directed +the <i>boy</i> and told him to hurry.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At about an hour after midnight Clem came to Poppy, +who was sitting out a dance with a peaceful partner, and +drawing her aside said:</p> + +<p>"Dear, something awful has happened to Nick Capron +and Mary can't be found. I fancy she must have been +feeling ill and gone home without telling anyone. Anyway, +Mr. de Grey and I are going to see. I've asked<span class="pagenum">[429]</span> +Bramham to take you home as soon as you would like +to go.... the others will want to dance until dawn.... +Billy is at the Club, too, it appears."</p> + +<p>"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of +everything in the momentary excitement.</p> + +<p>"No; I can't wait for you, dear, as I'm ready. Better +come on with Mr. Bramham or Mr. Abinger. Suppose +you and Miss Allendner wait at Sea House for me?... +It's an easy drive from the Club.... I'll call for you +there, and we'll all go up home together.... it will probably +be painful, breaking the news to poor Mary. I'll +come as soon as I can afterwards." She hurried away, +and Poppy, excusing herself to her partner, went to the +dressing-room for her wraps. On her way she met Abinger, +told him swiftly what had happened, and asked him to find +Miss Allendner. But when she emerged from the dressing-room +Abinger and Bramham were waiting for her, minus +the companion.</p> + +<p>"She was dancing so happily for the first time to-night, +that I hadn't the heart to drag her away," said Abinger, +with unheard-of benevolence. The truth was that Miss +Allendner did not at all enter into his plans for the +evening, and so he had not bothered to look for her.</p> + +<p>The three of them left the hall together and reached +Bramham's carriage, which had been sent for. Afterwards +they drove away in the direction of Sea House. Bramham, +with permission, smoked moodily out of a window, and +Abinger, without permission, under cover of the uncertain +light, took Poppy's hand; but it lay like a smooth, cold +stone, and gave no response to his hot hold. His hands +were as bad as his eyes; by just holding a woman's hand +for three seconds, he could tell her things which for her +soul's sake she had avoided knowing all her life.</p> + +<p>They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea +House. In the dining-room they sat down and Bramham<span class="pagenum">[430]</span> +drummed his fingers on the table, wondering where +Carson was. Luggage was lying in the verandah, and +Bramham's note was open on the table; but of Carson +himself no sign.</p> + +<p>Inspiration came to Abinger to go and rout out the +servants to make coffee and sandwiches, for there was +a distinct chill in the air, and as none of them had partaken +of any supper to speak of, they felt weary and collapsed. +As it happened, the servants had not gone to bed, so the +coffee soon made its appearance, and at Poppy's suggestion +a further supply was ordered to be ready for Mrs. +Portal and de Grey. They sat at the table, and Poppy +poured out the coffee; but Bramham was restless and +began to walk the room, staring out at the night, and then +into Carson's room, which led from the dining-room, +and the door of which stood ajar. Once he sniffed the +air, and then stopped and listened.</p> + +<p>Abinger smiled sourly at him.</p> + +<p>"Whose trail are <i>you</i> on, Bram?"</p> + +<p>"There's something odd in the air—some unusual +scent," was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested +Abinger. Bramham ventured near her, sniffing still.</p> + +<p>"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell +some heavy scent."</p> + +<p>"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, +and thereupon called in the <i>boys</i> again and questioned +them in Zulu.</p> + +<p>"No—no one had been," they said, "excepting only +<i>Intandugaza</i>, who had remained but a little while and gone +away very angry."</p> + +<p>Both Abinger and the white woman in the white gown +who sat by the table understood Zulu, and heard for +the first time now of Carson's arrival that evening. To +Abinger the fact did not mean much. But Poppy sat<span class="pagenum">[431]</span> +staring with frozen lips at her bunch of orange leaves which +lay now upon the table. Also, she was listening intently. +It seemed to her that the sea, rustling and whispering on +the beach at the foot of the garden, had a message for her +that she had often heard before, but had never understood. +Dimly, for the first time, the meaning of its mysterious +sighing was creeping into her weary brain.</p> + +<p>"<i>Rest, rest, rest—peace—rest</i>," it whispered and sang.</p> + +<p>Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, +and ate it walking about the room.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though +making a new statement. "Can't you, Abinger?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves +have gone back on you."</p> + +<p>Poppy poured him out another cup.</p> + +<p>"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan +smile.</p> + +<p>"It must be the news about poor Nick Capron," Bram +said, and was just taking his coffee-cup from her hand +when they thought they heard a sound. They looked at +each other. It was a gentle little sound, and might have +been anything imagination suggested—a groan, or a cough, +or an exclamation. They waited intently to hear it +repeated, but it never came again. Abruptly Bramham +caught up a lamp—the lamp with Mrs. Brookfield's little +pink-silk shade upon it, and walked towards the only door +of the room that was open. It was the door of Carson's +bedroom—Poppy's eyes saw that in a moment. She +and Abinger had risen and followed Bram, and stood +behind him in the doorway. Her eyes took in every +detail of the wide, breezy room; the long, green curtains +at the windows, the heavy oak furniture, the guns, and +whips, and rods standing about, the books—and a big +photograph of Mrs. Portal's gay-sad face, smiling, on +the mantelpiece.<span class="pagenum">[432]</span></p> + +<p>Then she went back to her chair and listened once more +to the whispering sea:</p> + +<p>"<i>Rest, rest—peace, rest.</i>"</p> + +<p>"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham +angrily.</p> + +<p>"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger.</p> + +<p>"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!"</p> + +<p>They returned to the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"What a beast of a night!" continued Bramham explosively. +"What is one to do? I've a good mind to take +a run up to the Club and see whether I can do anything, +or where the others are ... shall I? Will you people +come too?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have +something to say to Mr. Abinger."</p> + +<p>At any other time Bramham might have found this +remark surprising, but on this upside-down night, when +nothing had happened as it should have done, and the air +was full of odd scents and sounds, he merely thought it in +keeping with the rest of things, so he departed, without +even taking his hat.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[433]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">NICK CAPRON lay on a bed in one of the bedrooms +of the Club—a sobbing, raving, blaspheming figure, +fearful in bandages sodden with blood, his arms strapped +to the sides of the bed to keep him from tearing at his +throat. The doctor and Portal stood by, regarding +him, one with a calm, professional eye, the other with a +wet forehead. Carson sat on a chair at the foot of the +bed with a face like a stone wall, staring straight before +him, his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>The injured man spoke continuously in a gurgling, +guttural way, half of his words intelligible, the other half +maniacal. His main plaint was for the sight of Carson, +whom he had not recognised.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd fetch Carson ... there's no one like +old Karri ... he's worth the whole damned boiling +of you ... besides, I have something to say to him +... if I am booked for the last stretch I'd like Karri +to see me off.... Oh, blazes! what the——is this at +my throat? Carson! Karri—where is my devoted wife, +too? <i>She</i> ought to be here to speed the parting guest ... +Mary—a damned iceberg ... but I'd like some ice.... +Give me some ice, Karri——"</p> + +<p>After a time the narcotic administered began to take +effect, and the watchers were relieved from the strain of +listening to these ravings. Ferrand and Portal took drinks +and sat down to wait for the coming of Mrs. Capron.</p> + +<p>"—And an infernal long time she is about it," said +Ferrand. "What do <i>you</i> think, Karri?"<span class="pagenum">[434]</span></p> + +<p>If Carson had an opinion on the subject he did not state +it, but he roused himself and looked at the time. It was +nearly half-past one.</p> + +<p>"I must get home," he muttered. "If you want me +Ferrand, you can telephone to Bramham's house. I want +to see Bramham," he added absently.</p> + +<p>Ferrand cocked a professional eye at him.</p> + +<p>"You're used up, Carson. Go home and sleep, but first +see if you can find Mrs. Capron, there's a good chap. We +can't have this over again when he comes to. She <i>must</i> +be here and that's all there is to it. You can use my +cart if you like, to get home in. Get a rest, old man ... +you look just about <i>peleela</i> ... take my cart."</p> + +<p>Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by +Portal through the silent rooms of the Club to the front +verandah.</p> + +<p>Ferrand's red-wheeled dog-cart, with its coolie-driver, +usually formed part of the street furniture, for the doctor +had a happy habit of leaving it outside the Club door, +going in and settling down to poker and forgetting all +about it. But at the moment it was nowhere to be seen, +the fact being that the man, tired of sitting still, had begun +to walk the horse, and was now out of sight at the far end +of the street.</p> + +<p>There was not a rickshaw to be seen; they were all +waiting for revellers outside the Town Hall. Fatigue was +beginning to tell on Carson: he rapped out a bad and +bitter word.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be +dead!"</p> + +<p>It was a well-worn expression, and Carson was accustomed +to it, but upon this occasion it jarred. Something +in Portal's voice was jarring, too. Now that Carson +came to remark it, for the first time that evening there was +something wrong with Portal's appearance as well as his<span class="pagenum">[435]</span> +voice. Instead of being in evening-dress, he had on a +brown tweed morning-suit, in which, to judge by its +appearance, he might have been knocking about the veldt +for several weeks. On the other hand, his face was as +bloodless and sallow as if he had been shut in a cellar for a +month, and his eyes were sunk deep in his head. Withal, +he was cheerful, full of suppressed excitement—almost it +might be said that he was gay. After many years in +Africa, Carson was accustomed to all kinds of moods and +tenses in his friends; also, being an intimate of Portal's, +he was aware that the latter possessed a troublesome liver. +But somehow, none of these things could quite account for +the extraordinary aspect and manner of Portal to-night. +Under the powerful rays of a street light which fizzled and +hummed close by, Carson observed him intently.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. +Anything wrong? ... besides Capron, I mean...?"</p> + +<p>The other responded with apparent composure.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing. I'm only glad to see you, Carson, that's +all. I'd no idea you were back from the Rand. I had +arranged to go up there after you, but——"</p> + +<p>"When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He +was unable to make head or tail of Portal's speech.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a +fascinating chap."</p> + +<p>Carson gazed at him.</p> + +<p>One of Portal's hands spasmodically gripped and ungripped +the verandah rail. With the other he appeared +to be holding something stiff in the right pocket of his +coat. He continued to talk in parables.</p> + +<p>"I went as far as Maritzburg, but I came back to-night +to put my affairs into shape and write a few letters—then +those fellows came in and asked me to take charge +of Capron ... I left him asleep, I thought ... I was +writing a letter to—well, never mind who to—when I<span class="pagenum">[436]</span> +heard a row ... and there was Capron ... <i>he'd got +ahead of me</i>."</p> + +<p>"But, good Lord! what do you mean?" Carson burst +out. "What's wrong with you? Have your finances +gone smash?" he brought an iron hand down on the restless +one gripping the verandah railing. The stiff article +in Portal's pocket twitched. Carson's career had been +adventurous and dangerous, but he had never been nearer +death than at that moment. Entirely unconscious of the +fact, he went on speaking.</p> + +<p>"If you've had a smash-up, Bill, everything I've got is +at your disposal.... I've just made a good turn-over +in the market.... I thought I should need it, for ... +but <i>my</i> castle is in ruins.... You can have it if it's any +good to you."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Carson—my finances are all right."</p> + +<p>"Then what in thunder's the matter with you?—haven't +you got the only good woman in this filthy +country I'd like to know! I could swear to <i>two</i> until +to-night. <i>Now</i>, if it were not for your wife, I should say +they were all rotten to the core ... false as—Oh, well, +what's the use?" he turned wearily away.</p> + +<p>"Have you spoken to my wife since you got back?" +asked Portal. He had come closer and was staring intently +into Carson's odd eyes as if searching for something there. +His gay air was gone; he breathed heavily.</p> + +<p>"I haven't spoken to any woman—except a devil in +the train to-day—for nearly three weeks. And after +to-night I think I'll be able to exist without 'em forever. +But I saw Mrs. Portal from the door of the Town Hall; +and she looked to me remarkably ill. Is <i>that</i> your trouble?"</p> + +<p>Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on +him austerely and keenly. "If it's any other woman, +don't expect <i>me</i> to sympathise with you—I could forgive +any man that but you—bah! but it couldn't be ...<span class="pagenum">[437]</span> +impossible!... Look here, Bill, I may as well tell you +something now ... you can take it how you like ... +I'm not ashamed of it ... I was in love with your +wife for years ... she has never known it for one moment +... but I loved her crazily—everything and everyone +else went by the board ... until I met her I was—well, +I needn't tell <i>you</i> what I was—no follower of Plato, +anyway—and you can take this how you please, too—I +am not going to pretend that there was anything +platonic about my feeling for her ... there was <i>not</i>.... +But, because she never turned her eyes my way ... or +stepped down once in all the years I've known her and +you from her shrine ... it got finer and finer until it +got to be the highest, finest thing in my life, and anything +decent that I've ever done was because of it."</p> + +<p>Portal had turned his head away before Carson had +finished and appeared to be looking at something down the +street. The thought came to Carson that he was either +indifferent or not listening.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well!" said he, angry to have wasted his confidence +and yet too weary to be angry long. "I daresay +this doesn't interest you much ... you know, of course, +that dozens of men have been in love with your wife ... +she's one of the women men can't help loving with all +that's decent in them—any more than one can help +loving one's mother. A love like that is like a star in +the sky of a man's life ... a star that shows the way +to the east.... And if <i>you</i> are one of those fellows that +don't know when a star has come down to you, why——"</p> + +<p>Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other +man.</p> + +<p>"Carson, you must excuse me; I'm queer to-night +... I've been listening to Capron's ravings until I'm +nearly raving myself ... but I think I understand +... I begin to see through it all.... Women do and<span class="pagenum">[438]</span> +say strange things in the name of Love!... But I +<i>know</i> that what you say is true—I believe in you, Karri."</p> + +<p>Carson could not pretend to understand the meaning of +this, and moreover, Ferrand's cart was at the door, and +the sickening remembrance of his own broken hopes was +upon him.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-night, old man.... I must go home. +If anything I've got can be of any use to you, let me +know." He held out his hand and Portal gripped it.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Karri—I'm going home, too." His face +was transformed.</p> + +<p>Carson never solved the problem of that conversation +with Portal; never knew how near death he had been, +never knew how his accidental confidence had saved his +life and given back her husband to Clem Portal. Indeed, +he never remembered much about his interview with +Portal at all. The memory of it was lost amongst the +crowded events of that phantasmagorial night.</p> + +<p>Ferrand's coolie spun the cart along at a great rate +behind the doctor's best polo pony. Just as they turned +into West Street a flying rickshaw passed them, but though +Carson heard a man's voice hailing he did not respond. +Mrs. Portal and de Grey were in the rickshaw returning +from long and vain seeking for Mrs. Capron, and it was +de Grey who shouted, thinking he recognised the doctor's +cart in the darkness.</p> + +<p>But even if Carson had known, he would not have +stopped. He had been too long delayed from his own +affairs, and he was driving now to get ease from the torture +burning in his brain and searing his heart. His thoughts +were fixed on one thing now—an interview with Bramham.</p> + +<p>"He's the only honest man amongst us, by Heaven!" +he said loudly, so that the coolie driver gave him a nervous +glance, and drew away. "The only one I'd take the +trouble to believe."<span class="pagenum">[439]</span></p> + +<p>He stopped the cart at the gate of Sea House, and told +the man to go back to the Club, then strode away up the +sea-sanded path. Lights gleamed brilliantly from the +dining-room, but silence reigned, and every other part of +the house was dark as death. Walking through the +verandah with light, swift feet and into the dining-room, +he came upon Poppy and Abinger sitting there, facing +each other across a corner of the table. There were tears +on her face, and one arm was flung out before her with +the gesture of one who has thrown the dice on a last +and desperate venture. Abinger's hand lay on hers.</p> + +<p>They stood up as Carson sped into the room, his eyes +blazing light in his dark face, and before anyone could +speak he reached Abinger and without word or warning +struck him a tremendous blow between the eyes, felling +him to the floor, where he lay quite still. Then he took +the girl by the throat—the long, white throat that shone +in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"By God! I must kill you!" he said, and his voice +was whispering like the sea's. She heard him; but she +made no movement upward of her hands, though the +pressure on her throat was terrible to bear. She closed +her eyes and prepared to die. The thought slipped into +her mind then that it would be good to have rest at last +from the ache and storm of life. That was the message +the sea was whispering.</p> + +<p>"<i>Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!</i>"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>After a long while she opened her eyes and found that +she was sitting in the same chair she had previously risen +from. Bramham's broad back was before her, but she +could see Evelyn Carson leaning heavily against the wall +like a drunken man, and Abinger seated in another chair +delicately wiping his lips. His scar had opened, and blood<span class="pagenum">[440]</span> +was trickling down it. The silence was broken by +Bramham's voice—quite calm and pleasant.</p> + +<p>"If you want to kill each other, take a brace of revolvers +and go out and do it decently somewhere in the open, where +it won't make a mess—killing Miss Chard, however, is +quite another matter."</p> + +<p>Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly:</p> + +<p>"She can live—<i>if she wants to</i>"—he gave her a look +that lashed across her face like a whip, leaving it distorted. +"Let them both live, and be damned to them!"</p> + +<p>The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham +had adopted, died away.</p> + +<p>"Well! <i>you</i> fellows from home—!" he began, and +looked from face to face. Abinger continued to wipe +blood delicately away, but he did not wipe the sneer from +his lips. The girl had the face of a little tired, weeping +child: the sight of it turned Bramham's heart to water. +He put out a hand to Carson, appealingly:</p> + +<p>"God! Karri, what is it?"</p> + +<p>The paleness of Carson under his tan had once more +given place to an inartistic-grey tint, and his eyes were dull; +but he appeared strangely composed.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you +love—less than nothing."</p> + +<p>A cry broke upon their ears, and all started and stared +about them, especially at the open door of Carson's room, +from whence that muffled, involuntary sound had come. +A stiffness came over them; their masks slipped on. +What unknown person had listened to the wild words that +had been spoken?</p> + +<p>Suddenly Bram remembered the sensations and scents +that had assailed him earlier in the night; catching up the +same pink-shaded lamp, he once more entered Carson's +room. He gave one searching glance about him, and then +instinct took him to the only possible cover—a narrow<span class="pagenum">[441]</span> +curtained recess in which to hang clothes. He thrust his +hand between the curtains. Mary Capron spared him +further trouble—she swept out from the recess, and from +the room, giving him one burning glance of hatred as she +passed.</p> + +<p>In the dining-room she stood still, the centre of attraction +for the second time that night. Her cloak had fallen +from her shoulders, and her beautifully-<i>coiffé</i> hair was +ruffled and limp, her eyes were long gleams of topaz light +in a carved-stone face. And for some reason she poured +the full measure of her rage and scorn upon poor Bramham, +who had dazedly followed her, stepping carefully +to avoid her train, and standing there now with the little +pink lamp in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Have you peered and pried enough?" she asked, +piercing him with her eyes. "Is your curiosity satisfied—now +that you have dragged me out? I came here to speak +to Evelyn Carson—hearing voices, I foolishly hid.... +Is your taste for scandal appeased?"</p> + +<p>Poor, gallant, woman-loving Bramham! He paled and +started, like a man who has unexpectedly been struck in +the face; then, turning, still dazed, he walked away with +the lamp in his hand from the room, and from the house—<i>his</i> +house! In the pathway he discovered the lamp in his +hand and put all his strength and disgust into flinging the +hapless thing with a crash into a bush.</p> + +<p>In the room the girl, still sitting in her chair, but with +an awakening look of amazement and hope upon her face, +said some words very softly to Mary Capron:</p> + +<p>"So you lied! ... false woman! ... and <i>base friend</i>!"</p> + +<p>But Mary Capron turned from her. Shaking with rage +and defeat, she flung a torrent of low, rushing words at +Carson.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> love this girl ... girl! ... her confessions to +Luce Abinger here to-night were not very girlish ... I<span class="pagenum">[442]</span> +could not hear all that she said to him, but I heard enough.... +She told him that she gave herself to some man +in a garden three years ago ... that she belonged <i>only</i> +to that man and could never love any other——"</p> + +<p>"No more," broke fiercely from Carson's white lips.</p> + +<p>"But you <i>shall</i> hear!" she cried, flinging out a hand and +catching his arm. "<i>She has had a child</i> ... she boasted +of it ... <i>the child of the man in the garden</i>.... Do you +deny it? Do you deny it?" she cried, turning to Poppy. +But Poppy did not deny, did not speak: only lifted +her head proudly and smiled.</p> + +<p>"There ... there ... you see?... let her deny it +if she can!"</p> + +<p>Stiffly Carson turned his head now and looked at Poppy; +his lips twisted like a man's who is tasting poison; his +eyes demanded.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have borne a son," she said simply.</p> + +<p>For a moment there was such a silence as is found in +rooms where the dead are lying. Then Mary Capron +broke it again:</p> + +<p>"She is proud of it!... You <i>see</i> ... you see what +you love? Is it possible that for a woman like <i>that</i> ... +that for <i>her</i> you can turn from my love, I who would let +men brand me in the face for you—who——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for God's sake!—are you mad?... be silent." +Carson caught her hands roughly and made to draw her +away. But she was beyond herself. "And now Nick is +dying ... I have heard them saying it ... and they +are looking for me to go to him, but I will not ... I +will not!... I will stay here with you, Eve—I am +terrified of blood—I—" she finished on a high note that +was almost a shriek, for Abinger had risen quietly from +his chair in the corner and was before her with his scarred, +bleeding face. Then at last she was silent. What there +was to be said, Abinger said—blandly, softly.<span class="pagenum">[443]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh! I think you had b-better come, Mary. It will +not be the first t-time you've seen a man cut about. You +remember the night this was done?" He touched his face +and she shrank away blenching. "The night Carmen +punished me for <i>our</i> sins. You were quite brave then. +You saw the whole performance without uttering a scream +or a cry that might have brought people to the scene and +discovered you. No one should blame you for that, but—I +think you could be brave enough to see Nick." He held +out his hand to her. She shrank from him, wilting with +shame, her eyes frozen in her face; but he was inexorable.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better come. It seems to me that +you have said enough for one night to Carson and Miss +Chard. She is free of me for ever—I have told her so. +And Carson is free of you. Is not that plain to you? +They love each other ... let us leave them to settle +their affairs. You and I—have many old memories to +discuss—unless you would rather discuss them here?"</p> + +<p>She went at that, with hurrying feet; and the man with +the bleeding, smiling face followed her.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Carson and Poppy were left alone. They stared into +each other's eyes with an agony of love and longing and +fear. Anger was all gone from Carson's face; only fear +was there—fear that was terror. It was the girl who +stood now; he had fallen into a chair, wearily, desperately.</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" he muttered; "is it true, after all?—<i>a +child!</i>" His own sins were forgotten in this overwhelming, +bitter revelation.</p> + +<p>She went over to him, and kneeled between his knees.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is true, Eve ... <i>your</i> child! ... child of +the night you dreamed that poppies grew upon the eternal +hills.... <i>I am Poppy!</i> Do you not know me?" He +sat up straight then and looked down at her, looked down<span class="pagenum">[444]</span> +deep into the glimmering eyes. "I am Poppy," she said, +and her voice was wine in a crystal beaker. She dragged +the malachite comb from her hair, and it came tumbling +down upon her shoulders in long black ropes. "I am +Poppy who gave you all her gifts."</p> + +<p>The sea helped her; it sent into the room a strong, +fresh wind that blew the veils of her hair across his face +and lips. He breathed sharply. God! What strange +scent of a lost dream was here? What sweet, elusive +fragrance of a most dear memory!</p> + +<p>He took hold of her hair as though he would have torn +it from her head. A light was in his face—he drew her to +him, staring into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Poppy? ... <i>Poppy!</i> ... <i>not</i> a dream?... <i>Not</i> the +ravings of fever?... Poppy!" He held her hair across +his face as though smelling some wonderful flower.</p> + +<p>"Eve ... did you not say to me, '<i>If I were stricken +blind in this hour</i>—'" she stopped.</p> + +<p>"'—<i>from ten thousand women I could search you out +by the scent of your hair</i>,'" he finished.</p> + +<p>Again they stayed long, staring into each other's eyes. +Staring—glance falling to glance and rising again; staring +with the brave, shame-stricken looks that women give +to men they adore and endow, and men to women they +rob, and bless—and rob again. Strange that two people +who love each other cannot for long bear the ardent flame +of each other's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Part of it is lost—for ever," he said at last.... "Gone! +... only fragments remain. But there never was a +dream like the dream we dreamt on that lost night." +And after a long time:</p> + +<p>"Poppy—where is my son?"</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes to him. The tears which she could +never shed for herself would always come rushing forth +for that sweet memory.<span class="pagenum">[445]</span></p> + +<p>"All my love could not keep him, Eve."</p> + +<p>She pulled a child's framed face from her bosom and +held it up to his eyes. He saw the little familiar face he +had looked at once before, pictured in a field of corn and +poppies, and trembled. He gave it one swift, sorrowful +look and then he wrapped his arms about her, and she lay +on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Do you regret?" he asked. "Have you ever regretted? +Oh, God! how can I ask?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she cried, but her voice was faint. Even +while she spoke she knew—none better than she—how +vain were denials against the truth of the past. How +all their memories and all their gladness to come must +ever be salted with pain and tainted with the bitter gall +of regret. How, when she laid a child in his arms, their +thoughts would terribly fly to that lost son of a lost dream +lying far from them in an alien land. They were transgressors—and +the reward of transgressors must ever be +theirs!</p> + +<p>Not much more was said. Only enough to chase the +shadows of others from the road of life they meant to +take together and make it clear before them. For the +rest—they had all the years to come in which to understand +and suffer and forgive.</p> + +<p>He thought of the turmoil and transgression and "tremendous +disarray" of his life—and of dark, still nights +far away in Borapota, with this woman of his dreams by +his side—and his heart sent up a cry that was not unworthy +of it.</p> + +<p>"O, Lord God—forgive me my sins!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Bramham came into the room long after, she +was still kneeling there in her white gown and her loosened +hair, and she thought it no shame for him to find her so.<span class="pagenum">[446]</span> +She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he held +it closely, preciously—for he, too, loved this woman.</p> + +<p>"Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes +one good thing!" he said. "<i>Your</i> ship is home in port. +Take her out to the gate, Carson. Mrs. Portal is waiting, +and they're going to pick up Portal at the Club. Capron +will recover, Ferrand says."</p> + +<p>When Poppy had hastily fastened her hair, and Carson +had wrapped her in her cloak, they went down to the gate +where Clem waited half in and half out of a carriage +window. Her face was radiant, too. She drew Poppy +in beside her.</p> + +<p>"Are you two happy?" she whispered. "So am I." +But she told nothing of the golden moment that had been +hers within the past hour, when, in the darkness of the +Club verandah, a big, sullenly handsome man had taken +her in his arms and just whispered:</p> + +<p>"Forgive!—<i>Loraine!</i>"</p> + +<p>She was that lovely thing, a close woman.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[447]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<p class="dropcap">THE quay at the Point was crowded with people to see +the sailing of the <i>Tunis</i>. The English Government +had chartered the vessel specially to take Sir Evelyn +Carson, his men, stores, horses, guns, mining and agricultural +machinery, and all the other quantities of things +needed in the great business of opening up and civilising +the latest possession of the Empire—to Borapota.</p> + +<p>The sailing of the ship was, of course, an event of great +public interest, but Sir Evelyn had, at the last moment, +provided a further and electrifying sensation by being +quietly married that morning to the distinguished African +authoress, <i>Eve Destiny</i>; and his wife was accompanying +him to Borapota on the <i>Tunis</i>.</p> + +<p>Durban considered itself badly treated in not having +been invited <i>en masse</i> to witness the ceremony; also, in +being cheated of introspective discussion of the match, +by having no faintest prenotion of it. But it was not +to be done out of at least a parting glimpse of the principals +in this unexpected <i>dénouement</i>. And so it happened +that the quay was crowded, for the fashionable world had +come down like the Assyrians, and everyone with the +slimmest claim to the acquaintance of Carson or his wife +made occasion to visit the <i>Tunis</i> before the hour of sailing. +The rest of the world was obliged to be content with +lining the docks and blackening the Breakwater.</p> + +<p>Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary +sirens and scrunching of chains began to be heard, and<span class="pagenum">[448]</span> +word was given for people to leave the <i>Tunis</i>. That was +a sign for everyone to come on deck, and the curious +watchers ashore got a chance at last of seeing the special +object of their curiosity. She appeared in the companionway +door, smiling, with her hand through the arm of her +great friend, Mrs. Portal; behind were a little group of +men with Eve Carson towering in their midst.</p> + +<p>Lady Carson was still wearing the gown she had been +married in, and she looked vividly beautiful. Shimmering +leaf-green draperies swept the decks, under a long coat +of pale-grey velvet, and her poem face was shadowed by +a plumed, grey hat. Her husband thought that she +looked like the incarnation of Ireland—and than the +beauty of <i>that</i> imagination could no further go.</p> + +<p>She and Clem Portal, alone together for the first time in +all that busy, eventful day, walked a little apart to make +their farewells, and the eyes of the men followed them, +resting naturally on the vivid glowing woman in the +shimmering green-and-grey. Her husband's were the +only eyes that did not follow her. He had given her one +deep, long glance at the altar; and since then had not +looked her way. His tanned face wore the impassive, +almost cataleptic expression that men assume when they +wish to conceal deep emotion from the eyes of the world. +But he walked as one whom the gods have chosen to +honour. Bramham strongly suspected him of suffering +from what is known among men as—a swagger in the +blood!</p> + +<p>"I expect he feels tall enough to pull the sky down +to-day," was the loyal fellow's thought, and he smiled +affectionately and put an arm on Karri's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Clem and Poppy walked along the deck together. They +did not say much. Only, under cover of a big, grey velvet +sleeve, and a stole of delicate lace Clem wore, their hands +were tightly clasped together. The Portals would be<span class="pagenum">[449]</span> +gone from Africa before Eve Carson's five years' work +in Borapota was over; and where, or when, the two women +would meet again was a matter that lay upon the knees +of the gods. Neither wished to let one word of regret +mar the gladness of the day; but each knew how deeply +the other felt the parting.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clem!" Poppy said at last, with something like a +sob in her voice. "It is all so wonderful—to be out of +the 'tangled wild' at last, with the clear, open land before +us! Can it be true? I have had so many blows in the +face, and I am so undeserving of this great happiness—<i>can +it be true</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. +"Poppy, before we part I must tell you something ... +about my name—<i>Loraine</i>. Bill wants me to tell you ... +and he says <i>you will know why</i>. It is my own name, dear—but +I have never allowed anyone to call me by it but +Bill. When people love each other very much <i>you know</i>—they +give each other little secret gifts that no one else must +know of—this was one of mine to Bill. All the world +can call me Clem—but <i>Loraine</i> was only for him. Others +came to know of it by accident, but I never gave anyone +the right to call me by that name but Bill——"</p> + +<p>Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know, darling," she fervently said. She +could not at this time tell Clem how much else she knew—all +that Carson had told her of the secret love he had borne +for Clem for many years; but she had no feeling of bitterness +now, or anger concerning that love. Clem went on, +a little hurriedly, for time was flying:</p> + +<p>"I had another reason too—under my mask I am dreadfully +superstitious and primitive. All the Loraines in my +ancestral history have lost those whom they loved—in some +tragic way. I am afraid of history. Oh, Poppy! when +one loves ... when one loves ... one is afraid of <i>every<span class="pagenum">[450]</span>thing</i>." +She turned white and began to tremble. "How +<i>fearful</i> one is! I have been so fearful always for Bill ... +that I have never even dared show <i>him</i> how much I care. +I always think if I am silent, silent, silent ... never +bragging, never telling of my soul's idolatry, God will +be merciful to me." She was trembling like a leaf, and +stammering with pallid lips—this calm, well-masked, +self-possessed woman of the world. Never before had +any woman's eyes seen past the barriers into the inmost +chapel of Clem Portal's heart. And Poppy, overwhelmed, +could only tenderly say:</p> + +<p>"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" +Bramham bustled up.</p> + +<p>"We've got to clear out, Mrs. Portal ... they're +going to haul up the gangway!" He turned to Poppy. +"And the siren is hooting us out of your paradise. Well, +Lady Carson! the world will expect wonderful things from +your pen up in the silences of Borapota!"</p> + +<p>She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes.</p> + +<p>"Let it expect. I shall never be able to write any +more, Charlie. I can never do anything again but live. +I know how to <i>live</i>."</p> + +<p>The others joined them then, and the whole group +moved gangwaywards, individual remarks swamped in +general farewells, jests, laughter, good wishes. All were +ashore at last, leaving Poppy and Carson standing alone, +side by side, with the keen winter sunlight bright upon +them.</p> + +<p>When they could no longer recognise friendly faces to +wave to, they turned and looked at each other. Catalepsy +disappeared from Carson's face—it grew boyish, ardent, +gay.</p> + +<div class="inset" style="width:12em"> +<p>"'The Lord is debonair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let sinners not despair,'"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noin">said he, and they smiled into each other's eyes.<span class="pagenum">[451]</span></p> + +<p>And so their ship swept out to sea.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Ashore, one or two acrid things were said. In a little +detached group, of which Mrs. Gruyère, Mrs. Lace, and +Cora de Grey were the central figures, Brookfield thought it +interesting to say:</p> + +<p>"There's a rumour that she's as wicked as her books—if +so, Carson is not to be envied."</p> + +<p>Cora de Grey, who was sometimes also called <i>Cobra</i> +de Grey, bit into him swiftly:</p> + +<p>"If she's wicked, she's clever beyond the cleverness of +any woman, for none of her men friends have ever given +her away."</p> + +<p>"Her <i>men</i> friends—that's a new story!" retorted the +surprised Brookfield.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," +said Cora, with her Karoo smile. "When a woman is +<i>really</i> wicked, some renegade will always tell his dearest +friend, or his wife, and then—short shrift for <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>Brookfield retired.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère said:</p> + +<p>"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. +And I <i>know</i> Charles Bramham was in love with <i>her</i>. What +will he do now, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gruyère's voice was so penetrating that it often +reached the ears of her victims. Bramham, coming up, +answered her cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, haven't you heard?" said he, grinning. "My +dear Mrs. Haybittel is arriving from Paris to pay Durban +a visit. Everyone is sure to make her as comfortable as +they can—for fear she should make them as uncomfortable +as <i>she</i> can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks full +of French gowns."</p> + +<p>This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyère, who only<span class="pagenum">[452]</span> +feared two things on earth—French gowns and the malicious +pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she preserved a brave front.</p> + +<p>"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to +wear with them," was her last barb.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Driving home, Clem said to her husband:</p> + +<p>"Will they be happy, think you, Billy-Bill?" And he, +with the deep wisdom vouchsafed only to true lovers, +answered her:</p> + +<p>"Happy? Of course not! But they will count unhappiness +with each other the best that Life can give."</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="cen">FINIS.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="trnote"> + +<p class="centered">Transcriber's Notes:</p> +<br /> +<p class="noin">p. 22 corrected doubled "she"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 68 "unwittingy" changed to "unwittingly"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 72 "eared" changed to "cared"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 110 "relasped" changed to "relapsed"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 146 "widow" changed to "window"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 178 "quater" changed to "quarter"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 183 "champange" changed to "champagne"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 272 "aways" changed to "always"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 356 "whatver" changed to "whatever"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 361 "knowlege" changed to "knowledge"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 377 "found" changed to "round"</p> + +<p class="noin">p. 449 "love each very much" changed to "love each other very much"</p> + +<p class="noin">Minor punctuation corrections left unnoted.</p> + +<p class="noin">Words with multiple spellings left as in original.</p> + + +</div> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poppy, by Cynthia Stockley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPPY *** + +***** This file should be named 36138-h.htm or 36138-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/3/36138/ + +Produced by David Garcia, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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