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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36138-8.txt b/36138-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f32ba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/36138-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15504 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poppy, by Cynthia Stockley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPPY *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + [Illustration: "IN HIS LOOMING ABOUT THE ROOM HE HAD STOPPED DEAD + BEFORE WATTS'S PICTURE 'HOPE' OVER THE MANTELPIECE" + + From the painting by G. F. Watts, R.A. + + (_See p. 336_)] + + + + + POPPY + + + THE STORY OF A + SOUTH AFRICAN GIRL + + BY + + CYNTHIA STOCKLEY + + + G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS + NEW YORK AND LONDON + The Knickerbocker Press + 1910 + + + Published, March, 1910 + Reprinted, March, 1910; May, 1910 + July, 1910 (twice); August, 1910 + September, 1910; October, 1910 + + + The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + To + Em + + + + +PART I + + + "... 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." + + (_From an old Irish Legend_.) + + + + +POPPY + + +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. + +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. + +There had been curry for dinner. Horrible yellow rings floated on the +top of the water in the _skottel_ and Poppy hated to put her hands into +it. + +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. + +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. + +So she threw the scraps to Nick the black cat, under the kitchen table, +and went on hating her aunt, and washing 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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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--and she _had_ 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. + +Listlessly she dried the plates and stuck them up in lines on the +dresser, soaked the _fadook_ 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. + +Poppy dried her basin out with the _fadook_, 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 +_kop-dook_, 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. + +"But the _old missis_ had strange ways! Clk! It seemed she liked the +_klein-missis_ to do Kaffir's work!" Old Sara shrugged her fat, wobbly +shoulders, and flopped over her wash-tub once more. + +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. + +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 _mis_ smell vilely; rather, there is a soft odour of grasses +and flowers, as though some stray veldt wind had blown through the room. + +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." + +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. + +"My word, that child looks more like an Irish Fenian every day!" was her +aunt's agreeable greeting. + +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. + +"Och, you're always going on at the girl, Lena!" + +"And good cause I have," retorted Mrs. Kennedy. "Stand still, Ina, while +I tie your cappie." + +Poppy said nothing, but if having black murder in your heart makes you a +Fenian, she knew that she was one. + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +Bobby was a heavy-weight, and though she changed him from one hip to +another all the way up the street, she never got to the Kopje without a +pain in her stomach and a feeling of deathly sickness. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Hullo, Poppy Destin!" + +But her sister pulled at her arm at once and rebuked her. + +"Edie! You know mother doesn't let us speak to Poppy Destin." + +"Pooh!" called out Poppy with the utmost scorn and derision. "Who wants +to speak to you? I hate you." + +She made fearful faces at them; but when they had all gone past, she +rocked on her stone and wept. + +"I hate them! I hate them!" she sobbed. "And I hate God! God is a +beast." + +Ina stood by and listened, with her pinafore in her mouth. + +"I'll tell mother that, what you say," she remarked gravely. + +"'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. + +Suddenly a voice behind her! + +"What's the matter little girl?" + +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. + +"Do tell me what is the matter!" + +"Nothing's the matter," said Poppy defiantly. + +The lady laughed long and merrily as though she found something +refreshing in the child's sulky misery. + +"Well, but how silly of you to cry and make your eyes red for nothing! +You've got such pretty eyes, too!" + +Poppy stared at her, gasping. + +"Oh! If I only thought I had pretty eyes--" she said breathlessly. + +"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?" + +Poppy was about to inform her that she was a Fenian, but she thought +better of it. + +"I was born here in Bloemfontein," she answered. + +"Well, perhaps your mother came from Ireland, for you have _quite_ an +Irish face: only you're so thin, and you look so cross--are you?" + +"Yes. I am always cross. I hate everybody." + +"Good heavens! What a little savage! but you shouldn't. It makes one so +ugly to hate." + +"Does it?" Eagerly. "Do you think if I was never cross I'd get +beautiful?" + +"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. + +"Is that why you are so beautiful?" was the next question. + +The beauty smiled: a little complacently perhaps. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Oh, I will, I will," cried Poppy ardently. + +"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." + +"Have you any little girls in Cape Town?" asked Poppy, wishing to detain +her a little longer. She laughed at that. + +"You funny child! Why I'm not even married. But I'm going to be, and to +the most fascinating man in Africa." + +"Is his name Lancelot?" + +"No. His name is Nick Capron. How old are you, child?" + +"Nine." + +"Only nine! You look about thirteen, you poor little thing. Well, +good-bye, I must really go." + +"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. + +But Poppy, sitting on her rock had a gleam of hope and happiness; for at +last she knew the secret of being beautiful; _and_--it had been told +her--her eyes were pretty. + +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 +_Foelstruis_,[1] 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. + + [1] Ostrich. + +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 rubbed upon their breasts in the +moonlight to make them grow round and firm as young apples. + +Last, but most important of all, she evolved from her dreamings and +devisings a promise to herself that she would never, _never_ 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. + + * * * * * + +But it was hard in the house of Aunt Lena Kennedy to attain beauty +through virtue. + +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 _lekkers_, Mrs. Kennedy would roll up her +sleeves and approach in a workmanlike manner the big pan-bath 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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Horrible! what's horrible about it, I'd like to know, except in your +own nasty little mind? A body like a _spring-kaan_,[2] that's what +you've got ... and don't want me to see it, I suppose! Dirty pride! the +ugliest child _I've_ 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." + + [2] Grasshopper. + +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. + +On such nights she was far enough from the beauty she so much coveted. +To herself she appeared hideous--_hideous_. 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. + +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. + +"Scorpion! Scorpion!" she would rave. + +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: + +"Ma! I wish you would come and speak to Miss Poppy here. She's calling +you a 'scorpion'!" + +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. + +"You want a _sjambok_ 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." + +"I won't have a _sjambok_ used on a child in my house," Uncle Bob would +mutter in the dining-room, asserting himself in this one matter at +least. + +But Clara and Emily would jeer from their beds, calling her _Miss_ Poppy +in fine derision. + +"_Now_ you've got it! How did you like that, hey? _Lekker_, hey?" + +Some time after midnight Poppy would weep herself to sleep. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 +_grand_ 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _might_ +have let her have _something_--a kind mother, or golden hair, or brains, +or a white skin, or a happy home, or _something_; it wouldn't have hurt +_Him_, 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"I'll tell ma," was their parrot cry: and that meant boxes on the ear. + +"I up with my hand" was a favourite phrase of Aunt Lena's. + +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: + +"Now get your lessons done, Porpie!" + +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. + +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. + +"I wonder you bother to come to school at all, Poppy," was the favourite +gibe of Miss Briggs. + +When examination days came she did badly, except in history and +geography, which she liked and found easy. + +Break-up day was the worst of all. + +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. + +There was never any prize for her. + +She knew there never would be. She used to keep saying inside herself: + +"_Of course_ there isn't a prize for you"; and yet she 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. + +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: + +"Your songs always sound just's if you are crying all the time, Poppy." + +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. + +"You must ask your aunt if she can spare you, Poppy." + +"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 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." + +"Only twice a week, uncle," pleaded Poppy. + +"My girl, you must do what your aunt thinks best. Can't you spare her +two afternoons a week, Lena?" + +"Oh, let her go ... fine musician she'll make, _I'm_ 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. + +"You were a sweet little thing," she said. "So beautifully kept, and the +apple of your mother's eye." + +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: + +"Your mother ought to be alive. She'd have skinned you for your +dirtiness--your deceit, your laziness" (whatever the crime might be). + +Or: + +"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 _you_ to deal with." + +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!" + +"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." + +"But why has no one ever told me before?" asked Poppy in amazement. "No +one speaks of her, or of my father, to me! Why?" + +Mrs. Dale shook her gentle head. + +"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. + +"'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." + +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." + +"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. + +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 _Porpie_! Her mother 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' +_hok_ 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. + +"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! + + * * * * * + +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 _that_ +was over. + +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 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. + +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. + +She never made a remark herself without _thinking_ 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. + +"Was she going daft then? ... speaking to herself like a crazy +Hottentot ... concocting impudence, no doubt ... the lunatic asylum +was _her_ place ... and don't let me hear you again, my lady, or I'll +up with my hand ... etc." + +One day Ina fell very ill, and Mrs. Kennedy sent a 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. + +"If it hadn't been for _your_ 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. + +"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 ... _she_ would have learned you ... etc." + +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!" + +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 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. + +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. + +"I thought we might save her as she was so young, but----" + + * * * * * + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Even Aunt Lena's tongue was still those days, and 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. + + * * * * * + +One evening at nine o'clock Ina died. + +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. + +"Ina," she whispered with a dreadful fear. "Ina, speak to Poppy--open +eyes, darling." + +But Ina never opened eyes or spoke again. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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 her husband's hands she caught hold of the +ghost-like child and flung her into the yard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And this was the friend she turned to on that night of dreadful +weariness when Ina died. + +She never knew how she got through the town, silent and dark, and over +the little hill thick with _bessie_ 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea"--it ran. + +Yet Poppy had never seen the sea. + +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 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 the air. The clock +struck five--clear and bell-like strokes now, that sang and echoed out +into the morning. + +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. + +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 _crase bessies_ by the way and +munching them as she walked. There was hardly anyone about the town, +except a few _boys_ 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. + +"Tch! Tch! Tch!" she clucked. "_Arme kentze! War vas sig gisterand?_" +(Poor child! Where were you last night?) + +"_Dar bij de dam. Ge koffi O'Sara. Ik is freeslik kow._" (Up by the Big +Dam. Give me some coffee, Sara. I am very cold.) + +"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 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' _hok_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _dook_ 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. + +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 _spruit_, 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. + +All the way she gathered wild flowers and grasses--rock-maiden-hair, +_rooi gras_, moon-flowers, and most especially shivery-grass, and the +little perky rushes with a flower sprouting out of them, which the +children call _tulps_. Ina had always loved these. Some "four o'clocks" +too, stolen from a front garden as she passed, were added, and even a +_stink bloem_ graced the great bunch with which Poppy entered the +churchyard. + +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: + +"From Poppy, Ina--Poppy who loves you best of all." + + * * * * * + +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 _dook_, 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 +_chochermanners_; besides, there were a lot of interesting things in old +Sara's wool besides _chochermanners_: 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. + +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. + +Once Poppy asked her why she did not go to her _kraal_ and live with her +children instead of working for white people. + +Old Sara took snuff and answered briefly: + +"_Ek het nê kinders, oor Ek is ne getroud._" (I have no children, +because I am not married.) + +This was good, but not infallible logic, as Poppy even in her few years +had discovered. + +"Why didn't you get married when you were young, old Sara?" she queried. + +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. + +That was old Sara's only answer to Poppy's question. Afterwards she +quietly replaced her bundle of rags, and rebuttoned her dress. + +As for Poppy, she pondered the problem long. At last she made a little +song, which she called: + +"The woman with the crooked breast." + + * * * * * + +One night old Sara brought news. + +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. + +"Do you remember that time ma sent us there when Ina had the diphtheria? +We never got anything but bread and dripping, and she was eating chops +and steaks all the time." + +"Yes," said Clara, "and remember how she used to beat _Katzi_, the +little Hottentot girl, in bed every night for a week until the blood +came, just because she broke a cup." + +"Ha! ha!" they chirruped, "won't Miss Poppy get it _just_!" + +"Yes, and mammer's going to give her something before she goes, too. She +sent me to buy a _sjambok_ this morning, because pa's hidden his away, +and when he's gone out to the 'Phoenix' 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." + +"Tlk! Won't she get it!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 brought it stealthily to the forage-house, together with a +pocketful of food-scraps saved from her own portion of the evening meal. + +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 +"Phoenix Hotel"; then they would come to fetch her indoors! + +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 _Uitspan_, 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 _Uitspan_ +out beyond St. Michael's, and she made for that one, remembering there +were always plenty of wagons there. + +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. + +There were several fires burning, and the fume of coffee was on the +night air. Someone was making _as-kookies_ (ash-cakes) too, for a +pleasant smell of burnt dough assailed Poppy's nose. Four Kaffir _boys_ +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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +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 _fykie_ 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 +_reimpe_ ladder. Across the tent was swung a _cartel_ (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 +_reimpe_ ladder, fidgeting to climb into the snug-looking nest. The +mother talked while she worked: + +"Here, Alice! I'll put this pair of old boots into the end bag, they'll +do for wearing in the veldt----" + +"Oh, sis, ma! I hate those old boots, they hurt me--" expostulated +Alice. + +"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 _fykie_ 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 _carl-foot_." + +"I'll get _deviljies_ (thorns) in my feet if I take them off out here," +says Johnny. "Can't I sit on the edge of the bed?" + +"All right then, but keep your feet out. Minnie, take off that good +ribbon and tie your hair with this piece of tape," etc. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +The mother considered for a moment, then said: + +"It was the wheels of the wagon behind, of course, _dom-kop_." + +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. + +"Oh, _Kgar! Sis!_" cried the sisters; and at this his mother told him +amiably to shut his mouth and go to sleep. + +But though she put out the lantern the talk still went on intermittently +until replaced by snores. + +The _boys_ 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. + +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 +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: + +"_Rooi-nek! Yoh Skelpot! com an da!_" (Redneck! You tortoise! come on +there!) + +"_Viljoen! Wat makeer jij?_" (Viljoen! What's wrong with _you_?) + +Loud blows and kicks were heard and demands for missing oxen. + +"_Jan, war is de Vaal-pans?_" (John, where is the yellow-belly?) + +"_Ek saal yoh net now slaan, jou faarbont._" (I'll strike you in a +minute, you baseborn.) + +"_De verdomder Swart-kop!_" + +Each wagon had a span of eighteen or twenty oxen, and as soon as the +last pair was yoked, a small black boy, the _voerlooper_, would run to +their heads, seize the leading _rein_ 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: + +"_Yak!_" + +One by one the four wagons took the road, raising clouds of red dust, +the drivers and boys running alongside. + +Usually passenger-wagons go first in the line, but the wagon with +Poppy's adopted family in it, started last, because _Swart-kop_, 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. + +Throughout the night hours she padded along, her throat and ears and +mouth filled with the fine dirt, her 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. + +Towards dawn they passed through a narrow _sluit_. The water was filthy +at the _drift_ 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. + +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 _Baas_ of the convoy went off the road and inspected the ground. + +Then a long loud: + +"_Woa! An--nauw!_" passed along the line, each wagon took to the veldt, +drawing up at about fifty yards from the road. + +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 _voerloopers_ departed to gather wood and _mis_ +(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. + +"_Yak--Varns!_" + +Half dead with weariness--stiff, wretched, hungry--she crept from her +hiding-place and stumbled on her way, wrapped once more in the +impenetrable dust. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Wake up and eat this, girl; and now you are better tell me where you +come from and where you're going, hey?" + +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 to take care of her in the meantime. She would +help with the cooking and the children--she wouldn't eat much. + +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 _fat_ to smear on her wounds +and sore feet. + +But first Poppy had to be passed before the _Baas_ 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: "_Sij lê!_" (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. + +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 _sail_ 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. + +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. 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Child, you look peaky," said good Mrs. Brant. "What'll your ma say? I +must give you a Cockle's pill." + +But Poppy grew paler and more peaky. + +Two days' _trek_ from Pretoria she was missed at inspan time. Long +search was made. The wagons even waited a whole day and night for her; +the _boys_ 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: + + "But the sweet face of Lucy Gray + Will never more be seen." + + * * * * * + +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. + +The next day it rained: merciless, savage, hammering rain. Sometimes she +wandered in it, fancying herself 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. + +Another night came. + +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. + +And, indeed, the greater part of her was mud. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 +_boys_ waited on him, dressed in white uniforms, and through an open +doorway a tan-skinned old woman with a white _dook_ could be seen +speaking to one of the _boys_--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. + +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. + +She sank on the steps and her head knocked against 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. + +"Who are you, child?" he asked, and his voice was quite kind and +friendly. + +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. + +"My soul is like a shrivelled leaf," is what she answered. + + + + +PART II + + + "I never saw anything like the way a poppy lives with its heart and + soul every second of the day. + + "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. + + "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." + + (_Extract from a letter._) + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Nice lovely shad! Nice lovely shad!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"_Aa-h! Yeh--boo Inkosizaan!_" behaving himself thereafter with decorum, +for it was a disconcerting thing that an _Inkosizaan_ who had come +straight off the mail-steamer at the Point should speak words of reproof +to him in his own language. + +Presently he came to the foot of the Berea Hill, which is long and +sloping, causing him to slacken pace and draw deep breaths. + +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 fenced and hedged-in gardens, the houses +standing afar and almost hidden by shrubs and greenery. + +The girl spoke to the rickshaw-puller once more. + +"The _Inkos_ at the Point told you where to go. Do you know the house?" + +He answered yes, but that it was still afar off--right at the top of the +Berea. + +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 _Inkos_ left behind at the docks. He had been furious +when he found no closed carriage waiting for them. + +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. + +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: + +"Oh Luce! It will be so lovely in a rickshaw. I have never ridden in one +like this yet." + +"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: + +"Yes, I know, Luce; but what is the address?" + +"It was a shame," she said to herself now, still smiling; "but really I +don't often vex him!" + +A man and a woman passed, as she sat smiling her subtle smile through +her spraying hair, and looked at her with great curiosity. + +Afterwards the man said excitedly: + +"That girl takes the shine out of Mary----" + +The woman, who looked well-bred with a casual distinguished manner, +agreed with him, but did not tell him so. She said: + +"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." + +The girl heard the words "Burne-Jones eyes," and knew they were speaking +of her. + +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. + +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. + +She broke one of them off and stuck it in the bosom of her gown, where +it glowed and burned all day. + +Then she rang the bell. + +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 +_dook_. At the sight of the girl she shrieked, and fell back into a +carved oak chair that stood conveniently at hand. + +"Poppy!" she cried; "and no carriage sent for Luce! What time did the +steamer come, in the name of goodness me?" + +"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." + +Kykie departed with amazing alacrity, while the girl examined the hall, +and opening the doors that gave off it, peeped into several rooms. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Kykie rolled her big eyes heavenwards; the whites of them were a golden +yellow. + +"His first day home!" she wailed. "They told me at the shipping office +the steamer wouldn't be in before three. May their mothers----" + +Poppy walked round the kitchen, looking at everything. + +"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?" + +Kykie's face became ornamented with scowls. + +"My salads are as good as anyone's," she asserted. + +"Nonsense! you know Luce always likes mine best. Come upstairs now and +show me my room." + +"Me? With the lunch to get ready!" screamed Kykie, and jumping up she +ran to the stove and began to rattle the pots. + +"Well, I will find it myself," said Poppy, going towards the door, "and +I think you're very unkind on my first day home." + +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. + +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 _dook_. 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 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. + +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. + +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 _Monna Lisa_ was above her dressing-table, and +her silver cross with the ivory Christ nailed to it hung over her head-- + + "To keep a maid from harm!" + +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. + +She observed that all the bowls and vases were filled with green +leaves--no flowers. Kykie and the _boys_ knew that green leaves were +dearer to her than flowers. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"The g-gong has been sounded twice for you," he began agreeably. "Were +you afraid the view wouldn't be there after lunch?" + +"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." + +Kykie was at the sideboard decanting whiskey. She resembled a person who +had recently taken part in a dynamitic explosion. Her _dook_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +Babiyaan, a _boy_ 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 +vilification, his face was as serene and impassive as an Egyptian's. + +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. + +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. + +Kykie's salad was very good, and Poppy told Babiyaan to tell her so. +Later, she also sent a message of praise concerning the _omelette au +Kirsch_. 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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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 +_his_ heart, too; she has clawed him back to her brown old bosom--he +_had_ to come." + +As Poppy sat in the verandah thinking of these things, she heard the +_boys_ 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. + +"Where has _Shlalaimbona_ gone?" asked Umzibu; and Babiyaan answered +without hesitation: + +"He has gone to the _Ker-lub_ to make a meeting with _Intandugaza_ and +_Umkoomata_." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Shlalaimbona_, 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: "_Shlalaimbona!_" +Literally this word means--_stab when you see him_. 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 _boys_. + +"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. + +Babiyaan continued to give interesting information to Umzibu. + +"Just as _Shlalaimbona_ was going to get into the carriage, _Umkoomata_ +came to the docks and fell upon him with great friendliness. Afterwards +they went to an hotel to drink. Then _Umkoomata_ made a plan for meeting +at the _Ker-luk_ when _Intandugaza_ would be there and others--_Baas +Brookifield_, he with the curled hair and the white teeth; and that +other one, _Caperone_, whose wife is like a star with light around it; +and _Port-tal_, who is always gay with an angry face." + +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 +_Intandugaza_, which name she translated to herself as _Beloved of +women_. The word _Umkoomata_, too, had a charm of its own. + +"That means someone who is very reliable, literally _Sturdy One_. I +should like to know that man," she thought. + +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. + +She flung off her gown and plunged her arms and face 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She had often thought of herself as one set alone in an 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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: + + "My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea!" + "My soul is like a shrivelled leaf!" + "The woman with the crooked breast." + +This was the title of old Sara's story made into a little song. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 + + "The peace and grace of Mary's face." + +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 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. + +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 _mawkish_ 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 order. These were their +only neighbours, and they not close ones. + +Abinger had chosen his retreat well. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +"Haven't you unpacked yet, for gracious' sake, Poppy?" + +"No, I haven't. Bring the tea over here, Kykie." + +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. + +"Then what have you been doing, in the name of goodness me?" + +"Nothing ... just thinking ... pour it out and come and sit by me +here.... I haven't had a word with you yet." + +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. + +"What is it like here in Durban, Kykie?... How long have you been here?" + +Kykie became very important, waggling her shoulders and rolling her +eyeballs. + +"More than six months getting this house ready for habitation ... men +working in the garden day and night, for it was a wilderness and the +poor old place all gone to pot, dearest me." + +"It looks all right now; I should think Luce was pleased?" + +"Never so much as a thank you extremingly." + +"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." + +Kykie looked well pleased at this, but having passed the tea, she waved +her hands deprecatingly. + +"You're just buttering me up to heaven, Poppy!" + +"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." + +Smiles wreathed Kykie's wide and dropsical face, and every tooth in her +head was revealed. + +"Dearest me, now Poppy, really? Well! but then I don't suppose they know +how to cook very well abroad in London, do they?" + +"Not so well as you, of course," said Poppy smiling and munching toast. + +Suddenly Kykie's face became dolorous. + +"Did they look at his mark much, for heavenly goodness?" she inquired in +a dismal whisper. + +"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." + +"For goodness' sake there must be some sights there!" + +"More tea. It is lovely to be home again and have you waiting on me." + +"Ah! I expect you liked it best abroad in that London, now Poppy?" + +"Never. I _thought_ I should, but I had forgotten that my roots were +planted out here. As soon as I got out of 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, _you_ 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 _dorn bloems_ 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." + +Kykie might have been an amazingly-arrayed copper idol representing +Africa, so benign and gratified was her smile. + +"Tell me some more, Poppy. Where else did you think of Africa?" + +"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 _them_, 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. + +"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 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." + +"Heavenly me! And were there coloured people there too?" + +"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: + +"'Oh say, would _you_ tell _me_ what time this _kyar_ is due to start?' + +"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 _exactly_ like Jim Basuto who ran away from the farm, that I said to +him in Kaffir: + +"'You had better make haste and come back to the farm, Jim, and mind the +sheep!' + +"He simply stared at me, and said to another _boy_, who might have been +a Zulu chief except for his clothes: + +"'Say, this one looks to me as if she is dippy. I think she is the new +star at Hammerstein's that _ky-ant_ speak anything but French.' + +"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." + +Having finished her tea and eaten all the bread-and-butter and cakes, +the girl lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes. + +"For gracious' sake, and so you have seen the world!" said Kykie. "And +now you have come back to the old quiet life?" + +"Not at all, Kykie. I'm going to persuade Luce to go about here, and +meet people, and let me do the same." + +"He'll never do it," said Kykie vehemently. "I can see that he is worse +than ever about his mark." + +"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 _boys_ 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?" + +"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." + +Poppy's face clouded. + +"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 _is_ a lovely +garden!" + +Kykie's face expressed lugubrious sympathy, but she held out no hope. + +"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. + +"But I'm not a child any longer. Can't you see how I've grown up?" + +"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. + +Poppy coloured slightly, and made occasion to throw a corner of the +quilt over her bare shoulders and arms. + +"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 _spruit_?" + +The girl's colour deepened; she gave a wistful little side glance at the +old woman. + +"I _did_ so want to be beautiful. I would have dived to the bottom of +the filthiest hole in that old _spruit_ 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?" + +"Oh _sis_ yes! I wondered how you could go and look at the stinking +thing day after day." + +"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!" + +"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 _mal-meit's_[3] flaring and flickering like the sulphur on a +match." + + [3] Mad-maid. + +Poppy covered her eyes. + +"Don't talk about it----" + +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. + +"Oh Kykie! that means that he is dining with old friends; and it will do +him _so_ 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, but come and help +me unpack, and I'll show you all my clothes and the nice things I've +brought back for you." + +"For me, gracious saints!" + +"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." + +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 _boys_, 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. + +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 _détour_ 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 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 _might_ 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 _détour_ 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 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. + +"Ah, my _very_ dear Luce Abinger," she said, "we shall see if you can +keep a creature of the veldt behind a padlock." + +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 was part of the +wall itself; there was no further barrier beyond. + +She had found an exit. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The room itself was terrible as an army with banners. 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. + +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 _retroussé_ +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. + +Certainly not a girl to be made a friend of, thought Poppy, and decided +that she would go no further. + +"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. At any rate she could teach me to use the typewriter, and I +could teach her not to live in a chamber of horrors." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +So Poppy kept her melodies to herself. The rest of her time was divided +between studying literature, writing, dreaming and wandering in the +garden, which became dearer to her day by day. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Luce," she began, "I hope you are in a good temper, for I want to talk +to you very seriously about something." + +He gave a croaking sort of laugh. + +"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. _Il ne +manquerait plus que ça._" + +This was inauspicious, but Poppy refused to be daunted; and the gong +sounding at this moment, she rose and put her hand upon his arm, saying +cheerfully: + +"That's right, come along then, we'll talk it over in the dining-room." + +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 _boys_ 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. + +"Luce, what are you going to do about getting me a chaperon?" + +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----! + +"Am I not a sufficiently p-proper and responsible p-person to have the +care of your young white s-soul?" he inquired blandly. + +She knew _that_ mood. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to postpone +the discussion; but then, sometimes these fits of fury and rudeness +lasted for months. It was impossible to wait all that time. + +"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. + +"Your young white b-body, then?" He pushed back his chair from the table +with a horrible scrench on the polished floor. + +"You talk like some odious sultan, but you forget that I am not a +slave," she flashed back at him. + +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. + +"Cigarettes, Babiyaan!" she said. "It is very hot; I think I will smoke +out in the garden," she finished coldly to Abinger. + +But he had risen too, and lounged in the doorway leading to the +verandah. + +"Oh, p-pray let us finish this interesting discussion." + +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. + +"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: + +"I am a woman now, Luce, and it is only natural that I should wish to +know other women--and men too." + +At that he laughed raspingly. + +"Why d-drag in the women?" + +She looked at him scornfully. It was ridiculous of him to pretend that +men meant more to her than women. + +"It is unreasonable of you to expect me to spend my youth in secrecy and +seclusion, just because you--" she stopped hastily. + +"Go on!" he said with a devilish gaiety. "'Just because _you_ happen to +have a face like a mutilated b-baboon'--was that what you were going to +say?" + +"Oh Luce, you _know_ it was not! Because ... because ..." she stood +stammering with distress, while he stood grinning. "Because _you_ 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----" + +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." + +"I don't see why it should be at all," she pursued valiantly; "if you +get me some pleasant woman as a chaperon." + +"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 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----" + +"Oh Luce! I don't believe they're as bad as all that----" + +"Then don't believe it," he retorted, with the utmost rudeness. "But +understand one thing, I'll have no she-devils round this house." + +"Very well, let them be he-devils," she flung back at him. "I am +accustomed to those." + +At that he stamped away from her towards the other door, gesturing with +rage, and throwing broken words in her direction. + +"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!..." + +The door closed with a crash behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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: + +"Zambani! Zambani! _Checcha_ now with my lunch. Send Piccanin to lay +table. _Checcha wena!_" + +She flung her hat into one chair and herself into another, and stared at +a telegram which she spread out before her. + +"'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 _now_, I'd like to know?" + +She lolled in her chair and glared angrily at a small black _boy_ in a +blue twill tunic and short blue knickers above his knees, who was laying +a cloth on one end of the table. + +"Is there any soda in the house, Piccanin?" she demanded; and when he +signified yes, ordered him to fetch it then and be _checcha_. In the +meantime, she rose and unlocked from the sideboard a bottle of whiskey. + +Lunch was a slovenly meal, consisting of burnt mutton-chops, fried +potatoes, and a beet-root salad liberally 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: + +"And what am I going to do _now_, I'd like to know?" and the scowl +returned to her brows. + +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: + +"Come in!" + +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. + +"I beg your pardon," she said in a soft, entrancing voice. "I am sorry +to disturb you at your lunch----" + +"That's all right," said Sophie affably; "I'm just done. Do sit down!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Oh, I don't take in work!" she said perkily. "I couldn't be bothered +with that sort of thing. I'm _sekertary_ to a gentleman who has an +office down town." + +"Lilac Eyes" regarded her calmly and did not seem overwhelmed by the +importance of this communication. + +"What a bother!" said she serenely. + +Miss Cornell became languid. + +"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." + +"Really?" said the other girl. "I wonder if I would suit you?" + +"You!" Miss Cornell's face lit up with sudden interest and eagerness. +She surveyed the other again. _Of course_, 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. + +"You? Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Can you type?" + +"Not at all. But I daresay I could soon learn." + +"Oh well! I couldn't give you much salary if you are only a beginner." + +"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." + +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 _impasse_. + +"You'll suit me down to the ground," she declared joyfully. "When can +you move in?" + +"Move in?" the other gave her a wondering smile. "Oh, I couldn't come to +live--only for a few hours every day." + +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: + +"Well, perhaps that wouldn't matter so much if you wouldn't mind +_pretending_ sometimes that you live here." + +The other girl looked puzzled. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +"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 +_pretending_ 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?" + +The other hesitated for a moment, then her lovely lilac eyes took on a +curious expression. + +"Yes, I have an aunt," was her odd answer, but Sophie was no acute +reader of eyes or odd answers. + +"More fool you," said she cheerfully. "I'd like to see the old aunt +who'd get _me_ to support her. Well, all right now, if you think you'll +come I'll tell you the whole thing." + +"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." + +"That'll do all right. Have a whiskey-and-soda and we'll talk it over." + +"I don't care for whiskey, thank you," said "Lilac Eyes"; "but I am very +thirsty, and will have some soda, if I may." + +Sophie shouted to Piccanin to bring another glass, and pushed the soda +and lemons across the table. + +"Make yourself at home," said she affably; "but I hope you're not one of +those asses who don't drink!" + +"No, I drink if I want to--but not spirits." + +"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. + +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. + +"And now let's get to business," said Miss Cornell. "First of all, you +haven't told me your name yet." + +The lilac eyes were hidden for a moment under white lids, and a faint +colour swept over the pale skin. + +"Rosalind Chard." + +"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?" + +"Very," said Miss Chard in her gentle, entrancing voice. + +"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? +_Man!_ I tell you it's the most glorious place--at least, it used to be +before everybody went to Jo ... you know Jo-burg, _of course_?" + +Miss Chard shook her head. + +"Never been to Johannesburg?" Sophie's tone expressed the utmost pity +and contempt. "Well, but you're an English girl, I can see. Not been +long out here, have you?" + +"Only a week or so." + +"Great Scott! you've got a lot to learn!" + +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. + +"Don't smoke either? Och, what! You're not _half_ a good fellow! Well, +take off your hat, then. Do be sociable." + +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.") + +"Well, to continue my tale--I had a lovely time in _darling_ 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 _me_ to come, +too, but I said, Dead off! No, _thanks_! I want something more out of +life than mountain scenery." + +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. + +"And so you came here instead?" + +"Well, no; first I went to Jo-burg, and I _must_ say I had a heavenly +time _there_; but--well--it didn't suit my health, so I became +_sekertary_ 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 then complained of +my spelling, if you please. I didn't stay with _him_ any longer than I +could help, you bet, though the screw was good. But I _must_ 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!" + +The listener's sympathy happened to be with the old snook, but Sophie +was not asking for an opinion. + +"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?" + +Miss Chard did not mean to say anything at all as far as her own affairs +were concerned. + +"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." + +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: + +"I rent it, of course. I told you, didn't I, that I am _sekertary_ 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 _had_ 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 Bramham 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." + +"But why should it matter to him and to the other man whether she comes +or not?" + +Again Miss Cornell's glance took flight. + +"Because of the work, of course--there's such tons to do ... and I can't +get through it all by myself." + +Miss Chard watched her narrowly. + +"Well, but why do you wish me to pretend that I live here, and am your +friend from Johannesburg?" + +"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 _you_ to them they'd think it was all +right." + +Miss Chard looked startled. + +"Oh, I couldn't promise to meet strange men! I didn't suppose you would +want me to do that or----" + +An exasperated look came over Miss Cornell's face. + +"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. + +"I don't wish to meet strange people," she said. To her surprise, the +other girl at once became propitiatory and beseeching. + +"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 _awfully_ nice +man--everybody likes him, and he's fearfully rich too. He's married, and +his wife lives in England for her health, they say, but of coarse that +must be all rot. Anyway, he never goes into society at all--only has men +friends." + +"Well, what does he want here?" asked Miss Chard calmly, watching the +flushed face before her. + +"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." + +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. + +"As for Brookie----" began Sophie, ready to open up another chronicle of +guilelessness. + +"No, no! I won't meet Brookie, I absolutely jib at Brookie!" + +Sophie became lugubrious. "But he knows that you were to have arrived +to-day----" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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 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. + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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 +_carte-blanche_ to do anything she wished, saying: + +"It was not _my_ taste either, you know; but the place was furnished +when I came into it and I haven't bothered to do anything since." + +The only things Miss Cornell would not allow to be 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 _mots_ 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. + +"Now, isn't _he_ good looking? Such a dear boy too ... and _generous_! +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...." + +"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, _are_ there? ... he simply adored me ... he gave me this +bangle ... such a darling ... but he was married--or, _of course_----" + +"Oh, _that_ is Jack Truman, of Kimberley. Everyone knows _him_ ... 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 in a lunatic asylum ... obliged to allow her +forty pounds a month, and he was _dreadfully_ 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. + +"And, _of course_, you know who this is? One of the biggest men on the +Rand ... with _thousands_, my dear.... Och! you should see him in riding +kit ... you never saw any one look so perfectly _noble_ ... he was +_madly_ 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 _living +image_ of me ... funny, isn't it?... but I think it just proves how he +adored me, don't you?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Would you like me to order you a cup of tea, Sophie?" she asked +presently. + +"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 _wouldn't_ let me work." + +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. + +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. + +"I think a cup of tea would refresh you, Sophie," she presently said. + +"_Och ni vat!_ I can't eat or drink when I get worn out like this--I +become a perfect wreck." + +Poppy surveyed the healthy, not to say opulent proportions stretched +before her, and could not forbear to smile. + +"Oh, you should keep up your strength," she said, with irony entirely +thrown away. + +"The only thing that would be the _slightest_ use to me, now," announced +Sophie, "is a glass of champagne--and, of course, I can't have that." + +Poppy began to pore over her manuscript. She was in the mood for work +and hated not to take advantage of it. + +"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. + +"You'd soon be bored with that." + +"Never!" said Miss Cornell fervently; then relapsed into languor. + +"I hope those papers are not important, Sophie, they are blowing all +over the room." + +"Yes, they're _very_ 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." + +"Is Mr. Capron a lawyer?" + +"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 _tons_ 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 I feel sure it was +you. Your particular style of beauty appears to have struck him all in a +heap." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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." + +"I hope you did not tell him anything about me?" asked Poppy suddenly. + +"No, I did _not_!" 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. + +Suddenly Sophie sprang up. + +"Great Scott! I _quite_ 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." + +"Oh! blow Brammie," thought Poppy crossly. "I was just going to write +something extraordinarily fine; now it will be lost for ever!" + +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. + +"That's ripping," she said approvingly. "Och! but you _can_ arrange +flowers--I'll say that for you, Rosalind. Wouldn't you like to run home +and change your dress, though?" + +"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." + +"Oh, he really _wants_ 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." + +"No, no, thank you," hastily. "It's awfully good of you, Sophie, but I +think my gown is quite presentable." + +She looked absolutely charming in a pale-blue linen, perfectly laundered +by Kykie; but Sophie considered anything less than silk very ordinary +wear indeed. + +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 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. + +"Well, put some colour on your cheeks, or something," said Sophie +discontentedly. + +Poppy flew into one of the fierce little rages that sometimes seized +her. "I will _not_, Sophie! Why on earth should you suppose that because +_you_ have a violent colour no one admires pale women? Do not make the +mistake of thinking that everyone adores your type because _you_ do!" + +Sophie, utterly taken aback, was about to make a tart rejoinder, when +there came a light tap with a crop on the front door. + +"Anyone at home?" + +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. + +"Come in," said Poppy, without enthusiasm; adding: "Miss Cornell will +not be long." + +"Are you Miss Chard?" said he pleasantly, and came in. + +He looked round in a friendly, boyish way that rather charmed her. + +"By Jove! How pretty you've made this place look! It's quite different." + +"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." + +He looked at her curiously as though greatly surprised. Then he said +carelessly, and rather curtly she thought: + +"Oh, yes, I have been here before." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh!" was all he vouchsafed. She felt chilled. But here Sophie burst +into the room, very magnificent and highly coloured. + +"How _sweet_ of you to come, Mr. Bramham," one hand up to her hair and +the other outstretched, while her body performed the Grecian bend. + +"Rosalind, _do_ see about tea, there's a dear. I'm sure Mr. Bramham must +be _parched_." + +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, "_Do_ bring him around, Mr. Bramham. We +should _just love_ to meet him." + +Poppy, arranging the cups on the table, had a pardonable curiosity to +know whom she should _just love_ to meet; but she made no remark; merely +sat down. + +"Shall I pour out tea, Sophie?" + +The latter nodded, but made no other attempt to include her in the +conversation, continuing to monopolise Mr. Bramham entirely. + +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 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. + +Immediately afterwards, Bramham began to realise that there was a +charming personality in the room. + +"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. + +Poppy got her answer first, and a sudden glance of recognition fell upon +the slim, pale hands amongst the tea-cups; then: + +"Certainly, Miss Cornell! I'll ask him to come, but I can't promise that +he will. He's not much given to calling." + +"Bosh! I know he goes to the Caprons and the Portals--I've seen him with +that horrid Mrs. Portal." + +"Ah! you don't admire Mrs. Portal?" + +"I don't see anything to admire," said Sophie. "She is not a bit smart, +and her hats are simply awful!" + +"She is considered one of the most delightful women in South Africa," +said Bramham. + +"Oh, she may be," Sophie's air was unbelieving; "but I don't see where +it comes in." + +She took her tea sulkily from Poppy's hand. Bramham looked bored. The +little western wind blew again in his ear. + +"Perhaps her charm is not to be seen. Perhaps it is an essence--a +fragrance----" + +Sophie scoffed at what she did not understand. + +"Oh, you and your old poetry----" + +"That's just what it is," said Bramham. "There's 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." + +"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." + +That should have ended the matter, but Poppy's taste for torment was +whetted. + +"Perhaps Mr. Bramham doesn't know her as well as you do, Sophie," she +said softly. + +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. + +"Do _you_ know her?" she retorted rudely. + +"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. + +"That's dull for you, surely!" + +"Oh, no! I have plenty to do; and books to read; and how can one be dull +in such a lovely place as Natal?" + +The sun came out in Bramham. He was a Natalian and proud of it. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Thank you, that _will_ be good of you," said Poppy with enthusiasm. + +"Send her up all the old poetry books you can find," jeered Sophie. +"Personally, _I_ like a jolly good yellow-back." + +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. + +"I'm just _dying_ to know him," said Sophie ardently. "He looks as +though he has committed every sin you ever heard of. And how _did_ he +get that fearful scar right across his face? Vitriol?" + +The little air at the piano stopped suddenly. + +"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!" + +He adored music, and had an excellent view of an extraordinarily pretty +pair of ankles under the music-stool. + +Poppy complied, but she changed the air to something savage that made +Bramham think of a Zulu war-chant. + +"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?" + +"He is staying with me, at present, yes." Bramham's tone was full of +weariness. + +"And that dark, strange Irishman everyone is talking about--Carson--he +is staying with you, too, isn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"Are they great friends?" + +"We all know each other very well." + +Miss Cornell laughed genially. + +"I should say you do--isn't it true that you are called the three bad +men all over Africa--come now?" + +"I'm afraid someone has been filling your head with nonsense. Who +spreads these stories, I wonder?" + +"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?" + +"Kaffirs have names for everybody if one had time to find out what they +were." + +"Oh, I know--_Umkoomata_--that's what they call you. Now, what +wickedness can that mean?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"_Very_ secret, apparently," thought Bramham. "How the devil do these +things leak out?" + +"Something or other, yes," he said aloud. + +"They say the English Government thinks an _awful_ lot of him." + +"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. + +Poppy got up from the piano, and Bramham got up, too, and looked at his +watch. + +"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. + +"Now, don't forget to bring Mr. Abinger next time," Sophie called after +him from the verandah; "and that Mr. Carson, too," she added, as an +afterthought. + +Poppy positively blushed for her. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, don't be cross just because he didn't admire you. I told you to +put on my silk blouse, didn't I?" + +Poppy laughed her entrancing laugh. + +"Do you really think men care for clothes, Sophie?" + +"Of _course_ 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 +_seen_ with a woman unless she's _perfectly_ turned out. Brookie is like +that; and I'll bet that man Abinger is, too!" + +"Is he, indeed! Then remove him far from me. I'm afraid you won't suit +him, either Sophie," with a touch of malice. + +"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 +_awful_!" + +"I thought she looked extremely nice when I saw her." + +"Well, your taste and mine differ, my dear. _I_ think she is a frump. +Capron's wife now _is_ good looking, and always dressed +mag-_nif_-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." + +"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?" + +"You talk like a book with all the pages torn out, and the cover lost," +said Sophie irritably. + +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 _Umkoomata_ the _Sturdy One_, 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 _Intandugaza_, too--whether he was the mysterious dark Irishman +who went on secret expeditions---- + +"_Man!_ 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--_you_ know!" + +Poppy turned away from her. With the remembrance of certain recent +sensations still burning within her, she could not say that she did +_not_ know; but her mouth expressed weariness and disgust. + +"It seems to me that you are talking about some kind of brute, Sophie," +she said. + +"Brute! Oh, I don't know," said Sophie, and laughed. The laugh sent +Poppy out of the room with her teeth in her lip. + +"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. + +"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?" + +She reached her glass, and looked in. + +"I think not." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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 _buzzing_ 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. + +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 +_boys_ 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. + +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 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 _Old Baas_ (the master of natives is always +_Old_ whatever his age) and the various other _Baases_ who sat at +Bramham's board with regular irregularity. + +Ha! ha! where was _Shlalaimbona_ to-night, they inquired among +themselves. It is true that he would sleep here in the house of the _Old +Baas_, 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? + +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. + +And where, the cook particularly desired to know, was _Bechaan_? He whom +the world called Brookfield--who had slept in the house of _Umkoomata_ +for the matter of six weeks now? Where was he to-night? Followed the +tale of the return of Mrs. _Bechaan_, with particulars amazing. + +_Vetta_, 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. + +In the meantime, _Umkoomata_ and _Intandugaza_ 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. + +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 fine weather indicated a three-weeks' trip into +Zululand, to get some good shooting. + +"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." + +Bramham immediately began to think himself precariously ill. + +"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---- + +"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." + +They smoked in silence for a moment or so, then Bramham continued: + +"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." + +"No," said Carson discontentedly, "everything is confoundedly dull on +the Rand. I was sick of the place when I was there last month." + +"What's wrong with it?" + +"It is not the same as it was, Charlie. The old crowd 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." + +"Oh, damn it! disgusting!" commented Bramham. + +"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." + +Bramham looked at him critically and affectionately. "You _do_ 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." + +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. + +"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, 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!" + +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. + +"Thinking of some woman, I suppose!" + +Presently Bramham did turn his mind to his own affairs. + +"I want your advice about something, Karri." + +"Fire away, Bram; let's hear all about her." + +At this Bramham, for reasons of his own, became slightly annoyed. + +"Don't be an ass, Carson." + +"Don't be a rake-hell, Bram. You know quite well you are always at some +apron-string." + +Indignation dried up Bramham's eloquence. + +Carson mocked him further. + +"Why don't you lay the 'deadly doing' down, before it lays you out?" + +"Take your own excellent advice, my dear fellow. Or give it to Abinger; +perhaps he needs it," said Bramham. + +"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." + +"Good Lord, no! the less moon the better in his case!" said Bramham +grimly. "Where the deuce has he been all these years, Karri?" + +Carson shrugged. + +"Not much doubt about where he has been! He could give us some vivid +inside information about the slow-fires that consume." + +They smoked a while in silence. Later, Bramham said: + +"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 _you_ +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!" + +"But she _was_ a foreign devil. That was the point Abinger lost sight +of." + +"Did you ever hear who the other woman was, Karri?" + +"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." + +"_And_ 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." + +"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!" + +"Perhaps that was what Carmen was waiting for!" + +Carson got up to get another cigar and the subject dropped. When he came +back Bramham reverted to his own troubles. + +"Colonial girls don't interest me at any time," he proclaimed +aggrievedly; "especially the adventuress brand. I didn't think that +even I was such an idiot as to get tangled up with one." + +Carson stared straight before him with a smile at the sea. + +"This girl is Brookfield's typewriter--confound him!" + +Carson's satirical eyebrows moved, but he said nothing. + +Bramham continued: + +"A tall girl, with a fine figure and a high colour--but what has that +got to do with me?" + +"What, indeed?" an ironical echo from the canvas chair. + +This irritated Bramham. + +"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." + +Karri began to laugh. + +"Oh, come, Bram! This is not like you!" + +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. + +"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 _may_ be a good girl, +for all I know," he added doubtfully. + +Carson grinned. + +"Any way, I'm quite sure the other girl is straight." + +"Great God of War! Are there two?" + +"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 _that's_ +against her; yet she looks good----" + +"Do you mean that she is unlovely?" asked Carson with a wry smile. + +"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." + +This was the most astonishing tale of highway robbery Carson had ever +heard. + +"What next?" asked he. + +Bramham beat the bowl of his pipe against the balcony rail. + +"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." + +Carson shrugged; his face grew a little weary. + +"I am not particularly interested in girls, Bram; I'm afraid I couldn't +help you much." + +Bramham might have made a rude retort, but he didn't. He got up and +leaned against a pole of the verandah, facing Carson. + +"Well, I should like to have had your opinion, Karri. What with that +girl with the saint's eyes, and Brookfield's slippery ways----" + +"But where does Brookfield come in?" + +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 _had_ to +tell. + +"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 work to keep her going--would I give her some of my typing? It +meant bread-and-butter to her, etc. _Of course_, 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." + +"I don't see what business it was of yours at all." + +"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." + +"Three hundred _what_?" cried Carson. + +"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 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." + +"The little blackguard!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well, what could I do? He said his wife was coming back unexpectedly +and he couldn't raise the money." + +"You're three hundred different kinds of fool, Bram, if you let him rook +you like that." + +"He's been too clever for me," grumbled Bramham, and shut his mouth on +his pipe. + +"H'm! Mind the girl's not too clever for you too." + +A plaintive expression came into Bramham's face, mingled with +irritation; he took his pipe out again. + +"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 _is_ three hundred. What annoys me is that I should have been +such a fool----" + +"Why did you pay? I should have refused." + +"Oh no, you wouldn't, because the women would have had to get out. No, +that would never have done." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Right!" + +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. + + * * * * * + +Brookfield's wife having returned, he came no more to Sea House. But he +hailed Carson blithely at the Club next day. + +"What do you say to a drink, Karri?" + +"I don't want a drink," said Carson shortly. + +"Why not?" + +"Don't ask me why not. I don't want one, that's all." + +"O God! look here! Now, damn it, why not?" + +Brookfield was as easily infuriated as Carson. + +On this occasion Carson stayed cool. + +"Because I don't like you--if you must have it." + +Brookfield at once became calm; he prepared to argue out the matter. + +"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----" + +Carson yawned, got up, and walked out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"That was an odd thing!" he said to himself. "I'll swear I saw.... And +yet there is no moon to-night!" + +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. + +"H'm!" he remarked; "I must have a bad attack when I see moonbeam faces +on a moonless night!" + +The wedge of moonlight in the bushes seemed to him to give out two +little gleams at that. + +"This is a fool's game," said the man aloud. "I must go behind these +bushes and see where this thing begins and ends." + +Instantly the moonbeam disappeared altogether. + +"I thought so," he muttered. "Then it _is_ a woman, 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 _something_ like the gate Bram pointed out +to me yesterday.... But what am I doing _here_, 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 _boys'_ 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? + +In the meantime the man was holding his cigar between his knees and +gazing in her direction. + +"O moon of my desire that knows no wane," he gently misquoted, "come out +and talk to me!" + +His voice had a rustle in it of leaves before the wind. No woman could +listen to it cold-hearted. + +"But what are you doing in my garden?" she said in her own entrancing +tones. + +The man's veins thrilled in turn. + +"_Is_ 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. + +"How did you get in?" asked Poppy. "Isn't the gate locked?" + +"My _boys_ have a name for me of which one translation runs--all gates +open to him." + +"But it _must_ be locked." + +"It is not, I assure you. Though if this were my garden, it should +always be--with me inside." + +"You talk very oddly," said she, trying to speak coldly; "nearly as +oddly as old Khayyam himself ... I trust not for the same reason!" + +"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." + +A silence prevailed. + +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." + +"I have never been in Rhodesia." + +"No? Then perhaps it was in my own land. The women there have voices +like you. + + "There be none of beauty's daughters + With a magic like thee, + And like music on the waters + Is thy sweet voice to me--" + +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. + +"Tell me that you came from Ireland and I'll believe you with all my +heart," said he next. + +"No; I was born out here." + +"In this bad, mad land?" His voice had a note of disappointment in it; +he added: "I wish _you_ were mad and bad--but that is too much to +expect, I suppose?" + +"Why do you wish it?" + +"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." + +"But," said Poppy softly, "_Il n'est jamais de mal en bonne compagnie._" + +"Voltaire in an African garden! O Lord! I _must_ be delirious," he +muttered to himself. "I suppose you haven't such a thing as a pinch of +quinine about you?" + +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: + +"O thrush, sing again!" + +"I think you must really be a little bit mad----" + +"If you would only be a little bit bad----" + +"Oh, I am--I often am----" + +"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----" + +"No; I can't come over there; don't ask me." + +Her voice was tremulous now, for in her blood there was the strangest, +wildest urging to come at his call. She wondered how long she could +hold out against it--if he did not go soon. + +"Why should you want me to?" + +"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?" + +"Yes; it is." + +"And are your eyes long cameos of carved moonlight?" + +"They are indeed!" + +"Then Carissima--Adorissima ... come and sit on the grass." + +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. + +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 surroundings, 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. + +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: + +"You win!" His voice was very low, and jarred like a fine instrument +that has been struck. + +"Victory is to you! Tell me to go--or stay!" + +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. + +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. + +"Tell me something about yourself, Carissima," he said softly. "Tell me +that you are married, and that your husband is a brute!" + +She drew her hands away swiftly. This was a jarring note that broke +_her_ 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? + +"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." + +He made a sound which might have been a groan. + +"My dear little girl, you must forgive me.... I believe I am ill +to-night.... _Of course_ 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. + +"I am a poppy ... a poppy growing in Africa," said she, smiling subtly +to herself, but trembling--trembling. + +"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!" + +"Oh, you really are ill!" she cried "Let me go to the house and get you +something--some brandy. Rest here a while----" + +"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. + +"Good-night, Carissima ... I'll go home ... be good.... Girls should +always be good ... and gates ... I must find the gate----" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"Are you better?" she whispered tremulously, joyously. "I am going to +fetch you some restorative if you will let me leave you an instant." + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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." + +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!... _O! Ci +risuoniamo in cristallo_ ... _wine in a crystal beaker_.... I never knew +until to-night there was so beautiful a voice in the world!... Speak to +me----" + +"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." + +"God forgive me, I will take it!... I will rob you of all your gifts!" + +"I give them to you ... I was born for this hour!" she whispered. + +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. + +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." + +"I love you! I love you!" her voice cried faintly. + +"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 always you denied me even the touch of your hand ... +and I never knew that your hair smelled so sweet until to-night.... +_Loraine_, dearest of all women, kiss me again...." + +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? + +He held her closer. The seeing fingers touched the fabric of her gown, +and the slim, boyish body beneath. + +"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." + +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. + +"There is a _M'rungo_ in here who is ill. Come and help him to your +rickshaw," she said, suddenly inspired. + +"Where does he want to go?" demanded the boy. "I go no more on the Berea +to-night--only townwards." + +"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." + +"Ker-lub!" repeated the boy and nodded sagaciously; _Ker-lub M'rungos_ +always paid well! + +Well satisfied, he followed the girl through the gates and over the +soft, dark lawns to the tree where the _M'rungo_ was sitting. She spoke +in a clear, cold voice: + +"Here is a boy with a rickshaw; you had better let him help you home. +You are certainly ill." + +He rose easily, and stood up like a well man, but his voice was hoarse +and vague. + +"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. + +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. + +"Oh, I could kill myself to-night!... but first I will kill that woman +Loraine!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +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. + +"Go away, Kykie. I'm not well. I want nothing," she repeated +monotonously to all demands, until at last Kykie, from sheer weariness, +obeyed. + +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 _Monna Lisa_ 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. + +In the torrid afternoon hours she slept a while--dead, 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. + +"For goodness' gracious, and what do you look like, Poppy!" + +"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 _boy_, +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! + +"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." + +"I'll come down, Kykie," said Poppy dully. "What is all the trouble +about?" + +"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 +_boys_ ought to have found out and looked for the key in his room and +locked it. _Me!_ 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." + +"No, I have had enough, Kykie. Go away now, and see about your dinner. +I'll be down." + +"Let me brush your hair first; you know you always like me to when you +feel bad." The old woman took up 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. + +"No, no, Kykie; never dare touch my hair again!" she cried violently. + +"In the name of--!" Words failed the indignant Kykie. She grabbed her +tea-tray and floundered from the room. + +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. + +"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 _hors-d'oeuvre_. And when the soup appeared, he waved hers away +and ordered an _entrée_ 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. + +"Oh, I'm all right, Luce! Only I didn't sleep much last night ... the +heat----" + +"We'll get out of this infernal place--" he began. + +"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." + +He was curiously amenable. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He smiled grimly. She thought he was going to hurl a barb at her, but he +only said with the same unusual gentleness: + +"Work will never fill _your_ life, Poppy. You are the kind of girl who +will live the wonderful stories that the other women write." + +The lilac eyes in the _troublante_ face opposite gave a sad long look +into his; then fell. She shivered a little. + +"Some wonderful stories are terrible, Luce," she said in a low voice. + +When she rose from the table, he said: + +"Come and smoke in the garden with me." + +She turned her face away from him, staring vaguely at a picture on the +wall. + +"I don't care about the garden to-night, Luce. The drawing-room, if you +like--but I am very tired." + +"I shan't keep you long. There is something I want to say to you." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"No, I suppose not," said she vaguely, from the depths of her chair. + +"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." + +Poppy, dimly surprised at this unwonted penitence, would have murmured +something, but he went on quickly: + +"Had _you_ any plan? How did you think of accounting to people--women +particularly--for the fact that you were living here alone with me?" + +"Accounting to them?" she echoed faintly. "Will they ask me?" + +"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." + +"But, Luce, you could tell them, or let it be known. I shouldn't +mind ... _not_ 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." + +"And you think that would satisfy them?" + +"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." + +"That is so. Unfortunately, my dear girl, there is one thing you omit to +take into consideration." + +"What is that?" + +"I happen to be a dog with a bad name." + +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. + +"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." + +Poppy sat silent. + +"I regret to say that the very notion of my appearance in such a _rôle_ +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." + +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. + +"O God!" she softly cried. + +"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." + +Poppy sat up in her chair now, her eyes shining, her cheeks aflame. + +"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----" + +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 quality of gentleness that had distinguished it all the +evening. + +"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." + +Poppy's look was of amazement. + +"The truth? But what do you mean, Luce? You have been at great pains to +tell me why they won't accept the truth." + +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. + +"Poppy," he said in a very low, but clear voice, "do you remember the +old French Jesuit coming to the White Farm?" + +She stared at him. Her expression reverted to irritation and surprise. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I didn't understand French at that time, but you 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." + +"You remember that clearly?" + +"Certainly I do, and so do you. What is the use of this tiresome +repetition? It is quite beside the point." + +"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?" + +"Yes; we stood before him and _you_ made the promises. I didn't--though +I certainly said '_Oui_' 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." + +"Thank you, my dear girl; but I wouldn't think of depriving you of it. +It is your wedding-ring." + +"My--? I think you have gone mad, Luce." + +"Not at all. That is your wedding-ring, Poppy. When we stood before the +priest that day we were being married." + +She burst out laughing. "Really, Luce," she said contemptuously, "you +are developing a new form of humour. Does it amuse you?" + +"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. + +"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." + +She sprang up from her chair. + +"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. + +"Am I the kind of man who wastes time talking nonsense? Kykie was a +witness. She knows we were married that day." + +"Kykie! I'm _sure_ it is not true. She has never spoken of it----" + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh, Luce! Luce!" she cried pitifully. "Say it is not true! say it is +not true!" and burst into wild weeping. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 +_fadook_."[4] + + [4] Dishcloth. + +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. + +Sophie saw nothing but the prospect of another two or three days' hard +work, and she didn't like it. + +"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, _of course_, 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." + +Poppy had no inclination to disguise her feelings from Miss Cornell. + +"Sophie, you make me sick!" she said and turned away. + +"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!" + +"Lucky?" Something broke from her lips, that might have been only an +exclamation, but had the sound of a moan. + +"Pooh!" said Sophie. "Some fellow's been kidding you, I suppose, and you +don't like it. Oh! I know all about it." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Poppy, who had gone over to smell some flowers, probably Bramham's, +which were clumsily bunched in rows on the mantel-shelf, faced her with +an air of insolent surprise. + +"What can that possibly have to do with you or your men visitors?" + +"Oho!" said Sophie aggressively. "You won't get many chances of marrying +without _my_ 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 _do_ marry, it's _quite_ 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." + +"Why? Have you been very successful?" Poppy's tone was one of polite +inquiry. The other girl flushed. + +"Jolly sight more than _you'll_ ever be, with your white face and thin +figure," she retorted, adding pleasantly: "Your eyes remind me of a +snake's." + +Poppy sauntered carelessly towards the door. + +"And _you_ 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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +Abinger had gone away. This time his destination was really the Rand, +for the _boys_ had taken his luggage to the station and seen him leave. +He had told Kykie that he would be away for six weeks at least. + +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 _début_ in South +African society as the wife of a well-known man. + + * * * * * + +"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 yourself. Only, remember that if +you don't choose to accept the situation, the situation still +remains--_we are married_. 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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _there_ she never stayed long now, and there were parts of it she +did not go near. + +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. + +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 _must_ 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 +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. + +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 +himself 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 "_Who! Who!_" like +the lesser-owl common in Natal, and they scuttled like rats. + +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: + +"I have the best of it--better prowl the veldt lean and free, than be +caged and full." + +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. + +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 matter. The chief +thing is to have the bump of adventure sufficiently developed! + +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. + +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. + +There were other _contretemps_. 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. + +"Ah! What Luce calls a German from Jerusalem!" was her comment. +Incidentally she smelled a smell she 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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 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 _boy_. + +"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!" + +He was a heavily-built, sullenly-handsome man, who looked as though he +had never said a good-tempered thing in his life. + +Poppy was astounded when he blithely answered: + +"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----" + +Mrs. Portal fell to laughing. + +"Billy, you fraud! You know you always carry along on top-ropes when I'm +not there." + +"Not with Mary," the man asseverated. "Mary would want too much of a +deuce of a lot of convincing. She would smell a rat." + +"Don't be subtle, Billy," cried Mrs. Portal, laughing and going in at +the gates. + +The other rickshaw drew near, and "Billy" waited to receive it. As it +passed Poppy, two scraps of conversation floated to her. + +"I've a great mind to persuade Nick to go with you--and to take me too," +said the woman, laughing a little. + +"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." + +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. _Now_ 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. + +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! + +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. + +"And what did you think of _that_ for a play?" asked the sullen-faced +one as he opened the gate. + +"Enchanting," said she vivaciously. "So full of introspection and +retrospection, and all that, and----" + +"Yes, and mighty little circumspection," was the ready answer, and they +passed in, laughing. + +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 found the pull uphill too hard. The _boy_ +laughed in response and shook his winged arms boastfully, saying: + +"_Icona._" + +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. + +"Poppies!" he muttered. "What makes me think of poppies?... God! I could +almost dream that dream again...." + +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. + +Poppy fled home to dark, sad dreams. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +The sun had not risen, but there was a pale primrose dado painted across +the East. + +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: + + "Le monde est méchant, ma petite, + Avec son sourire moqueur: + Il dit qu'à ton côté palpite + Une montre en place du coeur." + +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. + +"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?" + +"What is the use, if my lover is gone?" said Poppy, with a smile. + +"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." + +"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." + +"_Never_ 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." + +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." + +"I like _her_," said Poppy. + +"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: + +"Yes ... she knows too much ... but she keeps on smiling. I suppose it's +because the old pagan is so used to sinners. + + "'There's not a day: the longest--not the 21st of June-- + Sees so much mischief in a wicked way + On which three single hours of moonshine smile----'" + +"And yet she looks so modest all the while!" Poppy finished. + +Mrs. Portal reproved her. + +"I consider you too young and good looking to read Byron." + +"Do you think he wrote for the old and ugly?" laughed Poppy. "And how +came you to read him?" + +"What! The retort flattering! _You're_ no Durbanite. _You_ don't grow in +the cabbage garden. Ohé! I can say what I will to you. Ding-Dong!" + +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: + + "Le monde est méchant, ma petite: + Il dit que tes yeux vifs sont morts, + Et se meuvent dans leur orbite + A temps égaux et par ressorts." + +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. + +"She has had sorrows, too--but not shameful ones. She wears them like +jewels," thought the girl. + +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. + +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. + +Even women loved her; and so the worst thing they could find to say of +her was that she must have been quite pretty--once! + +In return, she loved all men, and was kind to all women, loving one +steadfastly. + +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. + +"_Quite_ a child!" was her thought. "Too young to have so much to hide +behind those lovely eyes!" A line from Pater's monograph on _Monna Lisa_ +came into her mind: + + "Hers are the eyes that have looked on all the world; and the + eyelids are a little weary." + +She put out her hand to Poppy. If Poppy had eyes like _Monna Lisa_, she +herself had the hands of that Mother of all saints and sinners--only a +little browner. + +"I would like to be your friend," she said quietly. + +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. + +"Is it possible that she's afraid of me?" she thought at last. "Poor +child! doesn't she know an enemy from a friend? It must be that she has +found all women her enemies!" + +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. + +Presently Clementine got up from the sands, very reluctantly. + +"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!" + +Poppy laughed at her; but her laugh ended on a queer note. + +"Being a wild ass of the desert has its drawbacks, too!" said she, with +something of bitterness. + +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 _should_, come on Sundays. You never told me your +name, yet, mermaid!" + +Poppy held the brown, thin hand and answered firmly: + +"Rosalind Chard." + +But afterwards, when the other had gone a little way, she ran after her +and caught her up and said: + +"But I wish you would call me 'Poppy.'" + + * * * * * + +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 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. _Mrs. Capron!_ +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 _she_, 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. + +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 _him_ 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 _Loraine_ whom he so loved? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"What will Luce say when he comes back, if I haven't taken care of you?" + +The girl suddenly sickened at her tone. + +"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. + +"So you knew all the time about Luce and me being married?" she said in +a toneless voice, when she had presently mastered herself. + +"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 _mal-meit_!... 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 would be peace and love _now_--" The door was +closed and locked on her and she was obliged to continue her soliloquy +on the stairs. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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: + +"I _know_ 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." + +"You would write far better than I, probably," said the girl. "I know so +little of life--only what I feel. You know everything----" + +"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 one worth writing about--then, where will +your fine books be?" + +"Have you ever thought of writing?" + +"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?" + +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." + +It was the regal-milky-woman--Mrs. Capron. Mrs. Portal turned round from +her tea-cups. + +"Ah! everyone looks at that photograph! She is very beautiful. The +remarkable thing is that she is good, too. That _is_ 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." + +"Who is she?" asked Poppy, still before the smiling picture. + +"My friend, Mrs. Capron." + +"Is that her name written there?" + +"Yes, hers and mine. She is my dearest friend, and so she is allowed to +call me Clem; you may, too, if you like." + +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 _Clem_. + +As they took tea the door opened gently and a little figure stole into +the room straight to her mother's knee. + +"I like you, and love you," said she solemnly. + +"Hyacinth, what have you been doing?" Mrs. Portal asked anxiously. + +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. + +"I love and like you," she repeated glibly. + +"Then I know you have been doing something very wicked, Cinthie. You +always have when you like and love me." + +"_Pas!_" said Cinthie, now gazing calmly at Poppy. + +"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." + +The moment she was gone Cinthie made a boastful statement. + +"My face is bigger than yours!" + +Poppy put up her hand and felt her face carefully; then looked at +Cinthie's with the air of one measuring with the eye. + +"Well, perhaps it is!" she acceded. + +"It's bigger'n anyone's," continued Cinthie, even more bragfully. "Who +are you married to?" + +This was an awkward and surprising question, but Poppy countered. + +"Why should you think I am married, Cinthie?" + +"Everybody's married," was the swift response. "_I'm_ 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." + +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: + +"I think you had better marry Karri," she said. "I like Karri better'n +anyone, except Daddie. His face is bigger than anybody's." + +"Is Karri a man, then?" + +"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." + +She ran to the other side of the room, grabbed a frame from a table, and +brought it back triumphantly. + +"There!" she cried, and dumped it into Poppy's lap. + +Poppy stared down into the pictured face of the man she loved. + +Mrs. Portal reappeared. + +"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 +_petite méchante_." + +"_Pas!_" said Cinthie stoutly. + +"You are. Go away, now, to the nursery. I'm very angry with you." + +Cinthie retreated, bitterly reasseverating: + +"_Pas! pas! Pas petite méchante! Pas!_" + +Clem observed the photograph in Poppy's lap. + +"She has been showing you her hero--the hero of us all. Everyone in this +house genuflects before Eve Carson." + +And so at last Poppy knew the name of the idol before which she, too, +worshipped! + +"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----" + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Poppy, in an even voice. + +"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, 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 _some_ 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 _real men_ +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 _dying_ 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. + +"Gone!" Poppy wondered what kept her voice so calm while her soul cried +out within her. + +"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 _sans_ Maxims and _sans_ men and _sans_ +anything much besides a high heart and a squad of _boys_ who have been +everywhere with him. He has gone on a _peaceful expedition_ into the +midst of one of the fiercest tribes in 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 _official_ 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." + +"Has no other white man gone with him?" Poppy heard herself asking. + +"No one except his _boys_ 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?" + +Poppy did not know what she answered. Darkness engulfed her spirit, +almost her senses. + +"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--_everybody_ 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 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." + +"I must go home," said Poppy suddenly; and Clementine, roused from her +reverie by the strangely sounding voice, stared at the girl. + +"You look quite ill, dear," she said gently. "I am so sorry; I have been +wandering on, about all the things that interest _me_!... Will you lie +down a little while? or shall I ring for some wine?" + +"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. + +"Poppy," she said in a dreamy, yet intent way; "there will be deep +waters around you soon! ... you will need courage, resolution, _and_ +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." + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +At last, reviving somewhat under this vigorous treatment, Poppy found +breath and sense to remonstrate: + +"What do you mean, Kykie? Do you want to choke me? Stop that ... I'm +nearly drowned." + +"You were drownded enough before you came in," responded Kykie with +asperity; "your dress is soaking. Where have you been?" + +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. + +"... 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. + +"Luce? Dinner?" said Poppy vaguely. "What is the time, Kykie?" + +"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 +_know_ what I suffer if I don't get my night's rest. You and Luce +simply haven't the consideration of a _cow_ for me." + +"Oh, go to bed!" said Poppy wearily. + +"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----" + +The old woman paused with some significant intention, but Poppy only +waved a pale hand in her direction. + +"Go away and hold your peace, Kykie, for the love of Heaven!" + +"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 _will_ try and eat it, won't you? +and a little glass of champagne." + +"I couldn't Kykie ... only leave me alone...." + +The old woman promptly seated herself upon the side of the bed with the +air of an immovable rock. + +"Well.... Oh, all right, then ... _anything_ ... why can't you leave me +alone?" + +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. + +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. + +"And _I shall stay up to speak to Luce_ when he returns from the Club." +What she could mean by this Poppy 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _Tokaido_ inlaid upon it (for which he had paid thirty pounds +at Yokohama), spared. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"If he chooses to kill me, he can; no one will hear my calls," she +thought, and she continued to lie very still. + +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 _Monna Lisa_. + +"Stop smiling, you leaden-jawed Jewess," he said softly. + +The glass flew in jingling showers in every direction, 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. + +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. + +All vases and flower-bowls he took from their places and dropped upon +the floor. The sound of their breaking was not unmusical. + +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. + +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. + +"Awake?" he asked, with continual and unfailing pleasantness. + +"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, 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 +_bouleversé_ now, and she understood that such things mattered little. + +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. + +"Harlot!" he whispered, still smiling; and the word leapt from his lips +like a shrivelling flame and scorched across her face. + +"Harlot!" he repeated softly. "Tell me the name of your lover!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Presently he stumbled to his feet, and, walking unevenly and vaguely, +made his way from the room. + +In a moment Poppy Destin had leapt from the bed to the door and locked +it soundlessly. + + * * * * * + +Sophie Cornell was saying good-night to a visitor. "Well," said he. +"Tell Miss Chard how sorry I am. 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." + +"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." + +Bramham gave her a searching look. + +"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----" + +"Oh, don't do that?" said Sophie hastily; "we've called a doctor in +already, you know." + +"Who have you got?" + +"I must go--I can hear her calling," said Sophie suddenly. "Good-night." + +Incontinently she disappeared, the door closed, and Bramham was left to +pick his way through the dark garden as best he might. + +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. + +"My God, Rosalind! What a _shrik_[5] you gave me! _Man!_ 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. + + [5] Start (fright). + +"_Gott!_ Rosalind!" repeated the Colonial girl. "Has someone been trying +to murder you?" + +"Yes," said the other tonelessly. "And I've come here for safety. Will +you take me in, Sophie?" + +"Of course. But who was it? A man, I'll bet--or has your old aunt gone +up the tree?" + +"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. + +This she proceeded to do. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The person largely instrumental in bringing Poppy back to health and a +remote interest in life was Charles Bramham. + +One day Sophie Cornell met him in West Street and asked him to come and +call. + +"I have Rosalind up at last," she told him; "but she looks like a dying +duck, and I believe she _will_ die if someone doesn't buck her up. It +would be a _real_ charity if you would come and talk to her." + +Bramham, though an exceedingly busy man, accepted the invitation with +vivacity, for he was much _intrigué_ 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. + +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. + +"Why! _you_ 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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"But you are not sick," said Poppy, smiling less wanly. + +"No, but when all the flowers are in full bloom the quail come down," +was the artless rejoinder. "Not that _that_ will be for a long time +yet; September is the time. But I like that place." + +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 _great_ friend of his, who had once lived in +Durban, until the women drove her out saying that she was mad and bad. + +"Certainly her face was all marked up," said Bramham gravely. "She said +her temperament did it; but _they_ 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." + +"She must be very clever," said Poppy drily. + +"She is. She's a _bird_," 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. + +"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 _Diana Amongst the Wesleyans_ at once; wrap each in the +_Sunday at Home_ and despatch to my office.'" + +Poppy gave a little ringing laugh and asked eagerly: + +"Is she here now?" + +"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." + +"'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!" + +"'I thought the ideal woman was always young,' she snippered at me. + +"'Not at all,' I said. 'She may be old, but not _too_ old. She may be +ugly, but not _too_ ugly. She may be bad, but not _too_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _boys'_ compound. +Certainly 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Life out here is saltless and savourless--just one day's march nearer +_voetsack_, unless someone takes an interest 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. + +"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." + +"How do you know I'm a success?" somewhat gloomily. + +"Oh, anyone can see that. You have the calm, assured look of a man whose +future is secure." + +"You mean I look smug and self-satisfied!" + +"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?" + +"Are you comparing me with Johnson?" asked Bramham, grinning. + +"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." + +"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." + +Poppy smiled sceptically. + +"Difficulties, yes--but poverty and bitter want? + + "'Slow rises worth by poverty depressed!' + +"What do South Africans know of terrible poverty? Their minds are often +starved, but never their bodies, 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?" + +"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!" + +Poppy _could_ understand; but she was so much surprised that she said +nothing. + +"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 _there_ has been mighty useful +too. But their place 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 _any_ famous man had escaped her knowledge. It certainly put +heart into _me_ 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." + +Bramham smiled gaily. Poppy wondered what the worst mental suffering +had been, but she had too much respect for suffering to ask. + +Indirectly, Bramham presently enlightened her. + +"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." + +He made a long pause. Poppy said nothing. She was sitting with her +elbows among the papers on the table listening intently. + +"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." + +"She was a noble woman," said Poppy softly. "How you must have made it +up to her afterwards." + +"She died just when things were beginning to come our way," said +Bramham. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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 _might_ 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. + +"Don't do that," she said; her manner was careless, but there was a +_timbre_ in her voice that chilled. Bramham instantly removed his hand. + +"Why not?" he asked discontentedly. + +"Because I don't care about it," she said, her tone pleasant and +friendly again. + +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. + +"I'm afraid you are very cold-blooded." + +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. + +"It must be unpleasant to be so cold." + +"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, _quelquefois_." + +"I think that what _you_ need is a bonfire." Bramham was feeling +distinctly cross, but Poppy laughed so merrily at this _mot_ 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: + +"I don't see why you should despise my nice bright flame." + +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 _little_ 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! + +"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." + +Bramham did not see his way quite clear through this. However, he +declared stoutly that he had never been a woman's enemy yet. + +"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. + +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. + +"You are quite right, I _am_ 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?" + +Bramham stared hard at her, swallowing something. This was the first +time his wife had been mentioned between them. She did not falter. + +"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. + +Bramham's other firm hand came down on hers, and gave it a great grip. + +"By Jove! I do. And I hope you'll get the best going." + +A wave of grateful warmth rushed over the girl at his words. Her eyes +filled with tears. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"What! But weren't you a governess to some people in Kimberley, and an +old friend of Sophie's in Johannesburg?" + +"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, 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. + +"Well, of all the--!" Bramham began. Later, he allowed himself to +remark: + +"She certainly is a bird of Paradise!" and that was his eulogy on Sophie +Cornell. + +"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----" + +"I can't tell you anything," she said brokenly. "If I could tell +_anyone_, it would be you--but I can't. Only--I want a friend, +Charlie--I want help." + +"I'll do anything in the world for you--all you've got to say is +'Knife.'" + +"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." + +"Oh, that's simple!" said Bramham easily. "But have you any friends to +go to in England?" + +"I have no friends anywhere--except you. + + "'I have no friend but Resolution + ... and the briefest end!' + +"But I don't think my end is yet. I must go away from Africa, when I +love it most--as _you_ 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." + +She jumped up and stood in the light of the window, 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. + +"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 _my_ 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----?" + +"I should just say I _do_," said Bramham heartily. "You're true-blue all +through, without a streak of yellow in the whole of your composition." + + + + +PART III + + + Nothing is better I well think + Than Love: the hidden well water + Is not so delicate to drink. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Poppy sailed by one of the pleasant small lines that run direct between +Natal and England without touching at East London or the Cape. + +"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 _you_ look to me like a girl who wants +rest, and to forget that there is such a place as Africa on the map." + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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: + + "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." + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 _mal-de-mer_, 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, 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 _then_, 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. + +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 _that_ 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. + +On a hot day in the tropics the ship's _chef_ had resort to tinned +supplies, and amongst other things sent to the luncheon-table was an +_entrée_, 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 _entrée_ was _hors de combat_ with a mild attack +of something in the nature of ptomaine. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 +_that_ heading." + +"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----" + +She probably knew a great deal more, but she left it at that. + +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 _boys_, 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 _boys_, and are trusted by them to the death. + +Ah! with an effort she dragged back her thoughts from across the sea. +That way madness lay! She gave her ears once more to Newnham and the +Rand. + +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. + +"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." + +"But they all go and live in Park Lane, don't they?" smiled Poppy. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Never sign a paper, or drink water in the dark," was a Spanish proverb +well known to her, and she had another of her own: + +"Never rest where you cannot see the eyes of a man you distrust." + +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. + +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. + +"What's wrong?" he asked in his casual but not offensive manner. + +"Oh, nothing!" Then she stood still, seized by a sudden thought. "Do you +think the woman would take that lace back again?" + +"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?" + +"Oh, yes. I love lace. But I have just remembered that I can't afford +it." + +"Well, I don't think it's the slightest use going back. But _I'll_ buy +it, if you like?" + +"You? What for? What would you do with it?" + +"Give it to you, of course," he said pleasantly, but she flushed and her +manner instantly became cold. + +"I do not wish you to buy it," she said shortly. "I like it and will +keep it myself." + +"I wonder how many times to the minute a woman changes her mind!" he +jested, but he was secretly much amazed. + +"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. + +"I bet that'll suit her book," he cynically thought. + +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. + +"Why have you been so cruel to me?" he demanded almost violently. "What +have I done to make you angry?" + +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. + +"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: + +"I swear I didn't mean to be insolent." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _lace_ again." + +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 _that_ 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 +next he longed only to crouch himself, offering his neck, his body, his +soul to her feet. + +While he wrestled with his longings and inclinations, breathing hard at +her side, she composedly arose and left him with a cool good-night. + +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! + +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 _that_ 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. + +Newnham, restless and miserable, quoted with some trace of emotion: + + "O to be in England + Now that Spring is there." + +But his emotion was neither for Spring nor England. He 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: + +"If ever you want a friend--doctors are sometimes useful people, you +know." + +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. + +"Miss Chard ... Rosalind ..." he had discovered her name--"I will do +anything for you." + +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. + +"Thank you, Dr. Newnham," she said kindly, but with no particular +fervour. + +"Do you understand what I mean?" he said huskily, after another pause. +"I can help you." + +He could not see the expression on her face, but he saw that she turned +her head to look at him as she answered: + +"What can you mean?" + +"Oh, you needn't beat about the bush with me," he spoke with coarse +irritation. "I know what you have to face." + +"You must be wonderfully clever," she said, with a touch of sarcasm; +"but I should like to know just what you mean." + +Irritation now became anger. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't know what you mean ... I think you must be mad." + +Newnham laughed--derisively, devilishly. + +"I'll bet that's what you are going home for, all the same." + +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: + +"You vile man! Never dare speak to me again. You are not fit to live!" + +Then she was gone. + +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: + +"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." + +However, he did not. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +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 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 _Ko-bel_, and the cry of the +oyster-man be exceeding dolorous like the cry of a soul in the depths. + +_Clam ... Clam ... clamavi._ + +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 _knew_! Flying home on swift +feet, she nailed herself once more to her work-table. She _must_ 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, hurrying faces that passed along--frenzy, terror, +despair; not for themselves, but for _others_. _She must work!_ + +But Inspiration hid Her face; and shadows came out of the four corners +of the room and closed in upon her. + + * * * * * + +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 _hors-d'oeuvres_ 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 _Confessions_, 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: + +"Go and _buy_ some inspiration." + +She stared about the empty room. + +"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. + +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 _anything_ but a writer of +poems and romantic fiction, at which she was obviously a dismal failure. + +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 "_South +Africa_" 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: + + "She said: God knows they owe me naught. + I tossed them to the foaming sea, + I tossed them to the howling waste, + _Yet still their love comes home to me._" + +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. + +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. + +"How _can_ I be buying magazines and flowers with money I have not +earned?... I am becoming degraded! ... a parasite!" + +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. + +"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 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--_Intandugaza_: 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 _Renouncement_: + + "I must not think of thee; and tired yet strong + I shun the thought that dwells in all delight, + The thought of thee: and in the heaven's blue height: + And in the sweetest passage of a song----" + +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 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! + +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--_Loraine_, 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 +_would_ 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 _knew_! Kykie had told him. That was +what she had stayed up for, supposing herself to be the herald of glad +tidings. + +It made the girl recoil and quiver to think that those two had known and +spoken of what had been hidden from _her_; 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. + +"But, oh, Mother of God!" she cried aloud and bitterly. "Why is this +thing so sweet, and yet so terrible to bear?" + +Even while she asked she knew, and gave herself the answer. + +"I am a Transgressor----" + + * * * * * + +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 _sworn_ that a shadowy figure rose, too, +from the bed, and slipped into the far shadows. + +Beads of fright sat on her forehead. + +"I am going mad!" she thought. "There was a woman on my bed ... she is +still in the room. I am going mad!" + +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. + +"Who's there? What do you want?" said an excited voice, ready to scream. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What did you see?" asked Kate. + +"See? I don't know ... there was something strange----" + +"It was _'er_, sure enough!" + +"What do you mean, Kate?" Poppy felt her spine curling. + +"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--_no one ever sleeps in that room long_. A lydy cut her +throat there!" + +"What!" + +"Yes--sure as I'm sitting here. I've been afraid to creep up the stairs +at night for fear of _her_. How you could a _slep_ 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 _'ell_. 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 _it_. +And the 'usbin 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 _hanythink_, 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. _She done it in the very bed you bin sleeping +in._ 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." + +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. + +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 _briquette_ 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 room, in quite a poor part +of the _Quartier_; and the girl had carelessly told her that there were +plenty of the same kind to be had. + +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 _bonhomie_ and a wide charity for the world of women. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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 _beyond_ +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. + +Afterwards, she would complete her book and fire it off at the world. +She knew she could write. All she 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. + +Her physical condition began to oppress her sorely, too, and she no +longer _wanted_ 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 _could_ 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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _might_ +be successful as the editress of a woman's dress paper? + +No! no! She denied it vehemently. She _knew_ 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 of a magic land full of +strange people and cruel ghosts and dear delights: and an imagination: +and a vocabulary. + +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. + +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. + +One day her breezy landlady approached her, using all the tact and +kindness she had command of, yet taking the girl cruelly unawares. + +"My dear," she said pleasantly, "I hope you have found a place to go to +when your time comes?" + +Poppy sat paling and reddening before her, speechless with confusion. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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, 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----" + +"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 +_where_, but I will do so at once--I'll find out as soon as I can----" + +"Yes, yes, of course--don't worry; don't upset yourself, +dear--_Butterton's Weekly_ 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." + +The moment she had gone Poppy flew out to the nearest paper-shop, bought +a _Butterton's Weekly_, 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 _secret_ and +_confidential_ homes? And were these homes offered by _discreet nurses_ +who could _get the baby adopted if desired_, 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. + +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, "_Near Westminster Abbey._" + +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! _His_ son should be born near Westminster +Abbey! + +The next day she sought the address--No. 10, Old 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: + +"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: + + "Knives to grind. + Scissors to grind. + Pots and tea- + Kittles to mend." + +"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. + +"Good-evening, lady. I see it is me you want," was her laconic greeting. +"Step inside." + +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. + +"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 _esteemed_ in the +neighbourhood; that the house was quiet and private "in the extreme"; +and that, as a nurse, she possessed all the necessary diplomas and +certificates. (Whether this last was true or not her listener never +discovered.) + +"You will be _most_ comfortable," she finished. Poppy shuddered. + +"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. + +"I could not afford to pay that," she answered; and Nurse Selton +regarded her coldly. + +"That is not much for a lady of your sort--_first_, I presume? You won't +get lower terms anywhere else. Won't _the gentleman_ help you?" + +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: + +"Well--I'll make it thirty shillings a week _until_, and two pounds a +week _after_. Two guineas _for the little affair_--and if you want a +doctor, a guinea extra." + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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. + +"I will stay," she said simply. + +The woman thought her a fool. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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 _The +Cornfield_ had sent her a cheque for eight pounds seventeen shillings, +in payment for a story which she had 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. + +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 _Hope_--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. + +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. + +Sometimes the woman in the adjoining room moaned all night, railing at +Fate and God that she should have been brought to this pass. + +Once through an open door Poppy heard haggling going on about the +premium to be paid with a baby that was to be "adopted." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"... 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 _that_ +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 _did_ recognise something I had been +looking for all my life--Love. And I put out both arms and embraced it. +_Now_ 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 _his_ son. +_Then_ I suppose the Abbey would have been for me too!----" + +She twisted her lips and flung out her fingers. + +"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 _his_ 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: + +"Good-night, old Abbey! You are _mine_ all the same--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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +Nurse Selton came in often, but the girl preferred to be alone. Most of +the day was spent between _Hope_ 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: + +"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!" + +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. + +In the street below, a woman's raucous voice pathetically shrieked: + + "It's 'ard to give the 'and + Where the 'eart can _Nev_-ver be." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I am a _real_ woman," she said. "This is what I was born for and made +beautiful for. Poor, _poor_ old Sara!" + +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: + +"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. + +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 _your_ sake now. I +must fight _your_ enemies--until you are old enough to fight them for +yourself. To _dare_ suggest such a thing!" A little while after she +whispered passionately to the sleek, black head: + +"She did not know she was speaking of a king's son!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _protégée_. 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 _passée_ 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. + +"'E always puts on that look," smiled Mrs. Print to Poppy; "in case I +might ask 'im for an hextra sixpence for the 'ousekeeping." + +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 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. + +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. + +"Come off there, Jimmy! Jack, if you do that again, I'll pay you--I'll +pay you _somethink merciful_!" 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 +_St. Viper's Dance_. + +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. + +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 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. + +The days were all too short, and soon the midnight-oil began to burn. +Thereafter, shadows really _did_ 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 _lydy_ upstairs, who lay on the sofa +all day reading novels. + +"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 _dilettante_ +was one of resentful suspicion--resentful because she did nothing: +suspicious for the same reason! + +"With everybody helse in this 'ouse, including you, Mrs. Chard, it is + + "'Come day, go day, + Please, God, send Sunday.' + +"But all days looks the same to _'er_," 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; _then_, mayhap, she would depart. + +"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, _dear_, I _do_ feel so 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 _rore_.' I gives one look at her yeller skin, and I says: 'Why, +you've got the _boil_, that's what _you've_ 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 _that_, 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." + +"Now, Mrs. Print," said her listener wearily, "do make haste and finish +that fender. I want to work while baby is asleep." + +"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." + +She always spoke of her husband as Old George, her children as _our_ +Jack and _my_ Jimmy. + + * * * * * + +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. + +And nothing happened to encourage her. She had no news of her _Book of +Poems_, and when she called to see 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 _The Cornfield_, 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. + +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. + +"You are sitting to your desk too much, dear, and losing your +beauty--and you know no girl can afford to do _that_ 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 _me_, dear, there's nothing so comforting in this world as a +regular salary." + +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 regular salary had its potent charm, +too--Miss Drake spoke like an oracle there! + +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. + +"Lie there and wait for the inspired hour," she said. "I must look for +other ways and means to boil the pot." + +The wrench was to leave the "king's son" at home crooning in hired arms +beneath the eye of Mrs. Print. + +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. + +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. + +"No: I won't go into panto--not if Frankie goes down on his knees to +me." + +"Oh, he's sure to do _that_, dear!" + +"She says that her figure is her stock-in-trade--musical comedy, of +course." + +"H'm! more stock than trade, I should say." + +A score or so of made-up eyes raked Poppy from under heavy +_complexion_-veiling; she became aware of such strong scents as +_frangipani_ and _chypre_; many ropes of large pearls; heavy fur coats +flung open to reveal sparkling _art_-chains slung round bare, +well-powdered necks. A wry-lipped quotation of Abinger's flitted through +her memory: + + "Diamonds me. + Sealskins me, + I'm going on the stage." + +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. + +"Well, dear, what do _you_ 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. + +"Any experience?" + +"No." + +"Can you sing?" + +"No." + +"Dance?" + +"Yes." (Abinger had allowed her to take lessons in Florence.) + +"Good legs?" + +He regarded her puzzled eyes with impatience. + +"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 _you_, dear, for I can see----" + +"I don't think I am what you require in any case," she said as she +reached the door. "Good-morning." + +She fled through the waiting-room and down the stairs. Some of the +loungers shared a smile. + +"A greenhorn, evidently!" they said. "What has Frankie been saying?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Go to the theatres themselves," they said; adding cheerfully: "not that +_that's_ 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." + +One agent, rather more kindly than the rest, suggested that she should +try the Lyceum Theatre. + +"Ravenhill is taking it for a Shakespearian season," he said. "And I +should say that class of work would just suit you." + +Poppy thought so too, and wasted no time about finding the Lyceum. + +"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. + +He was a thin, Hamlet-faced man, with a skin of golden pallor and +romance-lit eyes, and he looked at Poppy with kindness and comradeship. + +"Have you had any experience?" he asked. + +"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. + +"Is there anything you could recite to me?" + +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: + + "When you are old and I am passed away-- + Passed: and your face, your golden face is grey, + I think--what e'er the end, this dream of mine + Comforting you a friendly star shall shine + Down the dim slope where still you stumble and stray. + + "Dear Heart, it shall be so: under the sway + Of death, the Past's enormous disarray + Lies hushed and dark. Still tho' there come no sign, + Live on well pleased; immortal and divine + Love shall still tend you as God's angels may, + When you are old." + +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." + +"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 to study and work hard. I can't offer you more than thirty +shillings a week--with a difference if you play." + +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. + +As for her: she could have fallen at his feet in thankfulness. The +contract was signed and she went home happy. + +Thirty shillings a week _certain_! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Her appearance, when "made up," was quite charming, and Ravenhill was +always glad to put her into a scene, and 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 _Richard II_, or a stately lady dancing in the house of +the _Capulets_, or an Egyptian girl in the streets of Alexandria +carrying a torch to light _Antony_ and _Cleopatra_ 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. + +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 _matinée_ 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 +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. + +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. + +Indeed, she was at this time striving with a valorous heart to live +according to Stevenson's creed: + + "To be honest: to be kind: + To earn a little--and to spend a little less." + + * * * * * + +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 _en déshabille_, her head wrapped in a +towel, full of excitement. + +"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!" + +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! + +Pale with amazement, she stood glimmering at him through her hair. + +"You!" she cried; then held out her hands in welcome, for welcome he +truly was, with the smell and burn of Africa on him. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"What do you want?" she asked half crossly, when they were in the +sitting-room. + +"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." + +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." + +"But why work like this?" he said discontentedly. "You'll kill yourself +burning two candles at once." + +"Not I?" said she gaily. She had no intention of letting him know that +but for her stage salary she would be penniless. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid I can't," Poppy faltered. "I never go 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. + +"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. + +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 _this_. 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? + +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. + +"My son, Charlie!" + +He stared down blankly at the little lovely thing, and it stared back at +him. + +"Good God!" said he; "am I dreaming? I could swear that was Eve Carson's +child!" + +"Yes," said Poppy softly, and her voice was _ci risuoniamo in +cristallo_. "It is. But how did you know?" she wonderingly asked. + +Charles Bramham was dumb. He could only stare. Later, he sat down +heavily in a chair and used his handkerchief. + +"Life has held a good many surprises for me, but never one like this. +_Carson!_ ... and _you_!... 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 _can't_ understand it.... Good God! I love that +fellow! ... _he_ could--?" + +"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 didn't know that +this wonderful thing was going to happen to me_ ... and _he_ knows +nothing. It is _my_ secret." + +Bramham digested these things as best he might. Later, he said: + +"Well he's _got_ 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 ... _of course_, he can't know ... but I shall tell him, +if I have to go up to Borapota after him." + +"Never, _never_!" said she. "No one shall ever tell him. It is _my_ +secret. You dare not interfere. I would never forgive you." + +He turned away from her, angry, sore, bitterly puzzled. + +"Oh, Charlie," she said wistfully. "Don't be angry. This is _my_ +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 ... _his_ son?" + +"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." + +"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 _that_ strange, sweet secret. + +Only one more question Bramham asked her. + +"Was it Karri you told me of that night, Rosalind?--the man you loved?" + +"Yes," she said. "The only man I have ever loved, or will love." + +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. + +"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 _should_ 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 _me_ some day, Charlie." + +"Why?" said he, looking keenly at her. "Are you ashamed of your child?" + +"Ashamed!" she laughed happily. "Ashamed of the greatest joy that ever +came to a woman; the son of the man she loves!" + +A happy look came into his face, too, for the first time since he had +known the truth. + +"That's the spirit! If a woman has the courage to take the big jump, she +should have the grit to face the 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." + +She looked at him thoughtfully for a while. + +"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 _you_ are to women--" +Impulsively he put his hand on hers lying on the dinner-table. + +"Let me--" he began. + +"But never offer to help _my_ 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +At the end of April the season at the Lyceum drew to a close, and +Ravenhill re-formed his company to tour the provinces. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Book of Poems_, 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! + +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 should "turn up," to read it and make her a _conscientious offer_ +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. + +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. + +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 _Sarah Bernhardt_. She and Poppy had shared the +same mirror in a Lyceum dressing-room, and become friendly over their +"make-up" boxes. + +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 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. + +"You are the _very_ girl I wanted to see," she cried. "Come into +'Slater's' for tea, and _do_ see if you can help me in a _great_ +difficulty." + +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. + +"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 _me_ round, no matter where I +am, and really, you know, dear, it's a _little_ hard on _me_ to have my +_career_ 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. _Do_ say you can?" + +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. + +"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 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." + +Poppy's face changed. A hundred a year! If she _must_ part with Pat that +would at least ensure him a home in the country, and she could save the +rest. + +"It is very good of you, Miss Ashley.... Will you let me think it over?" + +"Oh, yes--_anything_, if you will only take it on. I should be _so_ +glad. Her husband is always round bothering the life out of me to find +someone. Oh! I must tell you, dear there's _one_ thing besides Frances's +temper ... _he_ is difficult." + +"Bad-tempered, too?" smiled Poppy. + +"_Far_ 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." + +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 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. + +"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 _always_ she would turn her feet away from the +paths frequented by men. + +"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." + +"Yes, _do_, 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. _Do_ +take it on, there's a darling--good-bye." + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Print assured Poppy that no _Dook's_ 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 rose-clad cottage whenever she was free, +for Sarah had lots of room, a lovely garden, and corn-fields all round +her. + +"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." + +"Nothing but hills and corn-fields!" + +The words brought a mist over Poppy's eyes. _That_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Ah! I _know_ you are the girl Marion was talking about," cried the +invalid. "You _will_ come, won't you? How lovely you are--I shall just +_love_ 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." + +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, from a cold hauteur which she vainly tried to make +indifferent, to entreaty that was almost servile. + +"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--_of +course_, everybody _hates_ it. Can you play?" + +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. + +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 _must_ 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. + +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. + +"Oh, Harry!" cried the invalid. "This is Miss Chard--she is going to be +my new companion. Miss Chard--my husband." + +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. + +Harry Chesney was the hero of the adventure in the underground railway +carriage. + +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. + +It would have been awkward and painful to have told the sick woman _now_ +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. + +"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. + +"Touch the bell twice," said Mrs. Chesney. + +"Oh! I'll see Miss Chard down," said Chesney, but Poppy had made no +delay in touching the bell and a maid magically appeared. + + * * * * * + +The next day she waited at the York Theatre and saw Marion Ashley after +rehearsal. + +"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." + +The brightness of Marion's smile was dashed for an instant, but she +speedily recovered. + +"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." + +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! + +But the romantic drama was an unromantic failure. + +Long before the end of the first week, the principals 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 _that_ playing to "paper houses" every night. + +Marion Ashley met Poppy in the wings during a quarter of an hour's wait +that occurred in the second act. + +"Isn't this an awful disappointment?" she said. "Have you anything in +view, dear, if we come to a full-stop here?" + +"Nothing!" said Poppy, with a brave, careless smile. "Divil a thing!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +When the hour came for her to go to the theatre, Poppy called in the +faithful Mrs. Print once more to watch over 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. + +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. + +It was, indeed, a name she knew: and yet did not. _Sir_ Evelyn Carson! +His name was on the Birthday List of Honours. He had been made a baronet +_for services rendered to the Empire_. 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +On her dressing-table at the theatre Poppy found a 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. + +During the wait in the second act she sought out Marion Ashley. + +"Does Mrs. Chesney still want me?" she briefly inquired, and Marion +turned to her eagerly. + +"Of course she does. Will you go? Oh, you dear girl! I'm _so_ glad. When +will you be able to take up your residence with her?" + +"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 ... _worse_." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + + + + +PART IV + + + "This bitter love is sorrow in all lands, + Draining of eyelids, wringing of drenched hands, + Sighing of hearts and filling up of graves." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +On a January night in 1898, Charles Bramham was smoking and writing in +the dining-room of Sea House. + +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. + +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. + +"Read the _Field_ 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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Capron," said Abinger laconically. + +"What! again? A repetition of last night?" + +Bramham shot a glance at Carson, but the latter's face expressed nothing +more than _ennui_: he had put his head far back in his chair, and was +smoking ceilingwards, following the gyrations of the bat with a +contemplative eye. + +"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." + +Bramham got up and went to the sideboard, bringing glasses and decanters +to the table. + +"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." + +They all drank and smoked again in reflective concord. + +"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 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." + +"Oh, get out!" said Abinger. "Is your name Max Nordau, perhaps?" + +"Or are you Mr. Lecky?" derided Carson. + +"Ah, well, you fellows can laugh, but it would be a good scheme all the +same. Capron, now----" + +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. + +"Capron, now--is thirsty," said he. "And what was the interesting remark +you were about to make, Brammie, my dear?" + +"Only just _that_," Bramham responded serenely. "That you were probably +thirsty--as usual. Help yourself--and you, Ferrand." + +They drank and were seated, and all smoked, less peacefully now, but +more reflectively. Capron appeared to be the only person afflicted with +_gaieté de coeur_. + +"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?" + +The others remained calm and incurious. + +"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 +_then_; but now, by Gad! she has a face that would set any man's blood +on fire." + +"Indeed!" said Abinger dryly; and Bramham virtuously remarked: "We are +not all so inflammable as you." + +"Ah, I forgot! You're all saints and celibates here." + +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?" + +No one seemed anxious to learn, but Capron sprightfully proceeded: + +"--Because one's wife wouldn't live with him, and another wouldn't live +with his wife, and the third has a _penchant_ for the wife of his +neighbour." + +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. + +"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 _mot_ 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-per-haps," stammered Abinger softly, "if you ask us we'll tell you." + +"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." + +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. + +"I am going to bed," said one. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"What did you want to bring him here for?" demanded Carson of Ferrand, +but the latter was unabashed. + +"I couldn't shake him, and I was tired of his insults. It was indicated +that Bram should have a turn." + +"Someone ought to do unto him as was done unto the Levite's concubine," +was Abinger's graceful contribution. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Bite on that!" added Bramham without any polish of manner. + +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. + +"She's pale, but she glows like a rose: she has chaste eyes, but there +is _diablerie_ 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." + +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. + +Bramham thought: "Part of that might fit one woman ... but it literally +_couldn't_ be her ... I wonder if I should go round and----" + +"If I _could_ be interested in a girl," thought Carson, "I might.... _A +rope of black hair!_ ... anyway, I have to go and look up Nickals at the +Royal to-morrow." + +"Could it possibly be that devil Poppy?" was Abinger's thought. "I shall +go round and see." What he said was: + +"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. + +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. + +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: + +"Isandhlwana nineteen years ago to-day, Luce!" + +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. + +"That day we lay above Inyezan, Bram ... do you remember? When you +potted the big fellow in the _umpas_ 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 _Gaarons_, one of their best +leaders ... a sure shot ... he got ten of our men ... but Bram got _him_ +all right." + +They sat for two solid hours reminiscing. + +"You and Luce have had some times together, Charlie!" said Carson, after +Abinger had gone. + +"Yes ... it makes one feel old--I suppose we _are_ 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?" + +"I thought she was dead?" + +"So did I--but she wasn't. She is, _now_, however ... dropped down one +night behind the scenes and passed out in half an hour." + +"_Tant mieux!_" 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?" + +"Yes: I got the advice about them: they'll be in dock to-morrow. We'll +go down and look everything over during the week if you like. How long +are you going to give yourself before you go back?" + +"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." + +"Five years of solitude and natives and pioneers!" commented Bramham. +"Pretty tough on you!" + +"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--_you_ know that. It's the people who come up after the work is +done who stick in my gizzard." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I know half a dozen who'd jump at the chance, and I expect you do, +too. Women are fearfully keen on adventure nowadays. And then you're an +attraction in yourself, Karri." + +"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. + +"Joking apart--you ought to marry. Why don't you, Karri?" + +"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 _ménage-à-deux_ in the desert? +Even supposing that I knew someone anxious to share it----" + +"You have your salary--two thousand a year," argued Bramham. He did not +know what a _ménage-à-deux_ was, but he could guess. + +"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." + +"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 when it comes to transporting them over a few thousand +miles of unbroken roads--why, of course, it is expensive! + +"I know all about that, Carson--all the same, I think it would be a good +thing if----" + +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 _a_ wife, +but _the_ wife, and I haven't met her yet--the woman who could stand the +test of five years of _wattle-and-daub_, and boot-and-saddle, and +sleeping under the stars for a change when one gets tired of the +_wattle-and-daub_; 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. _We_ 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----" + +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. + +"--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. + +"Who can never materialise because she's mostly made up of dreams." + +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 secretly +enshrined in his heart.' It appears that she was right." + +Carson laughed, too: but his face softened. + +"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." + +Bramham gave him a shrewd glance. He would have given half he possessed +to say at that moment: + +"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. + +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. + +"You can't hate a fellow like that," he thought. + +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. + +"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 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?" + +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. + +"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 _the_ 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, +_something_ ... 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 _that_.... 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." + +They gripped hands and parted for the night. + +Afterwards Bramham mused thus to himself: + +"He was lying! He must have been--or else she was. What the deuce is +one to make of it? _Plenty of water under the bridge since then!_ I +daresay!... Capron's stray shaft went home.... I wonder if there's any +truth in _that_ 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +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. + +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-- + + "And a smile on the face of the tiger." + +That, at least, was the line from the poets which flashed into Bramham's +head, as Abinger grinned upon him. + +"What do _you_ want?" was the latter's affable greeting, and Bramham +answered fearlessly: + +"Oh, just a gin-and-bitters! It's getting somewhere about lunch-time, +isn't it?" + +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. + +"Hullo! you fellows! Waiting to see Nickals, too?" + +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 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. + +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 _he_ 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. + +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. + +_Ennui_ 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 followed, to inform him +in a discreet voice that a note had come for him by one of the Royal +_boys_. 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. + +"I had a premonition, by Jove!" he exclaimed excitedly, and tore it +open. It was brief. + +"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." + +Bramham stared at the letter for several minutes, then seized his hat +and rang the bell. + +"Call Mr. Merritt," was his order, and the secretary reappeared. + +"Merritt, I am going out again at once. If Mr. Carson or Mr. +Abinger send over for me from the Club, _I'm engaged. Very +important business--here._ Shall probably see them later in the +afternoon--understand?" + +"Certainly, sir," said the discreet Merritt, and withdrew. + +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. + +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 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. + +"I can't believe my eyes," he said. "It is the most amazing thing that +ever happened--to see you!" + +"Why?" she asked softly, looking him in the eyes. + +"I thought you were in England fighting your way along the road to +Fame----" + +"I don't care about Fame any more, Charlie." + +"Don't care for Fame! Why, you were crazy after it!" + +"Crazy--yes, that is the right word. Now I am sane. You have had my hand +quite a long time----" + +He did not release it, however, only held it tighter. + +"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!" + +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. + +"What has happened to you?" he asked, in a low voice. + +"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 grief too deep for words. The hand that he awkwardly +brushed across his face was his salute to sorrow. + +"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, _Hope_ 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. + +"Don't ever speak of it again, will you?... I can't ... I am not +able..." + +"Of course not.... No, all right ... I won't," he hastily and earnestly +assured her. + +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. + +"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----" + +Her face when she turned told him nothing. + +"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." + +"Mrs. Portal! I didn't know you knew her." + +"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, if you know her +at all, you know how kind and lovely her ways are." + +"Yes, indeed," Bramham heartily agreed. "She is altogether charming." + +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. + +"I am dining with her to-night to meet her great friend, Mrs. Capron," +continued Poppy, eyeing him gravely. + +"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. + +"Ah! and why shouldn't I?" she queried softly, but her tone brought a +slight flush to Bramham's cheek. + +"Oh, I don't know," he stammered. "No reason at all, I imagine." + +"On the contrary," she said quietly, "you imagine every reason." + +Bramham scrambled out of his tight corner as best he might. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +She smiled at him with such comradeship that he could not sulk any +longer. + +"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?" + +"You suppose rightly: I have _got_ 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." + +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. + +"You!... You!... why, I've never even heard of you!" he cried, +mortified, astonished, and it must be confessed, slightly unbelieving. + +"But perhaps you have heard of _Eve Destiny_? Here 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." + +"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. + +"A hundred a year! Why, if you go on like this you'll be more likely to +haul in ten thousand a year." + +"Ah! but I'm not going on," she interpolated calmly. "I don't mean to +work any more." + +"Not work any more? Why? Are you panned?... dried up ... fizzled out?" + +"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." + +"But since when did you begin to feel like that?" + +"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 _that_, 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 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. + +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. + +"If you go to the Portals you will meet Eve Carson. He is _persona +grata_ there." + +"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." + +"His wife----?" + +"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. + +"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----" + +"He would be sure to say something arresting," said Poppy, but she had +grown pale as death. Her eyes waited upon Bramham's lips. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 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----" + +"Never! Never!" she cried fiercely. "I should curse you for ever ... +I.... And so he is not married?" she said in an ordinary voice. + +"No, nor ever will be, till he finds the woman of his dreams, according +to his own tale." + +Suddenly she rose from her chair. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 _Eve +Destiny_. Bramham became so engrossed at last that he forgot all the +staring people in the room and the two coffee-cups and his discomfort. + +"She's a genius, by Jove!" he said grimly. "One must get used to being +made uncomfortable." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +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. + +"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!) + +"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----" + +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. + +"Listen to the blood-shedders!" said Mrs. Capron. + +"Yes, one of them is Bill," said Clem, "and I hoped he was looking after +people inside! Who is he talking to, I wonder." + +Mrs. Capron opened her lips to answer, then closed them again and looked +away at the sea. Luce Abinger smiled to himself. + +"That's C-Carson," he said. "He c-came up with me." + +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. + +But in whatsoever way he looked, he always made the woman he was talking +to _tête-à-tête_ 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, _must_ 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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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 _cheep-cheeping_ of some tame guinea-fowl in a +neighbouring garden. + +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 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?" + +Mrs. Gruyère, who had been educated at a Colonial _seminary_, +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. + +"But, _dear_ Mrs. Portal, desirable qualifications are not always +sufficient ones. _Where_ did she come from, and who are her people, I +wonder? It seems _strange_ in a small place like Durban, not to have met +her before! What does she want here?" + +"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." + +Thereafter, she looked dreamily into space, apparently thinking of +something else--an old ruse of hers when harassed about her harum-scarum +acquaintances. Abinger 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. + +"Indeed! An artist?" that lady insisted abominably. "I wonder if----" + +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. + +"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----" + +"Really?" said Mrs. Gerald Lace, all attention, thinking what a charming +miniature her blonde beauty would make. + +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. + +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, _much_ more eligible for the post? (Her own +brother, in fact--_hinc illæ!_) 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? + +"--And was made Mayor, and died!" she finished as though she had been +reciting a new kind of creed. + +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: + +"Rot!" + +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. + +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. + +"He would never _dream_ of marrying a Colonial: Gerald told me so." + +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, _how_ 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-_vo_-ted." What +satisfaction can be got out of a woman like that? Mrs. 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. + +"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." + +Abinger's answers were as various as Mrs. Portal's sandwiches, and as +liberally supplied with mustard. + + 1. Yes; but he didn't live with Miss Mappin. + 2. Carson had not asked his advice about the best place to spend a + honeymoon. + 3. Miss Mappin had not told him that she loved Carson. + 4. He did not read Carson's letters. + 5. He could not swear that Carson was not already married. + 6. All women were in love with Carson, anyway. + +At that, Mrs. Gruyère sat back satisfied. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"When _I_ am in love!" said Mrs. Gruyère loudly. + +"Oh!" cried Mrs. Lace with a shocked little laugh. + +"Isn't it true, Mr. Abinger?" Clem asked. + +"Oh, Carson is not so black as he's painted," said he with a great air +of liberality. + +"As he paints, I suppose, you mean," pertly rejoined Mrs. Gruyère. + +"There is a form of colour-blindness that makes its victim see +everything black!" said Mrs. Capron drily. Mrs. Gruyère sniffed again. + +"You need be colour-blind when you look at his eyes," she said +unpleasantly; "but some people have a morbid liking for deformity." + +They all looked astonished. + +"_Deformity!_" cried Mrs. Capron; "why, everybody admires his striking +eyes!" + +"And, _dear_ lady," said Abinger, with great _tendresse_, "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----" + +"Brass," said Mrs. Gruyère neatly--for her. + +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. + +"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?" + +Seeing no chair, Carson seated himself next to Abinger on the +floor--"two bad, dissolute men, cheek by jowl," said Mrs. Gruyère to +herself. + +"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." + +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. + +It was Poppy. + +The two bad men looked up. + +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. + +Clem Portal rose, and, under cover of general conversation, said swiftly +to her: + +"If Mrs. Gruyère puts you to the question--_you paint_--charming little +water-colours. You are going to do my miniature." + +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. + +Carson felt the old dream stir. He gave her a long, long look. As for +Abinger, the expression of utter astonishment and bewilderment had +passed from his face; he was smiling. + +"So _this_ is Miss Rosalind Chard!" he said softly, but not too softly +for Carson to hear him. + +"_Who_ is she, do you say?" he asked in a low tone. + +They had both risen from the floor. + +"A Cheltenham College girl, with pretty ankles," was the enigmatic +response. + +Unaccountably, they both found themselves at Mrs. Portal's elbow. She +introduced them with a gay inclusive little: "_Les amis de mes amis sont +mes amis_"; then turned away to bid a guest good-bye. + +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. + +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. + +"You are very _un-Irish_, Miss Chard, in spite of your face and your +superstitions." + +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." But the girl either could not, or +would not, taste the salty flavour of his compliment. She made a curious +answer. + +"I do not profess to be Irish." + +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. + +"Oh, you mustn't mind Carson," said Abinger easily. "You see, he has +unfortunately got a real Irish monkey for sale." + +"An Irish monkey?" + +"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." + +Her tears had slipped back unused to whence they came; she was now +dry-eyed and rather haughty. + +"How could I know?" she began stiffly. + +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. + +By the time he had finished his remarks Miss Chard had regained her +tranquillity. + +"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?" + +Some emotion kept Abinger dumb for several seconds; then under her +tranquil gaze he recovered himself. + +"No, I am a cosmopolitan; incidentally of Scotch birth." + +"Indeed!" Miss Chard looked politely interested. "You flatter yourself +chiefly on the first, I suppose?" + +"I did, until to-day." + +"To-day?" + +"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 _you_ +are--English." + +Her colour remained unchanged: her eyes regarded him steadfastly. + +"You took me for some new kind of barbarian, perhaps?" + +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.'" + +The girl's sweet laugh fell from her lips. + +"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 _first_ visit." + +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!" + +She stemmed that tide. + +"Why talk about 'home'?" she said impatiently. "It is far more +interesting out here." + +"Why?" cried Ferrand the poetical. "_Why?_ 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 +the fog and getting splashed with the mud and smelling the Thames...." + +"Yes," said Miss Chard; "and I infinitely prefer the smell of mangoes." + +Ferrand would have turned away from her, if he had been able to turn +away from any woman. + +Mrs. Portal, who had just joined them, agreed with her. + +"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?" + +But still Ferrand looked at Miss Chard. + +"'She is London, she is Torment, she is Town,'" he muttered. + +"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." + +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. + +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 wondering how she +could possibly get the address of Miss Chard's dressmaker without asking +for it. + +"_Of course_, you are staying, Mary," said Mrs. Portal, sitting down by +her and putting an arm around her waist. "And you, too, Karri?" + +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. + +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. + +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 poor devoted wife living and +dying like a saint at home. + +"Just as though it wouldn't have been far more saintlike to have come +out here and minded her sinner, if he _is_ one, which I don't believe," +said Mrs. Capron. + +"_De mortuis!_" broke in Clem, gently; and de Grey said, laughing: + +"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." + +"Yes: it's a becoming rôle--dressed by _Paquin_," said Cora de Grey +drily. _She_ 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. + +Abinger began to stammer softly, and everybody listened. + +"B-Bramham will be able to come forth at l-last. Mrs. Gru' has a new nut +to crack." + +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. + +"And it will t-take her all her time to do it," he finished gently--even +dreamily. + +"You frighten me!" said Clem. "What _can_ you mean?" + +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. + +"Miss Chard," she cried suddenly. "I keep wondering and wondering where +I have seen you before. _I know_ we have met." + +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. + +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. + +"Perhaps," she said pensively, "we were rivals for a king's affection in +some past age----" + +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. + +"--Of course, _I_ was the successful rival or it would have been I who +remembered, and not you." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +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. + +"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." + +She nodded. + +"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----" + +She looked at him quickly, apprehensively. + +"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 again for the first time since--" She closed her eyes. +He did not speak, only looked at her with compassionate eyes and waited. + +"I have made up my mind not to let everything go to wreck," she began +again presently. "I'm going to work again--I _am_ working." She threw +back her head and smiled. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Where is it?" + +"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." + +"It sounds altogether too romantic for Durban. I expect these features +exist only in your imagination. But can you possibly mean Briony +Cottage?" + +"But, of course." + +"Good--it _is_ a dear little place--and with the bay right before you, +you'll hardly know you're down in the town." + +"I'm having a companion." She made a mouth, and Bramham himself could +not disguise a faint twist of his smile. + +"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 +_genteel_." + +"Ah! I know her--a weary sort of plucked turkey," said the graceless +Bramham, "with a nose that was once 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----" + +"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 _most imperative_ 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 _Eve +Destiny_ would be another matter. I couldn't keep that quiet." + +"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?" + +"A divorce case--or, rather, I think a nullity case is what it would be +called." + +"A _what_?" Bramham could say no more. + +"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 _ought_ +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 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 _knew_ ... I was obliged to fly from his house half clad.... It was +_then_ I found refuge with Sophie Cornell." + +"And these things all happened here? Do you mean to tell me that +blackguard was some Durban fellow?" + +"He did live here at that time." + +"And now?" + +"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." + +"Well, upon my soul! I can't think who the fellow can be!" said Bramham +artlessly, and Poppy could not refrain from smiling. + +"I don't think there would be any good in telling you, 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." + +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. + +"You should have tackled the thing at home," said Bramham thoughtfully. +"They'd have fixed you up in no time there, I believe." + +"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 _my husband_, 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." + +"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----" + +He stopped, staring at her pale face. + +"Don't ever offer to lend me money," she said fiercely rudely. + +"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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +The day Poppy moved to her new home, Clem Portal was the first person to +visit her and wish her luck and happiness there. + +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 roses of the usual chintz. The grey walls were guileless of +pictures, except for the faithful blue _Hope_ 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. + +"You've found the sweetest place in Durban," said Clem. "Whenever I feel +like a mealie--a _green_ 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." + +Later, she said: + +"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 _don't_." + +Poppy was dreaming with her tea-cup in her lap, and the glitter of the +bay in her eyes. + +"Do you think three women ever get on well together?" she asked +evasively. "There is always one out." + +Clem was quick to see the meaning of this. A look of disappointment came +over her gay, gentle face. + +"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 if I deserted her for you ... what am I to do if you two +don't like each other?" + +"If _you_ love Mrs. Capron, Clem, she won't need to bother about the +liking of a woman like me." + +"She likes _you_, 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 _you_ 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 _that_ about +her--most people do." + +"I have gathered that she is not very happily married," said Poppy. + +"Have you ever seen him?" + +"I believe the first time I ever saw you, Clem, he was with you." + +"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: + +"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. + +"Nick Capron was not _quite_ 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 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 _Loa_, +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 _that_ 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?" + +Poppy looked up, anxious to learn, and Clem continued with the air of an +oracle of Thebes: + +"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." + +"She must have great courage to face the situation," said Poppy +sincerely. + +"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 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?" + +What Poppy _did_ 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. + +"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." + +This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy could not refrain +from a trill of laughter. + +"I think you are one of those who paint themselves black to be _en +suite_ with the people you like, Clemmie," she said; "but you're not +extraordinarily clever as an artist." + +"Not so clever as _you'll_ 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 ... _Eve Destiny!_ ... +what could have prompted it, I wonder?" + +"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 roused +within her. "Eve--was the most primitive person I could think of" (the +lie did not come very glibly), "and _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." + +"Well, you wouldn't run alone for long, that's very certain," laughed +Clem. + +"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. + +"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 _his_ 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...." + +"Oh, Clem! You are Irish yourself----" + +Clem did not turn round. She went on talking out of the window and +watching the approaching carriage. + +"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 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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Clem gave a cry of woe and began to pin on her hat. + +"The wretch! I thought he was going to dine at the Club." + +"He gave us strict orders to send you home at once," laughed Carson, "so +Mrs. Capron won't come in." + +"Who are the men?" demanded Clem. + +"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." + +Clem's groans were terrible. + +"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 +_menu_." + +"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." Smiling, he plucked a sea-pink and stuck it in his +coat. They were in the garden now on the way to the carriage. + +"Deserter! Well, Mary, _you'll_ have to come and let them feed upon your +damask cheek--something has got to be done." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +She rang for fresh tea and went to the tea-table. Carson stood about the +room, seeming to fill it. + +"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. + +"I love _green_ best of all colours," she answered steadily; "but one +gets tired of green walls now that they are fashionable and everyone +has them--" her voice broke off suddenly. In his looming about the room +he had stopped dead before _Hope_ 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. + +"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. + +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: + +"You will think I am mad ... but I imagine I know _that_ 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?" + +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. + +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. + +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 of +his own country; but he did not know it. If he _had_ known it he would +have repudiated it with all his strength, for already he was a bound +man. + +"His honour rooted in dishonour stood." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +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. + +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 many, that were spent at her +desk _dreaming_. For no writer does work of any consequence without +dreaming, even if the dream is not always of work. + +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 +_work_ which unfortunately kept her so busy that she could see no +one--_at present_. 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +A sprinkling of Durban people came and went. + +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. + +To be Mrs. Portal's friend was to share her friends, to know them, to +gossip with them, to criticise and be in 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. + +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 _tête-à-tête_. 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: + + "To the women who didn't know why + (And now we know they could never know why) + And did not understand." + +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 _vieux jeu_--are made for one, or at the most, two +listeners. + +Poppy's ears took in many pretty and many witty things. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _cold_. This warmed the +coldest of them--with a glow of self-satisfaction. + +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 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: + +"Did you ever hear of a Sphinx without a secret?" + +"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." + +"No," she said dreamily. "Everyone has a secret in this country, haven't +they? even girls." + +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. + +But Mary Capron said something to Carson that kept him awake that night. + +"She's _quite_ clever, isn't she? Only it's a pity she has to begin at +the beginning for herself." + + * * * * * + +Carson had scarcely been struck by Miss Chard's +_cleverness_--considering that on both his first and second meeting with +her she had had odd lapses of something very like _gaucherie_. 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 +her voice amongst his thoughts and considered the fact a curious and +rather annoying thing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Of course, Rosalind Chard was backed by Mrs. Portal, but that did not +prevent tongues from wagging. + +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. + +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; 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 _anything with a root to it_. +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. + +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? + +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. + +So out of _pure curiosity_ 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. + +Of all the rest she was careless. Let them think what they would--Clem +was her friend. + +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. + +One day Mrs. Capron said: + +"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.) + +"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." + +"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----" + +Clem winced; then, remembering Lady Mostyn's outraged face, laughed. + +"Well, one hardly picks up those things at school, _chérie_--and she may +have been on a desert island ever since." + +"That would be an interesting reason for her bad manners, darling, +but----" + +"I won't admit that they are bad--only unusual; and, besides, she has +the excuse of genius. If I might only tell you what I know of her +work----" + +"_Miniatures?_" asked Mrs. Capron wickedly. + +"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." + +"Clem, you are infatuated." + +"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." + +She escaped. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +--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 would +distract, and presently bring back vivacity and strength, and renew +courage. + +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? + +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. + +Oh! she had her black and desperate days-- + + "And the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night." + +But afterwards _Hope_ played for her on the one brave string--and she +took up her pen and worked on. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And while she sat, there came a little tap at the door. + +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. + +"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 _very_ important." + +"Thank you," said Poppy quietly, and sat staring at the letter long +after her companion had left the room. + +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 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 _this_ her glad day +of finished tasks. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + I. + + Across the purple heather + The winds of God blow sweet. + But it's O for the smell of London + And the roar of a London street! + + II. + + Upon the wine-dark waters + The sun strikes clean and hot. + But it's O for a London garden + And the woman who loves me not! + +"You say you are no musician, Clem, but I never knew anyone who could +make lovelier sounds come out of a piano," Poppy said. + +Clem laughed. + +"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?" + +"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 +_Dick Heldar_. 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." + +"The most usual circumstance," said Clem laughing, "is that the woman +loves too well. Some men find that hardest of all to bear." + +Poppy reflected on this for a while. + +"I suppose you mean wives! It is curious how many people seem to marry +to live apart, isn't it, Clem?" + +"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." + +Poppy was laughing. + +"Well, some of the reptiles make marvellous recoveries," said she, +remembering one, at least, whom she had known. + +"You can't blame them for _that_--it isn't very interesting to be dead, +I suppose." + +"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 of them. And then they label themselves +'happily married.'" + +"Now, Poppy, I won't have you walking over my cabbages and onions." + +"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----" + +"Yes; Bill and I _are_ rather wonderful"--Clem jumped up in a hurry--"I +must _absolutely_ 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. + +"She won't discuss her happiness with me," thought Poppy. "It is too +sacred!" + +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. + +"You won't be able to see to darn holes," said Poppy. + +"Ah! you don't know Billy's holes," Clem answered sadly. "And Cinthie +inherits the gentle trait. It is _too_ bad, for I hate darning." + +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. + +"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. + +Clem Portal looked at her in astonishment. + +"Darling, I ought to rebuke you for blasphemy." + +To her astonishment the girl burst into wild weeping. + +"No ... it isn't blasphemy ... I am in pain, Clem ... these storms ... a +storm like this reminds me of when I was a child ... I was once out in +a storm like this." + +"You?" + +"Yes ... once ... on the veldt ... for three days." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +Dense blackness filled the room. In it nothing was 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. + +"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 _we_ give to shine with that lovely cold, pure glow ... but +they can't take from us what our misery has bought." + +"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----" + +Poppy laughed bitterly at the lame ending. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I don't care. What does a name matter?" + +"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.'" + +"What do these things matter?" + +"My life, for the last three years, has been a struggle in deep waters +to keep myself from I know not what deeper deeps----" + +"I have always maintained that a woman has a right to use whatever +weapons come to hand in the fight with life, Poppy." + +"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!" + +"No, Poppy--only I can't understand why! What could have been worth it?" + +"Ah! you think nothing is worth blackening your soul for, Clem! That is +where you will not understand." + +"I will try to understand, dear one ... tell me. One thing I am sure of, +it was never wanton. You had some miserable reason." + +"_Miserable!_ 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 +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 _my_ lover would never go lacking the +gift of my breasts. I made a song--all Africa knows it now: + + "'I thank thee, Love, for two round breasts----'" + +"And what harm in that?" cried Clem, staunchly. "When Cinthie is twelve, +will you want her to be thinking of lover's caresses?" + +"You would not have been, either, if you'd had a mother's caresses. Your +nature was starving for love, poor child!" + +"You have a tender heart for sinners." + +"I don't consider you a very bad sinner, darling." + +"You don't know all the lies yet.... I am going to tell you _something_ +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 _rôles_ 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 +_wonderful innocence_. 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 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 _real_ friend if I should ever want one, and I +understood very well what _that_ 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 _pure_ and _innocent_. 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.... _He_ 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 _hundreds_--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 _there_ long ... innocence is not very valuable on the +stage--except in the play!... and though I have a special talent for +acting _off_ the stage, I am too nervous _on_ it to open my lips ... so +there was no hope for advancement that way ... I had to begin again on +the old round." + +"But, Poppy, dear, forgive me, I can't understand--why? _why?_... what +was it all for?" + +"For money, Clem. I wanted money." + +"I can't believe it!--Oh! _not_ for money!" + +"Yes; for money. Some women are bad for money; there is nothing they +will not do to get gold in their hands. I was _good_ for money ... a +saint, an angel, a virgin--most especially a virgin." + +"Don't hurt me like this," Clem said. "Whatever you say can make no +difference to me. I _will_ love you. I _will_ 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--_is_ there?" + +Poppy answered her "Yes!" And after a long time a few words dropped into +the silence of the room. + +"I wanted the money for my child." + +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. + +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: + +"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 _what_ I did 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 +_always_ 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 _good_. + +"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 _his_ +eyes and saw that they were _not_ 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 _purity_, 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!" + +"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. + + "'Dost thou know, O happy God!----' + +"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 _is_ soiled.... You _look_ good--not +smirking, soft goodness that means nothing, but brave, strong +goodness ... and I _know_ 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 _why_ is it, Poppy?" + +"I don't know. If it _is_ 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 _good_, as the +world calls it, has no charm for me. Many of the men I have spoken of +had a sinister attraction. _I understood what they felt._ 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 _really_ innocent those +years, nothing could have saved me. I 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." + +"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 _that_ you owe your beauty, dear." + +"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?" + +"I remember everything--but, dear, there is one thing that grieves and +bewilders me--why, _why_ could you not have earned a clean, fine living +with your pen ... where was your gift of writing?" + +"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!" + +"Poor child! everything has mocked you!" Clem put her arms round the +girl and kissed her tenderly; then 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. + +"Heavens!" cried Clem; "and I hear Billy's voice in the garden; Eve +Carson's, too, I believe. _Fly_ to your room, Poppy. I expect Sarah has +laid out one of your gowns." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +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. + +So Carson came, and had no faintest inkling that Poppy was there too. +Being an old _intimé_ 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 +his veins and that the splendour of life had come back at last with the +rush and swell of full-tide. + +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. + +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--_and his_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A little after eleven Carson left. He shook hands with everyone at +parting, and for a brief instant he and Poppy drank another deep +draught of joy from each other's eyes. + +No sooner had he gone than Clem said: + +"Poppy, you are to go to bed instantly, and stay there until I give you +leave to get up. You look like a spectre." + +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. + +"I must come and see if your room is all right." + +"Yes, but who are these midnight vigilantes in the garden?" exclaimed +Portal. "I believe I hear Bramham!" + +Bramham, indeed, it was who came into the light with a crumpled and +weeping woman clinging to his arm. + +"What the----?" softly demanded Portal of Heaven, and Clem stared. Poppy +swiftly recognised Miss Allendner. + +"What is it?" she cried, stepping forward. + +Miss Allendner only wept more violently. + +"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: + +"Miss Chard's house has been burnt to the ground; fortunately no one is +hurt, but everything is destroyed." + +"Burnt! _burnt?_... _everything?_ My work ... my freedom--" cried Poppy +wildly with clasped hands. + +"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 _am_ sorry!" He stared dismally. + +"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: + +"Poor Miss Allendner. Shall we put her to bed, in my bedroom, Clem? She +is worn out!" + +The women went away. At the gate Bramham said to Portal: + +"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 _Eve Destiny_, 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." + +This thing was news also to Portal. Mrs Portal being that lovely thing, +a close woman, he knew nothing of Poppy's identity with _Eve Destiny_. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +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 _real_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +And Bramham was in his dining-room insanely drinking whiskies-and-sodas. + +"What the----?" Carson stood in the doorway staring. + +"Waiting up for you, of course! Where have you been?" said the drunk and +dauntless Bramham. + +"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. + +"Miss Chard's house was burnt to the ground last night!" + +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. + +"What was that you said, Bram?" he asked, later. + +"Miss Chard's house is burnt to the ground. The whole town knows now +that she is _Eve Destiny_, the South African novelist----" + +"The how much?" + +"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 _In a Tin Hotel at Witpoortje_ and _A Veldt Ghost_. Why, Carson, +you don't seem to know anything! You ought to employ someone to dig you +up every five years." + +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 +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. + +One thing alone, stood out, a salient point in the narrative: + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Just before they had finished, Carson casually said: + +"I'm going up to the Rand to sell everything I hold." + +Bramham regarded him piercingly, and at the moment a _boy_ entered with +the morning papers. Each man reached out for one, and turned with +striking unanimity of interest to the Market reports. + +"Good Lord!" cried Bramham instantly. "_East Rands_ at 5.5.0, and still +sinking." + +Carson gave a groan, which meant, "Oh, Hades! why didn't I sell at £10?" + +Bramham continued his dolorous tale, quoting all the prices in which he +and Carson were interested. + +"Main Reefs, Randfonteins, Crown Reefs, Knights--all steadily sagging in +sympathy; if you sell now, Karri, you'll be in the cart." + +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 _money_--money to +marry Rosalind Chard and take her with him to Borapota; to free _her_ +from the cares of life and money for evermore. + +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. + +"What about my claims on the South Rand?" he demanded blithely. + +"Have you still got those?" cried Bramham in surprise. "Good! How many?" + +"Half interest in a hundred?" + +"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." + +They rose from the table. + +"When shall you go? To-day?" + +"No; to-day I have every moment occupied until six o'clock." + +"There's a good train to-night at nine." + +"I can't go to-night--I have something else to do." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +"Clem, scuttle up--we'll be late," shouted Portal. "What _is_ she doing, +Miss Chard?" + +"Hearing the bratiken's prayers, I think." + +"I wish you'd hurry her up." + +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. + +"Say them now, Cinthie--'Gentle Jesus----'" + +"No, mummie." + +"Yes, darling." + +"I want you to sing 'Bye-low Lady.'" + +"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." + +"No, mummie." + +"Go on now, darling. Mother'll be cross with you in a minute. 'Gentle +Jesus----'" + +"No, mummie." + +A silence. + +"'Gentle Jesus'--Go on now, Cinthie--'Gentle Jesus--'" + +"'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: + +"Mother's sorry her little girl is so naughty to-night. Good-night, +Cinthie." + +"G'night," was the cheerful response. + +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. + +"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 _that's_ all right--what do _we_ care for the first act of +a play?" + +Clem took not the slightest notice. She turned to Poppy. + +"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 do_ wish +you would have come too. It might have made you forget all about that +wicked fire." + +"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." + +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. + +"Cinthie!" + +"Eum!" + +"Hallo, Cinthie!" + +"Hallo!" + +"You asleep?" + +"No, not yet." + +"Sure you're not?" + +"No, I'm not, Poppy." She sat up in bed and gave a lively prance to show +she was awake. + +"Well, I've come to have a little talk." + +Cinthie made a joyful noise that sounded like _corn-cookoo_, and gave +another prance. + +Poppy sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her coffee, tendering to +Cinthie an occasional spoonful, which was supped up rapturously. + +"Who've you got there with you?" + +"Two my chil'ren." + +"Which ones?" + +"_Daisy-Buttercup_ 'n _Oscar_" + +"Oh! have they said their prayers yet?" + +A pause, then: + +"I didn't tell them to say prairses to-night." + +"Not?" cried Poppy, in shocked surprise. + +"No." (A pause.) "They's too tired." + +"Oh, but Cinthie! Fancy, if they died in their sleep! How sorry they'd +be they hadn't said their prayers." + +An uncomfortable pause. Poppy drank some more coffee. + +"I know _you_ would never go to sleep without saying _your_ prayers." + +A silence. + +"I hope you prayed for me to-night, sweetness?" + +A silence. + +"--And for that darling mummie of yours?" + +Silence. + +"--And your lovely daddie?" + +Silence. + +"--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." + +"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. + +"I'm so glad you prayed for mummie and daddie and me," she said +fervently. "Good-night, darling-pet." + +"G'night." + +"You don't have the candle left, do you?" + +"No." + +"Shall I put the mosquito-curtain round?" + +"Yes, please." + +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. + +"Well, good-night." + +"G'night." + +She opened the door and went out slowly. + +At the last conceivable instant, as the door was on the point of +closing, a little voice cried: + +"Poppy!" + +"Yes, sweetness." + +"I want a drink of water." + +Poppy went back, poured a glass of water, and carried it to the +delinquent, who took a mouthful; then said, slowly and sorrowfully: + +"I think I'll say prairses, Poppy." + +"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: + + "Gen-tuljeesus, meek n' mil', + Lookup pon a little chil'; + Pitimysimplisitee, + Suffer me t' come to Thee. + +"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 _DAILY BREAD_ +N' forgive us our trespasses 'gainst us. But 'liver us from evil. For +Thine's kingdom, Power and GLORY, frever and ever, Amen. + +"Our Father, please bless my darling Mummie, and take care of her at the +theatre, and my lovely Daddie, _and_ Grannie, _and_ Grandad, _and_ +Poppy, _and_ all the servants in _this_ house, _and_ all the little +children in the world, _and_ fill our hearts with love 'n kindness, +Amen--now I must say my _Latins_." + +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: + +"_Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus tecum: benedicta tu in mulieribus, et +benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus._" + +"_Sancta Maria! Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora +mortis nostræ. Amen._" + +Afterwards she fell into a peal of laughing. + +"Why do you laugh, darling?" Poppy gravely asked, and the answer was: + +"Oh, Poppy! Wouldn't _Nunc_ be a funny name for a dog!" + +Then once more the sheets were tucked in, the mosquito-net arranged, and +a kiss blown through it. + +"Good-night, Pansy-face!" + +"G'night, Red-rose!" responded Cinthie ardently. + +"Good-night, Gold-heart!" + +Cinthie thought laboriously for a few seconds, struggling for a fitting +response. At last, just as Poppy reached the door, she shouted +breathlessly: + +"G'night; White-soul!" + +At that Poppy gave a cry and ran back once more and hugged her. + +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. + +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. + +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----! + +"Oh, God! be good to me for once!" she cried with soundless lips. "Let +him come--I will do the rest. There is no barrier I cannot break down +between him and me. He is mine--dear God, you _know_ 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 bore his son_." 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----" + +And he came, through the open gate, up the broad pathway, straight to +her. + +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. + +"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. + +He put an arm through hers and they walked together in the gracious +dimness. + +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 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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Darling, my heart, good-bye--for a little while," he said; "and +then--_never_ good-bye again. The next time we kiss, you must be my +wife." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +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 +_one_ he knew there must yet be a scene, most painful and bitter, which +could not be shirked; the thought of it, _when_ 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. + +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. + +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 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." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _their_ 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. + +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: + +"My office! Come and pow-wow!" + +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 trend of the market was always worth +hearing, and usually as nearly right as possible. + +"Shall I sell or hold?" demanded Carson, when his affairs had been laid +upon the board and swiftly scanned. + +"Hold?" screamed Rosser. "Everything is going to the devil. Do you think +I take any stock in this good news? Why--_the country is rotten_. 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 _anything_--up to ninety days. +Destruction comes after." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well?" + +"Damned if I don't do it, Charlie. You can sell calls on everything I've +got, this morning--here's the list, and in the afternoon you can sell +everything I haven't got on 'fixed delivery,' or 'to arrive.'" + +"Good, man!" cried Rosser. + +"And what about my block of South Rands?" + +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. +_Now_ rumour went, the Big House wanted them. + +"What will you take for them?" asked Rosser, grinning. "Cost?" + +"No!" said Carson violently, "nor double, nor quadruple. I'll do or die +by those damned things." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"At the Club," said Carson briefly. "One sharp. My table is third on the +left as you go in ... don't be late." + +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 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. + +Punctually at one Rosser arrived at the Rand Club. Carson was deep in an +_indaba_ 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. + +"I've sold everything on time!" he said. "Committed you--roughly--to ten +thousand pounds of sales ... sixty days ... buyer's options." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, if you'll make up your mind to stick to it for three months +you'll make ten thousand pounds at least." + +"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." + +"Right!" cried Rosser gaily, and with a heart at peace proceeded to +acknowledge his friends at various tables, while Carson turned up the +wine-list. They had been eating and drinking steadily through lunch. + +"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: + +"I wonder how long it will last!" + +"What, the market?" Once more the teeth of Carson's soul chattered. + +"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." + +"Let's hear the proposition," said Carson, beginning to take a more +cheerful view of life through his smoke rings. + +"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 +_must_ be found dipping through them, and the Big House _must_ 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Good, man!" cried Rosser. "I must scoot. I've two appointments before +'Change this afternoon--so long!" + +Carson was left to his own many and various devices. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +At the end of the first month Carson's bear account closed with a +handsome profit to himself of twelve thousand pounds. + +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 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. + +"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 _can_ +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. + +Suddenly he grew horribly lonely; the days dragged and the nights +brought memories that set him in bodily torment. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +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. + +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. + +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 _menu_ 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. + +The moment breakfast was over Clem had flown to prepare the drawing-room +for a committee-meeting of ladies interested in the fate of fifty +able-bodied domestics arriving by the following week's mail-boat. + +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 _now_ 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. + +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 _mis bolitje_. 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. + +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. + +"What are you going to do with that dough, Cinthie?" she asked. + +"Make pudding." + +"Who for?" + +"For my chil'ren." She dipped her fingers into a doll's 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. + +"Are these all the children you've got?" + +"No; _Minnie-Haha_ and _Danny Deever's_ inside. They been naughty. +They's in bed." + +"What on earth did they do?" + +"Wouldn't say they prairses last night." + +"Oh, how naughty!" + +"Yes; I don't love them when they don't say prairses for their daddy." + +"Their daddy?" + +"Yes; he lives in England. He has been living in England for twenty +years. They have never seen him." + +"Goodness!" + +"Yes; it's very sad." She wagged her head dolefully. + +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. + +"I wish I could make puddings like you," said Poppy, lying on her elbow +and eating her orange. + +"I can make nicer ones'n this," said Cinthie boastfully. "I can make +Best-pudding-of-all." + +"Oh, do tell me, Cinthie, so when I have nine children I can make it for +them too." + +Cinthie looked at her dreamfully. + +"Perhaps you won't have any children," she said. "Perhaps you'll be a +widow." + +"Oh, Cinthie, don't be unkind--of course, I shall have some! Go on now, +tell me about the pudding." + +Cinthie rubbed her nose and reflected for a long time. At last, +solemnly, with a long think between each sentence, she delivered the +recipe. + +"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. + +"Yes?" + +"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. + +"Well, I shall just make a pudding like that," said Poppy determinedly. + +The gentle slurring of a silk petticoat was heard on the dry grass, and +Mrs. Capron joined them, smiling mischievously. + +"The committee meeting is over," she said, "and Clem has gone to see +Lady Mostyn off on _The Scot_ 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." + +"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. + +"Fleet of foot, but, alas! that one should have to say 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. + +"Her feet are scarcely formed yet," said the latter; "and Clem has +perhaps let her wear sandals too long." + +Mrs. Capron withdrew her fascinated eyes from the ring and shook her +head sadly. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Mr. Abinger is a better judge of deviltries than of good women," said +Poppy drily. + +"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. + +"Are you accusing Clem of being a rip?" + +"Of course not, though Bill is so charming he must have been one some +time, don't you think?" + +"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. + +"You are a very loyal friend, Miss Chard; and I hope you don't think +that I am _not_, just because I find it intensely 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _pounded in the mortar_." + +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. + +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. + +"What I am terribly afraid is that her suffering is not over, but only +beginning." + +Poppy stared at her startled, and saw that the beautiful brown eyes were +filled with tears. + +"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. + +"_Once_ I have seen her in the ashes of misery and despair. I would +rather die than witness it again." + +Poppy sat up and rested her hand on those of the trembling, troubled +woman before her. + +"Don't," she said soothingly; "don't fret--Clem is brave and strong +enough to fight every imaginable trouble in the world; and _don't_ say +anything more; I'm sure she would not wish it." + +"But I _must_ ... I must tell you.... She is going to suffer +again--_terribly_ ... and I want to save her if I can, and I want you to +save her." + +"Me!" faltered Poppy, listening in spite of herself. "What can I do?" + +Mary Capron's tears were falling thick and fast now. + +"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." + +"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 ... _Clem!_" Afterwards she said burningly: "If it _could_ be true, +how could you sit there and betray her?" + +Mary Capron's eyes flamed at her through the tears. + +"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_ could do it, I would. Let me tell +you, Rosalind Chard, that there is _nothing_ 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 _condemnation_ 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...." + +But Poppy could only whisper to herself: "Clem! Is there _any man in the +world_ 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 _any man_ ... 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. +_She knew what she was going to hear._ + +What came dully to her ears was something she had long known--long, +long. + +"--And when he went away to Borapota she was like a woman mad with +grief ... I thought she would have died.... She besought me, _besought_ +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 was for her.... Nick would tell +you ... he too knows ... it was always _Loraine_...." + +"Ah!" The girl under the tree gave a cry and covered her smitten eyes +with her hands. + +"Always it was _Loraine_. 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 ... _he_ used it though ... he ... _he loved her_... 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 _Clem_ ... 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 _her_ sake ... I +love her ... do _you_ love her ... enough to spare her?" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _siesta_), 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. + +"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!" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +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. + +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 _menu_, 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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Very well, Sarah--give cook as much help as you can this evening." + +"Oh, _yes_, m'm." + +The maid went her ways, and Mrs. Portal to her room. + +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. + +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: + +"Come in," and opening the door she softly entered. + +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. + +"Oh, Clem!... I beg your pardon," she stammered. "I was so certain I +heard you say 'Come in' ... I ... Oh, you _know_ 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 to misery! And +now she saw the tragic eyes that looked at her--and she knew what it all +meant! _This_ was the first moment in the whole long day Clem had had to +herself ... and she ... _she_ must needs intrude on the secret grief of +the woman she loved _and had robbed_! 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: + +"It doesn't matter ... I don't mind _you_ ... I have had some bad news. +But don't ask me about it, dear. I can't speak of it--_even with you_!" + +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. + +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 a delightful fling and +dancing their heels off at the coming ball. + +"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." + +"_Everybody_ 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 _now_ I shall be able to dance with him +uninterruptedly all night." + +"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." + +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. + +Poppy found herself upon the arm of Luce Abinger. + +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. + +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. + +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 _polonaises_ and polkas of her vanished youth. + +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. + +"You look ill, Luce," she said kindly. + +"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, +_who_--but you know very well who it is, and what, that I want." + +She drew back from the look in his eyes. His tone changed instantly; he +looked and spoke idly. + +"Well--my offer holds good at any time." + +"Your offer?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +He thought of all the furious rage and contempt he had expended on +himself within the last few weeks while he 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---- + +And she had never read the letter! All was as before! + +She did not know, and there was still a fighting chance that, wearied +out with the strife and siege, she would turn and surrender. + +Then he would say: + +"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." + +Thinking of these things, what could he do but look at her and softly +laugh? + +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. + + "What need to strive, with a life awry?" + +Life was awry with everyone it seemed! What did it matter what Luce +Abinger had to say? + +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. + +"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. + +"When are you coming back to your home and your husband, Poppy?" + +Indoors, the card-party had broken up. The travellers 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. + + "_Come back to me. You have never been out of my heart for a moment + since first I loved you.--Loraine._" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +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. + +"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 more subtly +insistent. Carson spun out of the Club into a cab and in fifteen minutes +was in his broker's office. + +"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." + +"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 _that_ all right? _Now_ +will you be good!" + +An hour later Carson regained his cab and was driven to his rooms. A +portmanteau at _Vetta's_ 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. _Vetta_, 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. + +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 A.M., 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 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. + +Presently, at Newcastle, came the faithful _Vetta_ 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 +_Vetta_, 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. + +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, even as in +Wiertzs's picture Napoleon is menaced by the arms of women. + +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. + +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, _not hers_, would break in +upon him, crying: + +"Evelyn, I love you. For your sake men may brand me--swear you will +never forsake me for another woman!" + +Did he ever swear? Was that his voice he seemed to hear?--tender, +fervent--swearing by her face, by his life, by---- + +"Oh, Lord God! what a blackguard!" he groaned aloud. + +But his heart held steadfast to his plan. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +At last Carson was enlightened. He was, in fact, in the pleasant company +of Miss Sophie Cornell. + +"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 +she should have spoiled its effectiveness by wearing a pair of yellow +_suède_ evening shoes. + +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. + +"I am in an _awfully_ 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 _awfully_ annoyed with me for leaving +_literary_ work, but really it was _so_ dull--and, of course, it's a +great mistake to think one can't stay _a lady_, whatever one does; don't +you think so, Sir Evelyn, eh?" + +"Certainly!" he gravely agreed. + +"I am treated as _quite_ 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 _frot_[6], 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." + + [6] Rotten. + +"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." + +"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 _me_, Sir Evelyn, I assure +you. There's not a single fellow in Africa can say a _thing_ about me." + +This was very impressive, but Carson did not exactly know what it might +mean. He only knew that he was growing a little weary. + +"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 +_slang_.[7] Yet I can assure _you_, Sir Evelyn, that when I was on the +Durban Race-course three weeks ago, with two _perfect gentlemen_ from +the Rand, she sat quite close to me in a carriage with that Mrs. Portal, +and though I smiled and bowed to her _twice_, she deliberately looked +right through me.... I might have been a bit of rubbish lying in the +street...." + + [7] Snake. + +Something in this narrative dimly, though unpleasantly, interested +Carson. He forgot his weariness for the moment and looked at the woman +intently. + +"Yes ... what do you think of that? Deliberately _cut_ 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 _she_ 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 _that_? 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. + +"Do you mind telling me whom you are talking about?" said Carson +quietly. + +"Certainly--I'm delighted to. It is only fair that everybody should know +what a _slang_ that girl is, to cut _me_ 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----" + +Carson's tanned skin had turned an ashy-yellow shade, which was neither +becoming nor artistic. + +"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. + +"Och! don't you _woman_ me!" she cried, bridling. "So _you're_ 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 _his_ house she came that night I +took her in! My _boy_ 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." + +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. + +"And she pretending to be such a saint all the time," she repeated. "A +saint in the company of Luce Abinger!" she laughed coarsely. + +Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering--as well as fury, +and surprise, and misery, and four neat brandies become suddenly potent +would let him. + +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! _no!_ Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she could +not, he would kill her ... he would take her by that long, fair +throat---- + +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. + +His voice was almost gentle. + +"It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your" (he paused) +"_inducements_--to understand that Miss Chard's reasons for----" + +"No," she sneered, hissing like a cobra. "No--of course not--a _saint_ +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." + +That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, going on +deliberately: + +"--For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to your reasons--or shall +we say inducements?" + +She hated him with her eyes. + +"You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but there _are_ 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." + +He smiled and added: + +"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----" + +Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Oh! go to hell!" she screamed. Carson bowed, and with that insolent +smile still lingering on his lips, gave his attention to his letters. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!" + +"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 _boys_ to see that Carson got it as soon +as he arrived; then jumping into his carriage, he set off for the +Portals' house. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some +use. When do you expect him back?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him. + +"No, coming back to-night--should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting +into his carriage. + +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. + +"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He +looked at her in surprise. + +"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!" + +"No--oh no ... not at all ... only I thought--" She regained her +composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies. + +"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. + +"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----" + +"Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a quartette easily, but if +you want more room for your skirts, I'll sit up aloft." + +"Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit up aloft too." + +They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance or two from her +now. + +"I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he ventured. + +"Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like." + +"_What?_" + +"Yes, really--and whichever others you like." Bramham seized her card +blithely. + +"Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger and Carson----" + +"But ... _he_ ... 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. + +"No ... not yet. But he _might_ run in, mightn't he? You're not thinking +of going back on me, are you?" + +"Of course not!" She turned away. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _all_ shine ... I +never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... Come along, good +peoples." She pushed the 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. + +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. + +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. + +Other women came up and greeted them. + +"What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn off our backs when the +dancing begins ... don't you think it was a mistake to have the ball so +early?... so hot still!" + +Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women say to the other in a +low voice: + +"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 _something_ wrong!" + +"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. + +"That depends on who told you." + +"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. + +"How did you get here, Mary?" + +"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is my +_Machinka_ gown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?" + +"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." + +When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow: + +"Don't forget _me_." 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. + +"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left." + +"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. + +"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. + +"Will you please be where I can see you--and reach you _instantly_ ... +if I should want you?" + +A slight, bitter smile came to his lips. + +"Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good place, I should say." + +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: + +"Do you want me--_Luce_?" + +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. + +"Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath. + +"Well--to-night--I think I may come--_home_," she faltered; then without +another word or look she turned away, and took Bramham's arm for the +first waltz. + +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 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: + +"Poppy ... _to-night_?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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!" + +Carson stared at him with a stunned air. + +"Capron!" he stammered. + +"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." + +"Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. "I have +business of my own." + +"You've _got_ 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!" + +Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got into the rickshaw +and went off together. + +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 _boy_ and told him to hurry. + + * * * * * + +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: + +"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 +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." + +"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the +momentary excitement. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the +dining-room they sat down and Bramham 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. + +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. + +Abinger smiled sourly at him. + +"Whose trail are _you_ on, Bram?" + +"There's something odd in the air--some unusual scent," was the answer. + +"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham +ventured near her, sniffing still. + +"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy +scent." + +"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in +the _boys_ again and questioned them in Zulu. + +"No--no one had been," they said, "excepting only _Intandugaza_, who had +remained but a little while and gone away very angry." + +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 +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. + +"_Rest, rest, rest--peace--rest_," it whispered and sang. + +Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking +about the room. + +"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new +statement. "Can't you, Abinger?" + +"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you." + +Poppy poured him out another cup. + +"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile. + +"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. + +Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering +sea: + +"_Rest, rest--peace, rest._" + +"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily. + +"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger. + +"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!" + +They returned to the dining-room. + +"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?" + +"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to +Mr. Abinger." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +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. + +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. + +"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? _She_ ought to be here to speed +the parting guest ... Mary--a damned iceberg ... but I'd like some +ice.... Give me some ice, Karri----" + +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. + +"--And an infernal long time she is about it," said Ferrand. "What do +_you_ think, Karri?" + +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. + +"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. + +Ferrand cocked a professional eye at him. + +"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 _must_ 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 _peleela_ ... take my cart." + +Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by Portal through the +silent rooms of the Club to the front verandah. + +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. + +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. + +"Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be dead!" + +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 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. + +"What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. Anything wrong? ... +besides Capron, I mean...?" + +The other responded with apparent composure. + +"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----" + +"When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He was unable to make head +or tail of Portal's speech. + +"Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a fascinating chap." + +Carson gazed at him. + +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. + +"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 heard a row ... +and there was Capron ... _he'd got ahead of me_." + +"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. + +"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 _my_ castle is in ruins.... You can have +it if it's any good to you." + +"Thanks, Carson--my finances are all right." + +"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 +_two_ until to-night. _Now_, 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. + +"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. + +"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 _that_ your trouble?" + +Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on him austerely and +keenly. "If it's any other woman, don't expect _me_ to sympathise with +you--I could forgive any man that but you--bah! but it couldn't be ... +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 _you_ 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 _not_.... 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." + +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. + +"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 _you_ are one of those fellows that +don't know when a star has come down to you, why----" + +Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other man. + +"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 say +strange things in the name of Love!... But I _know_ that what you say is +true--I believe in you, Karri." + +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. + +"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. + +"Good-night, Karri--I'm going home, too." His face was transformed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"_Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!_" + + * * * * * + +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 was trickling down it. +The silence was broken by Bramham's voice--quite calm and pleasant. + +"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." + +Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly: + +"She can live--_if she wants to_"--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!" + +The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died +away. + +"Well! _you_ 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: + +"God! Karri, what is it?" + +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. + +"Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you love--less than +nothing." + +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? + +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 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. + +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-_coiffé_ 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. + +"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?" + +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--_his_ 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. + +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: + +"So you lied! ... false woman! ... and _base friend_!" + +But Mary Capron turned from her. Shaking with rage and defeat, she flung +a torrent of low, rushing words at Carson. + +"_You_ love this girl ... girl! ... her confessions to Luce Abinger here +to-night were not very girlish ... I 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 _only_ to +that man and could never love any other----" + +"No more," broke fiercely from Carson's white lips. + +"But you _shall_ hear!" she cried, flinging out a hand and catching his +arm. "_She has had a child_ ... she boasted of it ... _the child of the +man in the garden_.... 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. + +"There ... there ... you see?... let her deny it if she can!" + +Stiffly Carson turned his head now and looked at Poppy; his lips twisted +like a man's who is tasting poison; his eyes demanded. + +"Yes, I have borne a son," she said simply. + +For a moment there was such a silence as is found in rooms where the +dead are lying. Then Mary Capron broke it again: + +"She is proud of it!... You _see_ ... you see what you love? Is it +possible that for a woman like _that_ ... that for _her_ you can turn +from my love, I who would let men brand me in the face for you--who----" + +"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. + +"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 _our_ 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. + +"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?" + +She went at that, with hurrying feet; and the man with the bleeding, +smiling face followed her. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Is it true?" he muttered; "is it true, after all?--_a child!_" His own +sins were forgotten in this overwhelming, bitter revelation. + +She went over to him, and kneeled between his knees. + +"Yes; it is true, Eve ... _your_ child! ... child of the night you +dreamed that poppies grew upon the eternal hills.... _I am Poppy!_ Do +you not know me?" He sat up straight then and looked down at her, looked +down 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." + +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! + +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. + +"Poppy? ... _Poppy!_ ... _not_ a dream?... _Not_ the ravings of +fever?... Poppy!" He held her hair across his face as though smelling +some wonderful flower. + +"Eve ... did you not say to me, '_If I were stricken blind in this +hour_--'" she stopped. + +"'--_from ten thousand women I could search you out by the scent of your +hair_,'" he finished. + +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. + +"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: + +"Poppy--where is my son?" + +She lifted her eyes to him. The tears which she could never shed for +herself would always come rushing forth for that sweet memory. + +"All my love could not keep him, Eve." + +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. + +"Do you regret?" he asked. "Have you ever regretted? Oh, God! how can I +ask?" + +"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! + +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. + +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. + +"O, Lord God--forgive me my sins!" + + * * * * * + +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. She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he +held it closely, preciously--for he, too, loved this woman. + +"Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes one good thing!" he +said. "_Your_ 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." + +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. + +"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: + +"Forgive!--_Loraine!_" + +She was that lovely thing, a close woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +The quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of the +_Tunis_. 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. + +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, _Eve Destiny_; and his wife was +accompanying him to Borapota on the _Tunis_. + +Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been invited _en +masse_ 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 _dénouement_. 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 _Tunis_ before the hour of sailing. The +rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and +blackening the Breakwater. + +Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and +scrunching of chains began to be heard, and word was given for people +to leave the _Tunis_. 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. + +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 _that_ imagination +could no further go. + +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! + +"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. + +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 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. + +"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--_can it be +true_?" + +"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we +part I must tell you something ... about my name--_Loraine_. Bill wants +me to tell you ... and he says _you will know why_. 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 _you know_--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 _Loraine_ 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----" + +Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly. + +"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: + +"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 _everything_." +She turned white and began to tremble. "How _fearful_ one is! I have +been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared show +_him_ 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: + +"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" Bramham bustled up. + +"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!" + +She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes. + +"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 _live_." + +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. + +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. + + "'The Lord is debonair, + Let sinners not despair,'" + +said he, and they smiled into each other's eyes. + +And so their ship swept out to sea. + + * * * * * + +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: + +"There's a rumour that she's as wicked as her books--if so, Carson is +not to be envied." + +Cora de Grey, who was sometimes also called _Cobra_ de Grey, bit into +him swiftly: + +"If she's wicked, she's clever beyond the cleverness of any woman, for +none of her men friends have ever given her away." + +"Her _men_ friends--that's a new story!" retorted the surprised +Brookfield. + +"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," said Cora, with her +Karoo smile. "When a woman is _really_ wicked, some renegade will always +tell his dearest friend, or his wife, and then--short shrift for _her_." + +Brookfield retired. + +Mrs. Gruyère said: + +"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. And I _know_ Charles +Bramham was in love with _her_. What will he do now, I wonder?" + +Mrs. Gruyère's voice was so penetrating that it often reached the ears +of her victims. Bramham, coming up, answered her cheerfully. + +"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 _she_ can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks +full of French gowns." + +This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyère, who only feared two things on +earth--French gowns and the malicious pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she +preserved a brave front. + +"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to wear with them," was +her last barb. + + * * * * * + +Driving home, Clem said to her husband: + +"Will they be happy, think you, Billy-Bill?" And he, with the deep +wisdom vouchsafed only to true lovers, answered her: + +"Happy? Of course not! But they will count unhappiness with each other +the best that Life can give." + + +FINIS. + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + +p. 22 corrected doubled "she" + +p. 68 "unwittingy" changed to "unwittingly" + +p. 72 "eared" changed to "cared" + +p. 110 "relasped" changed to "relapsed" + +p. 146 "widow" changed to "window" + +p. 178 "quater" changed to "quarter" + +p. 183 "champange" changed to "champagne" + +P. 272 "aways" changed to "always" + +p. 356 "whatver" changed to "whatever" + +p. 361 "knowlege" changed to "knowledge" + +p. 377 "found" changed to "round" + +p. 449 "love each very much" changed to "love each other very much" + +Minor punctuation corrections left unnoted. + +Words with multiple spellings left as in original. + +Italics indicated with underscores _like this_. + +Small caps and bold indicated with upper case _LIKE THIS_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poppy, by Cynthia Stockley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPPY *** + +***** This file should be named 36138-8.txt or 36138-8.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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+ margin-right : 15%; + margin-top : 5%; + margin-bottom : 5%; + padding : 1em; + background-color : #f6f2f2; + color : black; + border : 1px dotted black; + } + + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poppy, by Cynthia Stockley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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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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 + + + + + + + + [Illustration: "IN HIS LOOMING ABOUT THE ROOM HE HAD STOPPED DEAD + BEFORE WATTS'S PICTURE 'HOPE' OVER THE MANTELPIECE" + + From the painting by G. F. Watts, R.A. + + (_See p. 336_)] + + + + + POPPY + + + THE STORY OF A + SOUTH AFRICAN GIRL + + BY + + CYNTHIA STOCKLEY + + + G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS + NEW YORK AND LONDON + The Knickerbocker Press + 1910 + + + Published, March, 1910 + Reprinted, March, 1910; May, 1910 + July, 1910 (twice); August, 1910 + September, 1910; October, 1910 + + + The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + To + Em + + + + +PART I + + + "... 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." + + (_From an old Irish Legend_.) + + + + +POPPY + + +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. + +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. + +There had been curry for dinner. Horrible yellow rings floated on the +top of the water in the _skottel_ and Poppy hated to put her hands into +it. + +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. + +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. + +So she threw the scraps to Nick the black cat, under the kitchen table, +and went on hating her aunt, and washing 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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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--and she _had_ 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. + +Listlessly she dried the plates and stuck them up in lines on the +dresser, soaked the _fadook_ 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. + +Poppy dried her basin out with the _fadook_, 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 +_kop-dook_, 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. + +"But the _old missis_ had strange ways! Clk! It seemed she liked the +_klein-missis_ to do Kaffir's work!" Old Sara shrugged her fat, wobbly +shoulders, and flopped over her wash-tub once more. + +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. + +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 _mis_ smell vilely; rather, there is a soft odour of grasses +and flowers, as though some stray veldt wind had blown through the room. + +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." + +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. + +"My word, that child looks more like an Irish Fenian every day!" was her +aunt's agreeable greeting. + +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. + +"Och, you're always going on at the girl, Lena!" + +"And good cause I have," retorted Mrs. Kennedy. "Stand still, Ina, while +I tie your cappie." + +Poppy said nothing, but if having black murder in your heart makes you a +Fenian, she knew that she was one. + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +Bobby was a heavy-weight, and though she changed him from one hip to +another all the way up the street, she never got to the Kopje without a +pain in her stomach and a feeling of deathly sickness. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Hullo, Poppy Destin!" + +But her sister pulled at her arm at once and rebuked her. + +"Edie! You know mother doesn't let us speak to Poppy Destin." + +"Pooh!" called out Poppy with the utmost scorn and derision. "Who wants +to speak to you? I hate you." + +She made fearful faces at them; but when they had all gone past, she +rocked on her stone and wept. + +"I hate them! I hate them!" she sobbed. "And I hate God! God is a +beast." + +Ina stood by and listened, with her pinafore in her mouth. + +"I'll tell mother that, what you say," she remarked gravely. + +"'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. + +Suddenly a voice behind her! + +"What's the matter little girl?" + +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. + +"Do tell me what is the matter!" + +"Nothing's the matter," said Poppy defiantly. + +The lady laughed long and merrily as though she found something +refreshing in the child's sulky misery. + +"Well, but how silly of you to cry and make your eyes red for nothing! +You've got such pretty eyes, too!" + +Poppy stared at her, gasping. + +"Oh! If I only thought I had pretty eyes--" she said breathlessly. + +"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?" + +Poppy was about to inform her that she was a Fenian, but she thought +better of it. + +"I was born here in Bloemfontein," she answered. + +"Well, perhaps your mother came from Ireland, for you have _quite_ an +Irish face: only you're so thin, and you look so cross--are you?" + +"Yes. I am always cross. I hate everybody." + +"Good heavens! What a little savage! but you shouldn't. It makes one so +ugly to hate." + +"Does it?" Eagerly. "Do you think if I was never cross I'd get +beautiful?" + +"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. + +"Is that why you are so beautiful?" was the next question. + +The beauty smiled: a little complacently perhaps. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Oh, I will, I will," cried Poppy ardently. + +"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." + +"Have you any little girls in Cape Town?" asked Poppy, wishing to detain +her a little longer. She laughed at that. + +"You funny child! Why I'm not even married. But I'm going to be, and to +the most fascinating man in Africa." + +"Is his name Lancelot?" + +"No. His name is Nick Capron. How old are you, child?" + +"Nine." + +"Only nine! You look about thirteen, you poor little thing. Well, +good-bye, I must really go." + +"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. + +But Poppy, sitting on her rock had a gleam of hope and happiness; for at +last she knew the secret of being beautiful; _and_--it had been told +her--her eyes were pretty. + +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 +_Foelstruis_,[1] 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. + + [1] Ostrich. + +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 rubbed upon their breasts in the +moonlight to make them grow round and firm as young apples. + +Last, but most important of all, she evolved from her dreamings and +devisings a promise to herself that she would never, _never_ 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. + + * * * * * + +But it was hard in the house of Aunt Lena Kennedy to attain beauty +through virtue. + +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 _lekkers_, Mrs. Kennedy would roll up her +sleeves and approach in a workmanlike manner the big pan-bath 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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Horrible! what's horrible about it, I'd like to know, except in your +own nasty little mind? A body like a _spring-kaan_,[2] that's what +you've got ... and don't want me to see it, I suppose! Dirty pride! the +ugliest child _I've_ 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." + + [2] Grasshopper. + +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. + +On such nights she was far enough from the beauty she so much coveted. +To herself she appeared hideous--_hideous_. 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. + +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. + +"Scorpion! Scorpion!" she would rave. + +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: + +"Ma! I wish you would come and speak to Miss Poppy here. She's calling +you a 'scorpion'!" + +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. + +"You want a _sjambok_ 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." + +"I won't have a _sjambok_ used on a child in my house," Uncle Bob would +mutter in the dining-room, asserting himself in this one matter at +least. + +But Clara and Emily would jeer from their beds, calling her _Miss_ Poppy +in fine derision. + +"_Now_ you've got it! How did you like that, hey? _Lekker_, hey?" + +Some time after midnight Poppy would weep herself to sleep. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 +_grand_ 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _might_ +have let her have _something_--a kind mother, or golden hair, or brains, +or a white skin, or a happy home, or _something_; it wouldn't have hurt +_Him_, 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"I'll tell ma," was their parrot cry: and that meant boxes on the ear. + +"I up with my hand" was a favourite phrase of Aunt Lena's. + +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: + +"Now get your lessons done, Porpie!" + +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. + +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. + +"I wonder you bother to come to school at all, Poppy," was the favourite +gibe of Miss Briggs. + +When examination days came she did badly, except in history and +geography, which she liked and found easy. + +Break-up day was the worst of all. + +The girls all came in their pretty soft white frocks and looked sweet. +Only Poppy was ugly, in a pique 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. + +There was never any prize for her. + +She knew there never would be. She used to keep saying inside herself: + +"_Of course_ there isn't a prize for you"; and yet she 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. + +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: + +"Your songs always sound just's if you are crying all the time, Poppy." + +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. + +"You must ask your aunt if she can spare you, Poppy." + +"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 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." + +"Only twice a week, uncle," pleaded Poppy. + +"My girl, you must do what your aunt thinks best. Can't you spare her +two afternoons a week, Lena?" + +"Oh, let her go ... fine musician she'll make, _I'm_ 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. + +"You were a sweet little thing," she said. "So beautifully kept, and the +apple of your mother's eye." + +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: + +"Your mother ought to be alive. She'd have skinned you for your +dirtiness--your deceit, your laziness" (whatever the crime might be). + +Or: + +"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 _you_ to deal with." + +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!" + +"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." + +"But why has no one ever told me before?" asked Poppy in amazement. "No +one speaks of her, or of my father, to me! Why?" + +Mrs. Dale shook her gentle head. + +"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. + +"'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." + +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." + +"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. + +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 _Porpie_! Her mother 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' +_hok_ 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. + +"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! + + * * * * * + +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 _that_ +was over. + +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 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. + +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. + +She never made a remark herself without _thinking_ 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. + +"Was she going daft then? ... speaking to herself like a crazy +Hottentot ... concocting impudence, no doubt ... the lunatic asylum +was _her_ place ... and don't let me hear you again, my lady, or I'll +up with my hand ... etc." + +One day Ina fell very ill, and Mrs. Kennedy sent a 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. + +"If it hadn't been for _your_ 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. + +"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 ... _she_ would have learned you ... etc." + +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!" + +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 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. + +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. + +"I thought we might save her as she was so young, but----" + + * * * * * + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Even Aunt Lena's tongue was still those days, and 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. + + * * * * * + +One evening at nine o'clock Ina died. + +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. + +"Ina," she whispered with a dreadful fear. "Ina, speak to Poppy--open +eyes, darling." + +But Ina never opened eyes or spoke again. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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 her husband's hands she caught hold of the +ghost-like child and flung her into the yard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And this was the friend she turned to on that night of dreadful +weariness when Ina died. + +She never knew how she got through the town, silent and dark, and over +the little hill thick with _bessie_ 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea"--it ran. + +Yet Poppy had never seen the sea. + +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 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 the air. The clock +struck five--clear and bell-like strokes now, that sang and echoed out +into the morning. + +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. + +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 _crase bessies_ by the way and +munching them as she walked. There was hardly anyone about the town, +except a few _boys_ 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. + +"Tch! Tch! Tch!" she clucked. "_Arme kentze! War vas sig gisterand?_" +(Poor child! Where were you last night?) + +"_Dar bij de dam. Ge koffi O'Sara. Ik is freeslik kow._" (Up by the Big +Dam. Give me some coffee, Sara. I am very cold.) + +"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 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' _hok_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _dook_ 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. + +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 _spruit_, 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. + +All the way she gathered wild flowers and grasses--rock-maiden-hair, +_rooi gras_, moon-flowers, and most especially shivery-grass, and the +little perky rushes with a flower sprouting out of them, which the +children call _tulps_. Ina had always loved these. Some "four o'clocks" +too, stolen from a front garden as she passed, were added, and even a +_stink bloem_ graced the great bunch with which Poppy entered the +churchyard. + +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: + +"From Poppy, Ina--Poppy who loves you best of all." + + * * * * * + +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 _dook_, 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 +_chochermanners_; besides, there were a lot of interesting things in old +Sara's wool besides _chochermanners_: 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. + +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. + +Once Poppy asked her why she did not go to her _kraal_ and live with her +children instead of working for white people. + +Old Sara took snuff and answered briefly: + +"_Ek het ne kinders, oor Ek is ne getroud._" (I have no children, +because I am not married.) + +This was good, but not infallible logic, as Poppy even in her few years +had discovered. + +"Why didn't you get married when you were young, old Sara?" she queried. + +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. + +That was old Sara's only answer to Poppy's question. Afterwards she +quietly replaced her bundle of rags, and rebuttoned her dress. + +As for Poppy, she pondered the problem long. At last she made a little +song, which she called: + +"The woman with the crooked breast." + + * * * * * + +One night old Sara brought news. + +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. + +"Do you remember that time ma sent us there when Ina had the diphtheria? +We never got anything but bread and dripping, and she was eating chops +and steaks all the time." + +"Yes," said Clara, "and remember how she used to beat _Katzi_, the +little Hottentot girl, in bed every night for a week until the blood +came, just because she broke a cup." + +"Ha! ha!" they chirruped, "won't Miss Poppy get it _just_!" + +"Yes, and mammer's going to give her something before she goes, too. She +sent me to buy a _sjambok_ this morning, because pa's hidden his away, +and when he's gone out to the 'Phoenix' 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." + +"Tlk! Won't she get it!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 brought it stealthily to the forage-house, together with a +pocketful of food-scraps saved from her own portion of the evening meal. + +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 +"Phoenix Hotel"; then they would come to fetch her indoors! + +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 _Uitspan_, 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 _Uitspan_ +out beyond St. Michael's, and she made for that one, remembering there +were always plenty of wagons there. + +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. + +There were several fires burning, and the fume of coffee was on the +night air. Someone was making _as-kookies_ (ash-cakes) too, for a +pleasant smell of burnt dough assailed Poppy's nose. Four Kaffir _boys_ +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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +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 _fykie_ 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 +_reimpe_ ladder. Across the tent was swung a _cartel_ (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 +_reimpe_ ladder, fidgeting to climb into the snug-looking nest. The +mother talked while she worked: + +"Here, Alice! I'll put this pair of old boots into the end bag, they'll +do for wearing in the veldt----" + +"Oh, sis, ma! I hate those old boots, they hurt me--" expostulated +Alice. + +"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 _fykie_ 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 _carl-foot_." + +"I'll get _deviljies_ (thorns) in my feet if I take them off out here," +says Johnny. "Can't I sit on the edge of the bed?" + +"All right then, but keep your feet out. Minnie, take off that good +ribbon and tie your hair with this piece of tape," etc. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +The mother considered for a moment, then said: + +"It was the wheels of the wagon behind, of course, _dom-kop_." + +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. + +"Oh, _Kgar! Sis!_" cried the sisters; and at this his mother told him +amiably to shut his mouth and go to sleep. + +But though she put out the lantern the talk still went on intermittently +until replaced by snores. + +The _boys_ 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. + +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 +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: + +"_Rooi-nek! Yoh Skelpot! com an da!_" (Redneck! You tortoise! come on +there!) + +"_Viljoen! Wat makeer jij?_" (Viljoen! What's wrong with _you_?) + +Loud blows and kicks were heard and demands for missing oxen. + +"_Jan, war is de Vaal-pans?_" (John, where is the yellow-belly?) + +"_Ek saal yoh net now slaan, jou faarbont._" (I'll strike you in a +minute, you baseborn.) + +"_De verdomder Swart-kop!_" + +Each wagon had a span of eighteen or twenty oxen, and as soon as the +last pair was yoked, a small black boy, the _voerlooper_, would run to +their heads, seize the leading _rein_ 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: + +"_Yak!_" + +One by one the four wagons took the road, raising clouds of red dust, +the drivers and boys running alongside. + +Usually passenger-wagons go first in the line, but the wagon with +Poppy's adopted family in it, started last, because _Swart-kop_, 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. + +Throughout the night hours she padded along, her throat and ears and +mouth filled with the fine dirt, her 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. + +Towards dawn they passed through a narrow _sluit_. The water was filthy +at the _drift_ 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. + +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 _Baas_ of the convoy went off the road and inspected the ground. + +Then a long loud: + +"_Woa! An--nauw!_" passed along the line, each wagon took to the veldt, +drawing up at about fifty yards from the road. + +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 _voerloopers_ departed to gather wood and _mis_ +(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. + +"_Yak--Varns!_" + +Half dead with weariness--stiff, wretched, hungry--she crept from her +hiding-place and stumbled on her way, wrapped once more in the +impenetrable dust. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Wake up and eat this, girl; and now you are better tell me where you +come from and where you're going, hey?" + +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 to take care of her in the meantime. She would +help with the cooking and the children--she wouldn't eat much. + +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 _fat_ to smear on her wounds +and sore feet. + +But first Poppy had to be passed before the _Baas_ 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: "_Sij le!_" (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. + +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 _sail_ 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. + +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. 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Child, you look peaky," said good Mrs. Brant. "What'll your ma say? I +must give you a Cockle's pill." + +But Poppy grew paler and more peaky. + +Two days' _trek_ from Pretoria she was missed at inspan time. Long +search was made. The wagons even waited a whole day and night for her; +the _boys_ 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: + + "But the sweet face of Lucy Gray + Will never more be seen." + + * * * * * + +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. + +The next day it rained: merciless, savage, hammering rain. Sometimes she +wandered in it, fancying herself 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. + +Another night came. + +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. + +And, indeed, the greater part of her was mud. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 +_boys_ waited on him, dressed in white uniforms, and through an open +doorway a tan-skinned old woman with a white _dook_ could be seen +speaking to one of the _boys_--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. + +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. + +She sank on the steps and her head knocked against 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. + +"Who are you, child?" he asked, and his voice was quite kind and +friendly. + +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. + +"My soul is like a shrivelled leaf," is what she answered. + + + + +PART II + + + "I never saw anything like the way a poppy lives with its heart and + soul every second of the day. + + "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. + + "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." + + (_Extract from a letter._) + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Nice lovely shad! Nice lovely shad!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"_Aa-h! Yeh--boo Inkosizaan!_" behaving himself thereafter with decorum, +for it was a disconcerting thing that an _Inkosizaan_ who had come +straight off the mail-steamer at the Point should speak words of reproof +to him in his own language. + +Presently he came to the foot of the Berea Hill, which is long and +sloping, causing him to slacken pace and draw deep breaths. + +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 fenced and hedged-in gardens, the houses +standing afar and almost hidden by shrubs and greenery. + +The girl spoke to the rickshaw-puller once more. + +"The _Inkos_ at the Point told you where to go. Do you know the house?" + +He answered yes, but that it was still afar off--right at the top of the +Berea. + +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 _Inkos_ left behind at the docks. He had been furious +when he found no closed carriage waiting for them. + +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. + +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: + +"Oh Luce! It will be so lovely in a rickshaw. I have never ridden in one +like this yet." + +"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: + +"Yes, I know, Luce; but what is the address?" + +"It was a shame," she said to herself now, still smiling; "but really I +don't often vex him!" + +A man and a woman passed, as she sat smiling her subtle smile through +her spraying hair, and looked at her with great curiosity. + +Afterwards the man said excitedly: + +"That girl takes the shine out of Mary----" + +The woman, who looked well-bred with a casual distinguished manner, +agreed with him, but did not tell him so. She said: + +"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." + +The girl heard the words "Burne-Jones eyes," and knew they were speaking +of her. + +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. + +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. + +She broke one of them off and stuck it in the bosom of her gown, where +it glowed and burned all day. + +Then she rang the bell. + +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 +_dook_. At the sight of the girl she shrieked, and fell back into a +carved oak chair that stood conveniently at hand. + +"Poppy!" she cried; "and no carriage sent for Luce! What time did the +steamer come, in the name of goodness me?" + +"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." + +Kykie departed with amazing alacrity, while the girl examined the hall, +and opening the doors that gave off it, peeped into several rooms. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Kykie rolled her big eyes heavenwards; the whites of them were a golden +yellow. + +"His first day home!" she wailed. "They told me at the shipping office +the steamer wouldn't be in before three. May their mothers----" + +Poppy walked round the kitchen, looking at everything. + +"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?" + +Kykie's face became ornamented with scowls. + +"My salads are as good as anyone's," she asserted. + +"Nonsense! you know Luce always likes mine best. Come upstairs now and +show me my room." + +"Me? With the lunch to get ready!" screamed Kykie, and jumping up she +ran to the stove and began to rattle the pots. + +"Well, I will find it myself," said Poppy, going towards the door, "and +I think you're very unkind on my first day home." + +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. + +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 _dook_. 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 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. + +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. + +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 _Monna Lisa_ was above her dressing-table, and +her silver cross with the ivory Christ nailed to it hung over her head-- + + "To keep a maid from harm!" + +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. + +She observed that all the bowls and vases were filled with green +leaves--no flowers. Kykie and the _boys_ knew that green leaves were +dearer to her than flowers. + +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. + +"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." + +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 Sevres 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"The g-gong has been sounded twice for you," he began agreeably. "Were +you afraid the view wouldn't be there after lunch?" + +"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." + +Kykie was at the sideboard decanting whiskey. She resembled a person who +had recently taken part in a dynamitic explosion. Her _dook_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +Babiyaan, a _boy_ 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 +vilification, his face was as serene and impassive as an Egyptian's. + +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. + +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. + +Kykie's salad was very good, and Poppy told Babiyaan to tell her so. +Later, she also sent a message of praise concerning the _omelette au +Kirsch_. 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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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 +_his_ heart, too; she has clawed him back to her brown old bosom--he +_had_ to come." + +As Poppy sat in the verandah thinking of these things, she heard the +_boys_ 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. + +"Where has _Shlalaimbona_ gone?" asked Umzibu; and Babiyaan answered +without hesitation: + +"He has gone to the _Ker-lub_ to make a meeting with _Intandugaza_ and +_Umkoomata_." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Shlalaimbona_, 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: "_Shlalaimbona!_" +Literally this word means--_stab when you see him_. 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 _boys_. + +"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. + +Babiyaan continued to give interesting information to Umzibu. + +"Just as _Shlalaimbona_ was going to get into the carriage, _Umkoomata_ +came to the docks and fell upon him with great friendliness. Afterwards +they went to an hotel to drink. Then _Umkoomata_ made a plan for meeting +at the _Ker-luk_ when _Intandugaza_ would be there and others--_Baas +Brookifield_, he with the curled hair and the white teeth; and that +other one, _Caperone_, whose wife is like a star with light around it; +and _Port-tal_, who is always gay with an angry face." + +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 +_Intandugaza_, which name she translated to herself as _Beloved of +women_. The word _Umkoomata_, too, had a charm of its own. + +"That means someone who is very reliable, literally _Sturdy One_. I +should like to know that man," she thought. + +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. + +She flung off her gown and plunged her arms and face 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She had often thought of herself as one set alone in an 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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: + + "My heart is as cold as a stone in the sea!" + "My soul is like a shrivelled leaf!" + "The woman with the crooked breast." + +This was the title of old Sara's story made into a little song. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 + + "The peace and grace of Mary's face." + +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 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. + +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 _mawkish_ 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 order. These were their +only neighbours, and they not close ones. + +Abinger had chosen his retreat well. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +"Haven't you unpacked yet, for gracious' sake, Poppy?" + +"No, I haven't. Bring the tea over here, Kykie." + +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. + +"Then what have you been doing, in the name of goodness me?" + +"Nothing ... just thinking ... pour it out and come and sit by me +here.... I haven't had a word with you yet." + +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. + +"What is it like here in Durban, Kykie?... How long have you been here?" + +Kykie became very important, waggling her shoulders and rolling her +eyeballs. + +"More than six months getting this house ready for habitation ... men +working in the garden day and night, for it was a wilderness and the +poor old place all gone to pot, dearest me." + +"It looks all right now; I should think Luce was pleased?" + +"Never so much as a thank you extremingly." + +"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." + +Kykie looked well pleased at this, but having passed the tea, she waved +her hands deprecatingly. + +"You're just buttering me up to heaven, Poppy!" + +"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." + +Smiles wreathed Kykie's wide and dropsical face, and every tooth in her +head was revealed. + +"Dearest me, now Poppy, really? Well! but then I don't suppose they know +how to cook very well abroad in London, do they?" + +"Not so well as you, of course," said Poppy smiling and munching toast. + +Suddenly Kykie's face became dolorous. + +"Did they look at his mark much, for heavenly goodness?" she inquired in +a dismal whisper. + +"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." + +"For goodness' sake there must be some sights there!" + +"More tea. It is lovely to be home again and have you waiting on me." + +"Ah! I expect you liked it best abroad in that London, now Poppy?" + +"Never. I _thought_ I should, but I had forgotten that my roots were +planted out here. As soon as I got out of 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, _you_ 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 _dorn bloems_ 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." + +Kykie might have been an amazingly-arrayed copper idol representing +Africa, so benign and gratified was her smile. + +"Tell me some more, Poppy. Where else did you think of Africa?" + +"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 _them_, 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. + +"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 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." + +"Heavenly me! And were there coloured people there too?" + +"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: + +"'Oh say, would _you_ tell _me_ what time this _kyar_ is due to start?' + +"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 _exactly_ like Jim Basuto who ran away from the farm, that I said to +him in Kaffir: + +"'You had better make haste and come back to the farm, Jim, and mind the +sheep!' + +"He simply stared at me, and said to another _boy_, who might have been +a Zulu chief except for his clothes: + +"'Say, this one looks to me as if she is dippy. I think she is the new +star at Hammerstein's that _ky-ant_ speak anything but French.' + +"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." + +Having finished her tea and eaten all the bread-and-butter and cakes, +the girl lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes. + +"For gracious' sake, and so you have seen the world!" said Kykie. "And +now you have come back to the old quiet life?" + +"Not at all, Kykie. I'm going to persuade Luce to go about here, and +meet people, and let me do the same." + +"He'll never do it," said Kykie vehemently. "I can see that he is worse +than ever about his mark." + +"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 _boys_ 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?" + +"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." + +Poppy's face clouded. + +"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 _is_ a lovely +garden!" + +Kykie's face expressed lugubrious sympathy, but she held out no hope. + +"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. + +"But I'm not a child any longer. Can't you see how I've grown up?" + +"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. + +Poppy coloured slightly, and made occasion to throw a corner of the +quilt over her bare shoulders and arms. + +"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 _spruit_?" + +The girl's colour deepened; she gave a wistful little side glance at the +old woman. + +"I _did_ so want to be beautiful. I would have dived to the bottom of +the filthiest hole in that old _spruit_ 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?" + +"Oh _sis_ yes! I wondered how you could go and look at the stinking +thing day after day." + +"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!" + +"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 _mal-meit's_[3] flaring and flickering like the sulphur on a +match." + + [3] Mad-maid. + +Poppy covered her eyes. + +"Don't talk about it----" + +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. + +"Oh Kykie! that means that he is dining with old friends; and it will do +him _so_ 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, but come and help +me unpack, and I'll show you all my clothes and the nice things I've +brought back for you." + +"For me, gracious saints!" + +"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." + +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 _boys_, 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. + +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 _detour_ 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 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 _might_ 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 _detour_ 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 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. + +"Ah, my _very_ dear Luce Abinger," she said, "we shall see if you can +keep a creature of the veldt behind a padlock." + +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 was part of the +wall itself; there was no further barrier beyond. + +She had found an exit. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The room itself was terrible as an army with banners. 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. + +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 _retrousse_ +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. + +Certainly not a girl to be made a friend of, thought Poppy, and decided +that she would go no further. + +"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. At any rate she could teach me to use the typewriter, and I +could teach her not to live in a chamber of horrors." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +So Poppy kept her melodies to herself. The rest of her time was divided +between studying literature, writing, dreaming and wandering in the +garden, which became dearer to her day by day. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Luce," she began, "I hope you are in a good temper, for I want to talk +to you very seriously about something." + +He gave a croaking sort of laugh. + +"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. _Il ne +manquerait plus que ca._" + +This was inauspicious, but Poppy refused to be daunted; and the gong +sounding at this moment, she rose and put her hand upon his arm, saying +cheerfully: + +"That's right, come along then, we'll talk it over in the dining-room." + +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 _boys_ 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. + +"Luce, what are you going to do about getting me a chaperon?" + +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----! + +"Am I not a sufficiently p-proper and responsible p-person to have the +care of your young white s-soul?" he inquired blandly. + +She knew _that_ mood. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to postpone +the discussion; but then, sometimes these fits of fury and rudeness +lasted for months. It was impossible to wait all that time. + +"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. + +"Your young white b-body, then?" He pushed back his chair from the table +with a horrible scrench on the polished floor. + +"You talk like some odious sultan, but you forget that I am not a +slave," she flashed back at him. + +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. + +"Cigarettes, Babiyaan!" she said. "It is very hot; I think I will smoke +out in the garden," she finished coldly to Abinger. + +But he had risen too, and lounged in the doorway leading to the +verandah. + +"Oh, p-pray let us finish this interesting discussion." + +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. + +"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: + +"I am a woman now, Luce, and it is only natural that I should wish to +know other women--and men too." + +At that he laughed raspingly. + +"Why d-drag in the women?" + +She looked at him scornfully. It was ridiculous of him to pretend that +men meant more to her than women. + +"It is unreasonable of you to expect me to spend my youth in secrecy and +seclusion, just because you--" she stopped hastily. + +"Go on!" he said with a devilish gaiety. "'Just because _you_ happen to +have a face like a mutilated b-baboon'--was that what you were going to +say?" + +"Oh Luce, you _know_ it was not! Because ... because ..." she stood +stammering with distress, while he stood grinning. "Because _you_ 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----" + +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." + +"I don't see why it should be at all," she pursued valiantly; "if you +get me some pleasant woman as a chaperon." + +"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 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----" + +"Oh Luce! I don't believe they're as bad as all that----" + +"Then don't believe it," he retorted, with the utmost rudeness. "But +understand one thing, I'll have no she-devils round this house." + +"Very well, let them be he-devils," she flung back at him. "I am +accustomed to those." + +At that he stamped away from her towards the other door, gesturing with +rage, and throwing broken words in her direction. + +"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!..." + +The door closed with a crash behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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: + +"Zambani! Zambani! _Checcha_ now with my lunch. Send Piccanin to lay +table. _Checcha wena!_" + +She flung her hat into one chair and herself into another, and stared at +a telegram which she spread out before her. + +"'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 _now_, I'd like to know?" + +She lolled in her chair and glared angrily at a small black _boy_ in a +blue twill tunic and short blue knickers above his knees, who was laying +a cloth on one end of the table. + +"Is there any soda in the house, Piccanin?" she demanded; and when he +signified yes, ordered him to fetch it then and be _checcha_. In the +meantime, she rose and unlocked from the sideboard a bottle of whiskey. + +Lunch was a slovenly meal, consisting of burnt mutton-chops, fried +potatoes, and a beet-root salad liberally 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: + +"And what am I going to do _now_, I'd like to know?" and the scowl +returned to her brows. + +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: + +"Come in!" + +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. + +"I beg your pardon," she said in a soft, entrancing voice. "I am sorry +to disturb you at your lunch----" + +"That's all right," said Sophie affably; "I'm just done. Do sit down!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Oh, I don't take in work!" she said perkily. "I couldn't be bothered +with that sort of thing. I'm _sekertary_ to a gentleman who has an +office down town." + +"Lilac Eyes" regarded her calmly and did not seem overwhelmed by the +importance of this communication. + +"What a bother!" said she serenely. + +Miss Cornell became languid. + +"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." + +"Really?" said the other girl. "I wonder if I would suit you?" + +"You!" Miss Cornell's face lit up with sudden interest and eagerness. +She surveyed the other again. _Of course_, 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. + +"You? Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Can you type?" + +"Not at all. But I daresay I could soon learn." + +"Oh well! I couldn't give you much salary if you are only a beginner." + +"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." + +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 _impasse_. + +"You'll suit me down to the ground," she declared joyfully. "When can +you move in?" + +"Move in?" the other gave her a wondering smile. "Oh, I couldn't come to +live--only for a few hours every day." + +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: + +"Well, perhaps that wouldn't matter so much if you wouldn't mind +_pretending_ sometimes that you live here." + +The other girl looked puzzled. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +"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 +_pretending_ 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?" + +The other hesitated for a moment, then her lovely lilac eyes took on a +curious expression. + +"Yes, I have an aunt," was her odd answer, but Sophie was no acute +reader of eyes or odd answers. + +"More fool you," said she cheerfully. "I'd like to see the old aunt +who'd get _me_ to support her. Well, all right now, if you think you'll +come I'll tell you the whole thing." + +"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." + +"That'll do all right. Have a whiskey-and-soda and we'll talk it over." + +"I don't care for whiskey, thank you," said "Lilac Eyes"; "but I am very +thirsty, and will have some soda, if I may." + +Sophie shouted to Piccanin to bring another glass, and pushed the soda +and lemons across the table. + +"Make yourself at home," said she affably; "but I hope you're not one of +those asses who don't drink!" + +"No, I drink if I want to--but not spirits." + +"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. + +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 debris, 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. + +"And now let's get to business," said Miss Cornell. "First of all, you +haven't told me your name yet." + +The lilac eyes were hidden for a moment under white lids, and a faint +colour swept over the pale skin. + +"Rosalind Chard." + +"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?" + +"Very," said Miss Chard in her gentle, entrancing voice. + +"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? +_Man!_ I tell you it's the most glorious place--at least, it used to be +before everybody went to Jo ... you know Jo-burg, _of course_?" + +Miss Chard shook her head. + +"Never been to Johannesburg?" Sophie's tone expressed the utmost pity +and contempt. "Well, but you're an English girl, I can see. Not been +long out here, have you?" + +"Only a week or so." + +"Great Scott! you've got a lot to learn!" + +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. + +"Don't smoke either? Och, what! You're not _half_ a good fellow! Well, +take off your hat, then. Do be sociable." + +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.") + +"Well, to continue my tale--I had a lovely time in _darling_ 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 _me_ to come, +too, but I said, Dead off! No, _thanks_! I want something more out of +life than mountain scenery." + +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. + +"And so you came here instead?" + +"Well, no; first I went to Jo-burg, and I _must_ say I had a heavenly +time _there_; but--well--it didn't suit my health, so I became +_sekertary_ 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 then complained of +my spelling, if you please. I didn't stay with _him_ any longer than I +could help, you bet, though the screw was good. But I _must_ 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!" + +The listener's sympathy happened to be with the old snook, but Sophie +was not asking for an opinion. + +"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?" + +Miss Chard did not mean to say anything at all as far as her own affairs +were concerned. + +"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." + +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: + +"I rent it, of course. I told you, didn't I, that I am _sekertary_ 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 _had_ 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 Bramham 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." + +"But why should it matter to him and to the other man whether she comes +or not?" + +Again Miss Cornell's glance took flight. + +"Because of the work, of course--there's such tons to do ... and I can't +get through it all by myself." + +Miss Chard watched her narrowly. + +"Well, but why do you wish me to pretend that I live here, and am your +friend from Johannesburg?" + +"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 _you_ to them they'd think it was all +right." + +Miss Chard looked startled. + +"Oh, I couldn't promise to meet strange men! I didn't suppose you would +want me to do that or----" + +An exasperated look came over Miss Cornell's face. + +"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. + +"I don't wish to meet strange people," she said. To her surprise, the +other girl at once became propitiatory and beseeching. + +"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 _awfully_ nice +man--everybody likes him, and he's fearfully rich too. He's married, and +his wife lives in England for her health, they say, but of coarse that +must be all rot. Anyway, he never goes into society at all--only has men +friends." + +"Well, what does he want here?" asked Miss Chard calmly, watching the +flushed face before her. + +"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." + +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. + +"As for Brookie----" began Sophie, ready to open up another chronicle of +guilelessness. + +"No, no! I won't meet Brookie, I absolutely jib at Brookie!" + +Sophie became lugubrious. "But he knows that you were to have arrived +to-day----" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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 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. + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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 +_carte-blanche_ to do anything she wished, saying: + +"It was not _my_ taste either, you know; but the place was furnished +when I came into it and I haven't bothered to do anything since." + +The only things Miss Cornell would not allow to be 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 _mots_ 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. + +"Now, isn't _he_ good looking? Such a dear boy too ... and _generous_! +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...." + +"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, _are_ there? ... he simply adored me ... he gave me this +bangle ... such a darling ... but he was married--or, _of course_----" + +"Oh, _that_ is Jack Truman, of Kimberley. Everyone knows _him_ ... 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 in a lunatic asylum ... obliged to allow her +forty pounds a month, and he was _dreadfully_ 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. + +"And, _of course_, you know who this is? One of the biggest men on the +Rand ... with _thousands_, my dear.... Och! you should see him in riding +kit ... you never saw any one look so perfectly _noble_ ... he was +_madly_ 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 _living +image_ of me ... funny, isn't it?... but I think it just proves how he +adored me, don't you?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Would you like me to order you a cup of tea, Sophie?" she asked +presently. + +"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 _wouldn't_ let me work." + +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. + +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. + +"I think a cup of tea would refresh you, Sophie," she presently said. + +"_Och ni vat!_ I can't eat or drink when I get worn out like this--I +become a perfect wreck." + +Poppy surveyed the healthy, not to say opulent proportions stretched +before her, and could not forbear to smile. + +"Oh, you should keep up your strength," she said, with irony entirely +thrown away. + +"The only thing that would be the _slightest_ use to me, now," announced +Sophie, "is a glass of champagne--and, of course, I can't have that." + +Poppy began to pore over her manuscript. She was in the mood for work +and hated not to take advantage of it. + +"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. + +"You'd soon be bored with that." + +"Never!" said Miss Cornell fervently; then relapsed into languor. + +"I hope those papers are not important, Sophie, they are blowing all +over the room." + +"Yes, they're _very_ 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." + +"Is Mr. Capron a lawyer?" + +"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 _tons_ 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 I feel sure it was +you. Your particular style of beauty appears to have struck him all in a +heap." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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." + +"I hope you did not tell him anything about me?" asked Poppy suddenly. + +"No, I did _not_!" 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. + +Suddenly Sophie sprang up. + +"Great Scott! I _quite_ 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." + +"Oh! blow Brammie," thought Poppy crossly. "I was just going to write +something extraordinarily fine; now it will be lost for ever!" + +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. + +"That's ripping," she said approvingly. "Och! but you _can_ arrange +flowers--I'll say that for you, Rosalind. Wouldn't you like to run home +and change your dress, though?" + +"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." + +"Oh, he really _wants_ 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." + +"No, no, thank you," hastily. "It's awfully good of you, Sophie, but I +think my gown is quite presentable." + +She looked absolutely charming in a pale-blue linen, perfectly laundered +by Kykie; but Sophie considered anything less than silk very ordinary +wear indeed. + +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 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. + +"Well, put some colour on your cheeks, or something," said Sophie +discontentedly. + +Poppy flew into one of the fierce little rages that sometimes seized +her. "I will _not_, Sophie! Why on earth should you suppose that because +_you_ have a violent colour no one admires pale women? Do not make the +mistake of thinking that everyone adores your type because _you_ do!" + +Sophie, utterly taken aback, was about to make a tart rejoinder, when +there came a light tap with a crop on the front door. + +"Anyone at home?" + +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. + +"Come in," said Poppy, without enthusiasm; adding: "Miss Cornell will +not be long." + +"Are you Miss Chard?" said he pleasantly, and came in. + +He looked round in a friendly, boyish way that rather charmed her. + +"By Jove! How pretty you've made this place look! It's quite different." + +"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." + +He looked at her curiously as though greatly surprised. Then he said +carelessly, and rather curtly she thought: + +"Oh, yes, I have been here before." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh!" was all he vouchsafed. She felt chilled. But here Sophie burst +into the room, very magnificent and highly coloured. + +"How _sweet_ of you to come, Mr. Bramham," one hand up to her hair and +the other outstretched, while her body performed the Grecian bend. + +"Rosalind, _do_ see about tea, there's a dear. I'm sure Mr. Bramham must +be _parched_." + +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, "_Do_ bring him around, Mr. Bramham. We +should _just love_ to meet him." + +Poppy, arranging the cups on the table, had a pardonable curiosity to +know whom she should _just love_ to meet; but she made no remark; merely +sat down. + +"Shall I pour out tea, Sophie?" + +The latter nodded, but made no other attempt to include her in the +conversation, continuing to monopolise Mr. Bramham entirely. + +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 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. + +Immediately afterwards, Bramham began to realise that there was a +charming personality in the room. + +"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. + +Poppy got her answer first, and a sudden glance of recognition fell upon +the slim, pale hands amongst the tea-cups; then: + +"Certainly, Miss Cornell! I'll ask him to come, but I can't promise that +he will. He's not much given to calling." + +"Bosh! I know he goes to the Caprons and the Portals--I've seen him with +that horrid Mrs. Portal." + +"Ah! you don't admire Mrs. Portal?" + +"I don't see anything to admire," said Sophie. "She is not a bit smart, +and her hats are simply awful!" + +"She is considered one of the most delightful women in South Africa," +said Bramham. + +"Oh, she may be," Sophie's air was unbelieving; "but I don't see where +it comes in." + +She took her tea sulkily from Poppy's hand. Bramham looked bored. The +little western wind blew again in his ear. + +"Perhaps her charm is not to be seen. Perhaps it is an essence--a +fragrance----" + +Sophie scoffed at what she did not understand. + +"Oh, you and your old poetry----" + +"That's just what it is," said Bramham. "There's 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." + +"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." + +That should have ended the matter, but Poppy's taste for torment was +whetted. + +"Perhaps Mr. Bramham doesn't know her as well as you do, Sophie," she +said softly. + +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. + +"Do _you_ know her?" she retorted rudely. + +"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. + +"That's dull for you, surely!" + +"Oh, no! I have plenty to do; and books to read; and how can one be dull +in such a lovely place as Natal?" + +The sun came out in Bramham. He was a Natalian and proud of it. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Thank you, that _will_ be good of you," said Poppy with enthusiasm. + +"Send her up all the old poetry books you can find," jeered Sophie. +"Personally, _I_ like a jolly good yellow-back." + +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. + +"I'm just _dying_ to know him," said Sophie ardently. "He looks as +though he has committed every sin you ever heard of. And how _did_ he +get that fearful scar right across his face? Vitriol?" + +The little air at the piano stopped suddenly. + +"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!" + +He adored music, and had an excellent view of an extraordinarily pretty +pair of ankles under the music-stool. + +Poppy complied, but she changed the air to something savage that made +Bramham think of a Zulu war-chant. + +"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?" + +"He is staying with me, at present, yes." Bramham's tone was full of +weariness. + +"And that dark, strange Irishman everyone is talking about--Carson--he +is staying with you, too, isn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"Are they great friends?" + +"We all know each other very well." + +Miss Cornell laughed genially. + +"I should say you do--isn't it true that you are called the three bad +men all over Africa--come now?" + +"I'm afraid someone has been filling your head with nonsense. Who +spreads these stories, I wonder?" + +"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?" + +"Kaffirs have names for everybody if one had time to find out what they +were." + +"Oh, I know--_Umkoomata_--that's what they call you. Now, what +wickedness can that mean?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"_Very_ secret, apparently," thought Bramham. "How the devil do these +things leak out?" + +"Something or other, yes," he said aloud. + +"They say the English Government thinks an _awful_ lot of him." + +"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. + +Poppy got up from the piano, and Bramham got up, too, and looked at his +watch. + +"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. + +"Now, don't forget to bring Mr. Abinger next time," Sophie called after +him from the verandah; "and that Mr. Carson, too," she added, as an +afterthought. + +Poppy positively blushed for her. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, don't be cross just because he didn't admire you. I told you to +put on my silk blouse, didn't I?" + +Poppy laughed her entrancing laugh. + +"Do you really think men care for clothes, Sophie?" + +"Of _course_ 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 +_seen_ with a woman unless she's _perfectly_ turned out. Brookie is like +that; and I'll bet that man Abinger is, too!" + +"Is he, indeed! Then remove him far from me. I'm afraid you won't suit +him, either Sophie," with a touch of malice. + +"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 +_awful_!" + +"I thought she looked extremely nice when I saw her." + +"Well, your taste and mine differ, my dear. _I_ think she is a frump. +Capron's wife now _is_ good looking, and always dressed +mag-_nif_-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." + +"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?" + +"You talk like a book with all the pages torn out, and the cover lost," +said Sophie irritably. + +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 _Umkoomata_ the _Sturdy One_, 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 _Intandugaza_, too--whether he was the mysterious dark Irishman +who went on secret expeditions---- + +"_Man!_ 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--_you_ know!" + +Poppy turned away from her. With the remembrance of certain recent +sensations still burning within her, she could not say that she did +_not_ know; but her mouth expressed weariness and disgust. + +"It seems to me that you are talking about some kind of brute, Sophie," +she said. + +"Brute! Oh, I don't know," said Sophie, and laughed. The laugh sent +Poppy out of the room with her teeth in her lip. + +"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. + +"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?" + +She reached her glass, and looked in. + +"I think not." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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 _buzzing_ 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. + +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 +_boys_ 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. + +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 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 _Old Baas_ (the master of natives is always +_Old_ whatever his age) and the various other _Baases_ who sat at +Bramham's board with regular irregularity. + +Ha! ha! where was _Shlalaimbona_ to-night, they inquired among +themselves. It is true that he would sleep here in the house of the _Old +Baas_, 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? + +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. + +And where, the cook particularly desired to know, was _Bechaan_? He whom +the world called Brookfield--who had slept in the house of _Umkoomata_ +for the matter of six weeks now? Where was he to-night? Followed the +tale of the return of Mrs. _Bechaan_, with particulars amazing. + +_Vetta_, 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. + +In the meantime, _Umkoomata_ and _Intandugaza_ 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. + +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 fine weather indicated a three-weeks' trip into +Zululand, to get some good shooting. + +"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." + +Bramham immediately began to think himself precariously ill. + +"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---- + +"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." + +They smoked in silence for a moment or so, then Bramham continued: + +"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." + +"No," said Carson discontentedly, "everything is confoundedly dull on +the Rand. I was sick of the place when I was there last month." + +"What's wrong with it?" + +"It is not the same as it was, Charlie. The old crowd 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." + +"Oh, damn it! disgusting!" commented Bramham. + +"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." + +Bramham looked at him critically and affectionately. "You _do_ 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." + +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. + +"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, 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!" + +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. + +"Thinking of some woman, I suppose!" + +Presently Bramham did turn his mind to his own affairs. + +"I want your advice about something, Karri." + +"Fire away, Bram; let's hear all about her." + +At this Bramham, for reasons of his own, became slightly annoyed. + +"Don't be an ass, Carson." + +"Don't be a rake-hell, Bram. You know quite well you are always at some +apron-string." + +Indignation dried up Bramham's eloquence. + +Carson mocked him further. + +"Why don't you lay the 'deadly doing' down, before it lays you out?" + +"Take your own excellent advice, my dear fellow. Or give it to Abinger; +perhaps he needs it," said Bramham. + +"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." + +"Good Lord, no! the less moon the better in his case!" said Bramham +grimly. "Where the deuce has he been all these years, Karri?" + +Carson shrugged. + +"Not much doubt about where he has been! He could give us some vivid +inside information about the slow-fires that consume." + +They smoked a while in silence. Later, Bramham said: + +"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 _you_ +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!" + +"But she _was_ a foreign devil. That was the point Abinger lost sight +of." + +"Did you ever hear who the other woman was, Karri?" + +"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." + +"_And_ 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." + +"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!" + +"Perhaps that was what Carmen was waiting for!" + +Carson got up to get another cigar and the subject dropped. When he came +back Bramham reverted to his own troubles. + +"Colonial girls don't interest me at any time," he proclaimed +aggrievedly; "especially the adventuress brand. I didn't think that +even I was such an idiot as to get tangled up with one." + +Carson stared straight before him with a smile at the sea. + +"This girl is Brookfield's typewriter--confound him!" + +Carson's satirical eyebrows moved, but he said nothing. + +Bramham continued: + +"A tall girl, with a fine figure and a high colour--but what has that +got to do with me?" + +"What, indeed?" an ironical echo from the canvas chair. + +This irritated Bramham. + +"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." + +Karri began to laugh. + +"Oh, come, Bram! This is not like you!" + +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. + +"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 _may_ be a good girl, +for all I know," he added doubtfully. + +Carson grinned. + +"Any way, I'm quite sure the other girl is straight." + +"Great God of War! Are there two?" + +"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 _that's_ +against her; yet she looks good----" + +"Do you mean that she is unlovely?" asked Carson with a wry smile. + +"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." + +This was the most astonishing tale of highway robbery Carson had ever +heard. + +"What next?" asked he. + +Bramham beat the bowl of his pipe against the balcony rail. + +"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." + +Carson shrugged; his face grew a little weary. + +"I am not particularly interested in girls, Bram; I'm afraid I couldn't +help you much." + +Bramham might have made a rude retort, but he didn't. He got up and +leaned against a pole of the verandah, facing Carson. + +"Well, I should like to have had your opinion, Karri. What with that +girl with the saint's eyes, and Brookfield's slippery ways----" + +"But where does Brookfield come in?" + +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 _had_ to +tell. + +"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 work to keep her going--would I give her some of my typing? It +meant bread-and-butter to her, etc. _Of course_, 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." + +"I don't see what business it was of yours at all." + +"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." + +"Three hundred _what_?" cried Carson. + +"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 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." + +"The little blackguard!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well, what could I do? He said his wife was coming back unexpectedly +and he couldn't raise the money." + +"You're three hundred different kinds of fool, Bram, if you let him rook +you like that." + +"He's been too clever for me," grumbled Bramham, and shut his mouth on +his pipe. + +"H'm! Mind the girl's not too clever for you too." + +A plaintive expression came into Bramham's face, mingled with +irritation; he took his pipe out again. + +"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 _is_ three hundred. What annoys me is that I should have been +such a fool----" + +"Why did you pay? I should have refused." + +"Oh no, you wouldn't, because the women would have had to get out. No, +that would never have done." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Right!" + +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. + + * * * * * + +Brookfield's wife having returned, he came no more to Sea House. But he +hailed Carson blithely at the Club next day. + +"What do you say to a drink, Karri?" + +"I don't want a drink," said Carson shortly. + +"Why not?" + +"Don't ask me why not. I don't want one, that's all." + +"O God! look here! Now, damn it, why not?" + +Brookfield was as easily infuriated as Carson. + +On this occasion Carson stayed cool. + +"Because I don't like you--if you must have it." + +Brookfield at once became calm; he prepared to argue out the matter. + +"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----" + +Carson yawned, got up, and walked out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"That was an odd thing!" he said to himself. "I'll swear I saw.... And +yet there is no moon to-night!" + +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. + +"H'm!" he remarked; "I must have a bad attack when I see moonbeam faces +on a moonless night!" + +The wedge of moonlight in the bushes seemed to him to give out two +little gleams at that. + +"This is a fool's game," said the man aloud. "I must go behind these +bushes and see where this thing begins and ends." + +Instantly the moonbeam disappeared altogether. + +"I thought so," he muttered. "Then it _is_ a woman, 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 _something_ like the gate Bram pointed out +to me yesterday.... But what am I doing _here_, 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 _boys'_ 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? + +In the meantime the man was holding his cigar between his knees and +gazing in her direction. + +"O moon of my desire that knows no wane," he gently misquoted, "come out +and talk to me!" + +His voice had a rustle in it of leaves before the wind. No woman could +listen to it cold-hearted. + +"But what are you doing in my garden?" she said in her own entrancing +tones. + +The man's veins thrilled in turn. + +"_Is_ 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. + +"How did you get in?" asked Poppy. "Isn't the gate locked?" + +"My _boys_ have a name for me of which one translation runs--all gates +open to him." + +"But it _must_ be locked." + +"It is not, I assure you. Though if this were my garden, it should +always be--with me inside." + +"You talk very oddly," said she, trying to speak coldly; "nearly as +oddly as old Khayyam himself ... I trust not for the same reason!" + +"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." + +A silence prevailed. + +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." + +"I have never been in Rhodesia." + +"No? Then perhaps it was in my own land. The women there have voices +like you. + + "There be none of beauty's daughters + With a magic like thee, + And like music on the waters + Is thy sweet voice to me--" + +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. + +"Tell me that you came from Ireland and I'll believe you with all my +heart," said he next. + +"No; I was born out here." + +"In this bad, mad land?" His voice had a note of disappointment in it; +he added: "I wish _you_ were mad and bad--but that is too much to +expect, I suppose?" + +"Why do you wish it?" + +"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." + +"But," said Poppy softly, "_Il n'est jamais de mal en bonne compagnie._" + +"Voltaire in an African garden! O Lord! I _must_ be delirious," he +muttered to himself. "I suppose you haven't such a thing as a pinch of +quinine about you?" + +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: + +"O thrush, sing again!" + +"I think you must really be a little bit mad----" + +"If you would only be a little bit bad----" + +"Oh, I am--I often am----" + +"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----" + +"No; I can't come over there; don't ask me." + +Her voice was tremulous now, for in her blood there was the strangest, +wildest urging to come at his call. She wondered how long she could +hold out against it--if he did not go soon. + +"Why should you want me to?" + +"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?" + +"Yes; it is." + +"And are your eyes long cameos of carved moonlight?" + +"They are indeed!" + +"Then Carissima--Adorissima ... come and sit on the grass." + +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. + +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 surroundings, 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. + +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: + +"You win!" His voice was very low, and jarred like a fine instrument +that has been struck. + +"Victory is to you! Tell me to go--or stay!" + +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. + +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. + +"Tell me something about yourself, Carissima," he said softly. "Tell me +that you are married, and that your husband is a brute!" + +She drew her hands away swiftly. This was a jarring note that broke +_her_ 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? + +"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." + +He made a sound which might have been a groan. + +"My dear little girl, you must forgive me.... I believe I am ill +to-night.... _Of course_ 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. + +"I am a poppy ... a poppy growing in Africa," said she, smiling subtly +to herself, but trembling--trembling. + +"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!" + +"Oh, you really are ill!" she cried "Let me go to the house and get you +something--some brandy. Rest here a while----" + +"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. + +"Good-night, Carissima ... I'll go home ... be good.... Girls should +always be good ... and gates ... I must find the gate----" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"Are you better?" she whispered tremulously, joyously. "I am going to +fetch you some restorative if you will let me leave you an instant." + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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." + +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!... _O! Ci +risuoniamo in cristallo_ ... _wine in a crystal beaker_.... I never knew +until to-night there was so beautiful a voice in the world!... Speak to +me----" + +"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." + +"God forgive me, I will take it!... I will rob you of all your gifts!" + +"I give them to you ... I was born for this hour!" she whispered. + +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. + +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." + +"I love you! I love you!" her voice cried faintly. + +"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 always you denied me even the touch of your hand ... +and I never knew that your hair smelled so sweet until to-night.... +_Loraine_, dearest of all women, kiss me again...." + +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? + +He held her closer. The seeing fingers touched the fabric of her gown, +and the slim, boyish body beneath. + +"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." + +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. + +"There is a _M'rungo_ in here who is ill. Come and help him to your +rickshaw," she said, suddenly inspired. + +"Where does he want to go?" demanded the boy. "I go no more on the Berea +to-night--only townwards." + +"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." + +"Ker-lub!" repeated the boy and nodded sagaciously; _Ker-lub M'rungos_ +always paid well! + +Well satisfied, he followed the girl through the gates and over the +soft, dark lawns to the tree where the _M'rungo_ was sitting. She spoke +in a clear, cold voice: + +"Here is a boy with a rickshaw; you had better let him help you home. +You are certainly ill." + +He rose easily, and stood up like a well man, but his voice was hoarse +and vague. + +"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. + +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. + +"Oh, I could kill myself to-night!... but first I will kill that woman +Loraine!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +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. + +"Go away, Kykie. I'm not well. I want nothing," she repeated +monotonously to all demands, until at last Kykie, from sheer weariness, +obeyed. + +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 _Monna Lisa_ 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. + +In the torrid afternoon hours she slept a while--dead, 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. + +"For goodness' gracious, and what do you look like, Poppy!" + +"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 _boy_, +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! + +"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." + +"I'll come down, Kykie," said Poppy dully. "What is all the trouble +about?" + +"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 +_boys_ ought to have found out and looked for the key in his room and +locked it. _Me!_ 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." + +"No, I have had enough, Kykie. Go away now, and see about your dinner. +I'll be down." + +"Let me brush your hair first; you know you always like me to when you +feel bad." The old woman took up 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. + +"No, no, Kykie; never dare touch my hair again!" she cried violently. + +"In the name of--!" Words failed the indignant Kykie. She grabbed her +tea-tray and floundered from the room. + +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. + +"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 _hors-d'oeuvre_. And when the soup appeared, he waved hers away +and ordered an _entree_ 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. + +"Oh, I'm all right, Luce! Only I didn't sleep much last night ... the +heat----" + +"We'll get out of this infernal place--" he began. + +"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." + +He was curiously amenable. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He smiled grimly. She thought he was going to hurl a barb at her, but he +only said with the same unusual gentleness: + +"Work will never fill _your_ life, Poppy. You are the kind of girl who +will live the wonderful stories that the other women write." + +The lilac eyes in the _troublante_ face opposite gave a sad long look +into his; then fell. She shivered a little. + +"Some wonderful stories are terrible, Luce," she said in a low voice. + +When she rose from the table, he said: + +"Come and smoke in the garden with me." + +She turned her face away from him, staring vaguely at a picture on the +wall. + +"I don't care about the garden to-night, Luce. The drawing-room, if you +like--but I am very tired." + +"I shan't keep you long. There is something I want to say to you." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"No, I suppose not," said she vaguely, from the depths of her chair. + +"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." + +Poppy, dimly surprised at this unwonted penitence, would have murmured +something, but he went on quickly: + +"Had _you_ any plan? How did you think of accounting to people--women +particularly--for the fact that you were living here alone with me?" + +"Accounting to them?" she echoed faintly. "Will they ask me?" + +"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." + +"But, Luce, you could tell them, or let it be known. I shouldn't +mind ... _not_ 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." + +"And you think that would satisfy them?" + +"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." + +"That is so. Unfortunately, my dear girl, there is one thing you omit to +take into consideration." + +"What is that?" + +"I happen to be a dog with a bad name." + +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. + +"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." + +Poppy sat silent. + +"I regret to say that the very notion of my appearance in such a _role_ +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." + +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. + +"O God!" she softly cried. + +"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." + +Poppy sat up in her chair now, her eyes shining, her cheeks aflame. + +"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----" + +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 quality of gentleness that had distinguished it all the +evening. + +"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." + +Poppy's look was of amazement. + +"The truth? But what do you mean, Luce? You have been at great pains to +tell me why they won't accept the truth." + +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. + +"Poppy," he said in a very low, but clear voice, "do you remember the +old French Jesuit coming to the White Farm?" + +She stared at him. Her expression reverted to irritation and surprise. + +"Father Eugene? 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." + +"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. + +"I didn't understand French at that time, but you 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." + +"You remember that clearly?" + +"Certainly I do, and so do you. What is the use of this tiresome +repetition? It is quite beside the point." + +"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?" + +"Yes; we stood before him and _you_ made the promises. I didn't--though +I certainly said '_Oui_' 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." + +"Thank you, my dear girl; but I wouldn't think of depriving you of it. +It is your wedding-ring." + +"My--? I think you have gone mad, Luce." + +"Not at all. That is your wedding-ring, Poppy. When we stood before the +priest that day we were being married." + +She burst out laughing. "Really, Luce," she said contemptuously, "you +are developing a new form of humour. Does it amuse you?" + +"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. + +"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." + +She sprang up from her chair. + +"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. + +"Am I the kind of man who wastes time talking nonsense? Kykie was a +witness. She knows we were married that day." + +"Kykie! I'm _sure_ it is not true. She has never spoken of it----" + +"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 Eugene." + +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. + +"Oh, Luce! Luce!" she cried pitifully. "Say it is not true! say it is +not true!" and burst into wild weeping. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 +_fadook_."[4] + + [4] Dishcloth. + +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. + +Sophie saw nothing but the prospect of another two or three days' hard +work, and she didn't like it. + +"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, _of course_, 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." + +Poppy had no inclination to disguise her feelings from Miss Cornell. + +"Sophie, you make me sick!" she said and turned away. + +"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!" + +"Lucky?" Something broke from her lips, that might have been only an +exclamation, but had the sound of a moan. + +"Pooh!" said Sophie. "Some fellow's been kidding you, I suppose, and you +don't like it. Oh! I know all about it." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Poppy, who had gone over to smell some flowers, probably Bramham's, +which were clumsily bunched in rows on the mantel-shelf, faced her with +an air of insolent surprise. + +"What can that possibly have to do with you or your men visitors?" + +"Oho!" said Sophie aggressively. "You won't get many chances of marrying +without _my_ 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 _do_ marry, it's _quite_ 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." + +"Why? Have you been very successful?" Poppy's tone was one of polite +inquiry. The other girl flushed. + +"Jolly sight more than _you'll_ ever be, with your white face and thin +figure," she retorted, adding pleasantly: "Your eyes remind me of a +snake's." + +Poppy sauntered carelessly towards the door. + +"And _you_ 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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +Abinger had gone away. This time his destination was really the Rand, +for the _boys_ had taken his luggage to the station and seen him leave. +He had told Kykie that he would be away for six weeks at least. + +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 Eugene 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 _debut_ in South +African society as the wife of a well-known man. + + * * * * * + +"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 yourself. Only, remember that if +you don't choose to accept the situation, the situation still +remains--_we are married_. 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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _there_ she never stayed long now, and there were parts of it she +did not go near. + +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. + +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 _must_ 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 +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. + +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 +himself 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 "_Who! Who!_" like +the lesser-owl common in Natal, and they scuttled like rats. + +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: + +"I have the best of it--better prowl the veldt lean and free, than be +caged and full." + +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. + +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 matter. The chief +thing is to have the bump of adventure sufficiently developed! + +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. + +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. + +There were other _contretemps_. 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. + +"Ah! What Luce calls a German from Jerusalem!" was her comment. +Incidentally she smelled a smell she 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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 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 _boy_. + +"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!" + +He was a heavily-built, sullenly-handsome man, who looked as though he +had never said a good-tempered thing in his life. + +Poppy was astounded when he blithely answered: + +"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----" + +Mrs. Portal fell to laughing. + +"Billy, you fraud! You know you always carry along on top-ropes when I'm +not there." + +"Not with Mary," the man asseverated. "Mary would want too much of a +deuce of a lot of convincing. She would smell a rat." + +"Don't be subtle, Billy," cried Mrs. Portal, laughing and going in at +the gates. + +The other rickshaw drew near, and "Billy" waited to receive it. As it +passed Poppy, two scraps of conversation floated to her. + +"I've a great mind to persuade Nick to go with you--and to take me too," +said the woman, laughing a little. + +"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." + +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. _Now_ 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. + +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! + +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. + +"And what did you think of _that_ for a play?" asked the sullen-faced +one as he opened the gate. + +"Enchanting," said she vivaciously. "So full of introspection and +retrospection, and all that, and----" + +"Yes, and mighty little circumspection," was the ready answer, and they +passed in, laughing. + +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 found the pull uphill too hard. The _boy_ +laughed in response and shook his winged arms boastfully, saying: + +"_Icona._" + +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. + +"Poppies!" he muttered. "What makes me think of poppies?... God! I could +almost dream that dream again...." + +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. + +Poppy fled home to dark, sad dreams. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +The sun had not risen, but there was a pale primrose dado painted across +the East. + +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: + + "Le monde est mechant, ma petite, + Avec son sourire moqueur: + Il dit qu'a ton cote palpite + Une montre en place du coeur." + +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. + +"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?" + +"What is the use, if my lover is gone?" said Poppy, with a smile. + +"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." + +"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." + +"_Never_ 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." + +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." + +"I like _her_," said Poppy. + +"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: + +"Yes ... she knows too much ... but she keeps on smiling. I suppose it's +because the old pagan is so used to sinners. + + "'There's not a day: the longest--not the 21st of June-- + Sees so much mischief in a wicked way + On which three single hours of moonshine smile----'" + +"And yet she looks so modest all the while!" Poppy finished. + +Mrs. Portal reproved her. + +"I consider you too young and good looking to read Byron." + +"Do you think he wrote for the old and ugly?" laughed Poppy. "And how +came you to read him?" + +"What! The retort flattering! _You're_ no Durbanite. _You_ don't grow in +the cabbage garden. Ohe! I can say what I will to you. Ding-Dong!" + +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: + + "Le monde est mechant, ma petite: + Il dit que tes yeux vifs sont morts, + Et se meuvent dans leur orbite + A temps egaux et par ressorts." + +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. + +"She has had sorrows, too--but not shameful ones. She wears them like +jewels," thought the girl. + +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. + +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. + +Even women loved her; and so the worst thing they could find to say of +her was that she must have been quite pretty--once! + +In return, she loved all men, and was kind to all women, loving one +steadfastly. + +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. + +"_Quite_ a child!" was her thought. "Too young to have so much to hide +behind those lovely eyes!" A line from Pater's monograph on _Monna Lisa_ +came into her mind: + + "Hers are the eyes that have looked on all the world; and the + eyelids are a little weary." + +She put out her hand to Poppy. If Poppy had eyes like _Monna Lisa_, she +herself had the hands of that Mother of all saints and sinners--only a +little browner. + +"I would like to be your friend," she said quietly. + +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. + +"Is it possible that she's afraid of me?" she thought at last. "Poor +child! doesn't she know an enemy from a friend? It must be that she has +found all women her enemies!" + +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. + +Presently Clementine got up from the sands, very reluctantly. + +"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!" + +Poppy laughed at her; but her laugh ended on a queer note. + +"Being a wild ass of the desert has its drawbacks, too!" said she, with +something of bitterness. + +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 _should_, come on Sundays. You never told me your +name, yet, mermaid!" + +Poppy held the brown, thin hand and answered firmly: + +"Rosalind Chard." + +But afterwards, when the other had gone a little way, she ran after her +and caught her up and said: + +"But I wish you would call me 'Poppy.'" + + * * * * * + +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 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. _Mrs. Capron!_ +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 _she_, 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. + +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 _him_ 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 _Loraine_ whom he so loved? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"What will Luce say when he comes back, if I haven't taken care of you?" + +The girl suddenly sickened at her tone. + +"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. + +"So you knew all the time about Luce and me being married?" she said in +a toneless voice, when she had presently mastered herself. + +"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 _mal-meit_!... 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 would be peace and love _now_--" The door was +closed and locked on her and she was obliged to continue her soliloquy +on the stairs. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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: + +"I _know_ 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." + +"You would write far better than I, probably," said the girl. "I know so +little of life--only what I feel. You know everything----" + +"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 one worth writing about--then, where will +your fine books be?" + +"Have you ever thought of writing?" + +"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?" + +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." + +It was the regal-milky-woman--Mrs. Capron. Mrs. Portal turned round from +her tea-cups. + +"Ah! everyone looks at that photograph! She is very beautiful. The +remarkable thing is that she is good, too. That _is_ 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." + +"Who is she?" asked Poppy, still before the smiling picture. + +"My friend, Mrs. Capron." + +"Is that her name written there?" + +"Yes, hers and mine. She is my dearest friend, and so she is allowed to +call me Clem; you may, too, if you like." + +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 _Clem_. + +As they took tea the door opened gently and a little figure stole into +the room straight to her mother's knee. + +"I like you, and love you," said she solemnly. + +"Hyacinth, what have you been doing?" Mrs. Portal asked anxiously. + +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. + +"I love and like you," she repeated glibly. + +"Then I know you have been doing something very wicked, Cinthie. You +always have when you like and love me." + +"_Pas!_" said Cinthie, now gazing calmly at Poppy. + +"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." + +The moment she was gone Cinthie made a boastful statement. + +"My face is bigger than yours!" + +Poppy put up her hand and felt her face carefully; then looked at +Cinthie's with the air of one measuring with the eye. + +"Well, perhaps it is!" she acceded. + +"It's bigger'n anyone's," continued Cinthie, even more bragfully. "Who +are you married to?" + +This was an awkward and surprising question, but Poppy countered. + +"Why should you think I am married, Cinthie?" + +"Everybody's married," was the swift response. "_I'm_ 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." + +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: + +"I think you had better marry Karri," she said. "I like Karri better'n +anyone, except Daddie. His face is bigger than anybody's." + +"Is Karri a man, then?" + +"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." + +She ran to the other side of the room, grabbed a frame from a table, and +brought it back triumphantly. + +"There!" she cried, and dumped it into Poppy's lap. + +Poppy stared down into the pictured face of the man she loved. + +Mrs. Portal reappeared. + +"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 +_petite mechante_." + +"_Pas!_" said Cinthie stoutly. + +"You are. Go away, now, to the nursery. I'm very angry with you." + +Cinthie retreated, bitterly reasseverating: + +"_Pas! pas! Pas petite mechante! Pas!_" + +Clem observed the photograph in Poppy's lap. + +"She has been showing you her hero--the hero of us all. Everyone in this +house genuflects before Eve Carson." + +And so at last Poppy knew the name of the idol before which she, too, +worshipped! + +"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----" + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Poppy, in an even voice. + +"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, 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 _some_ 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 _real men_ +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 _dying_ 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. + +"Gone!" Poppy wondered what kept her voice so calm while her soul cried +out within her. + +"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 _sans_ Maxims and _sans_ men and _sans_ +anything much besides a high heart and a squad of _boys_ who have been +everywhere with him. He has gone on a _peaceful expedition_ into the +midst of one of the fiercest tribes in 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 _official_ 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." + +"Has no other white man gone with him?" Poppy heard herself asking. + +"No one except his _boys_ 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?" + +Poppy did not know what she answered. Darkness engulfed her spirit, +almost her senses. + +"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--_everybody_ 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 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." + +"I must go home," said Poppy suddenly; and Clementine, roused from her +reverie by the strangely sounding voice, stared at the girl. + +"You look quite ill, dear," she said gently. "I am so sorry; I have been +wandering on, about all the things that interest _me_!... Will you lie +down a little while? or shall I ring for some wine?" + +"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. + +"Poppy," she said in a dreamy, yet intent way; "there will be deep +waters around you soon! ... you will need courage, resolution, _and_ +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." + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +At last, reviving somewhat under this vigorous treatment, Poppy found +breath and sense to remonstrate: + +"What do you mean, Kykie? Do you want to choke me? Stop that ... I'm +nearly drowned." + +"You were drownded enough before you came in," responded Kykie with +asperity; "your dress is soaking. Where have you been?" + +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. + +"... 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. + +"Luce? Dinner?" said Poppy vaguely. "What is the time, Kykie?" + +"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 +_know_ what I suffer if I don't get my night's rest. You and Luce +simply haven't the consideration of a _cow_ for me." + +"Oh, go to bed!" said Poppy wearily. + +"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----" + +The old woman paused with some significant intention, but Poppy only +waved a pale hand in her direction. + +"Go away and hold your peace, Kykie, for the love of Heaven!" + +"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 _will_ try and eat it, won't you? +and a little glass of champagne." + +"I couldn't Kykie ... only leave me alone...." + +The old woman promptly seated herself upon the side of the bed with the +air of an immovable rock. + +"Well.... Oh, all right, then ... _anything_ ... why can't you leave me +alone?" + +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. + +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. + +"And _I shall stay up to speak to Luce_ when he returns from the Club." +What she could mean by this Poppy 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _Tokaido_ inlaid upon it (for which he had paid thirty pounds +at Yokohama), spared. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"If he chooses to kill me, he can; no one will hear my calls," she +thought, and she continued to lie very still. + +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 _Monna Lisa_. + +"Stop smiling, you leaden-jawed Jewess," he said softly. + +The glass flew in jingling showers in every direction, 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. + +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. + +All vases and flower-bowls he took from their places and dropped upon +the floor. The sound of their breaking was not unmusical. + +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. + +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. + +"Awake?" he asked, with continual and unfailing pleasantness. + +"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, 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 +_bouleverse_ now, and she understood that such things mattered little. + +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. + +"Harlot!" he whispered, still smiling; and the word leapt from his lips +like a shrivelling flame and scorched across her face. + +"Harlot!" he repeated softly. "Tell me the name of your lover!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Presently he stumbled to his feet, and, walking unevenly and vaguely, +made his way from the room. + +In a moment Poppy Destin had leapt from the bed to the door and locked +it soundlessly. + + * * * * * + +Sophie Cornell was saying good-night to a visitor. "Well," said he. +"Tell Miss Chard how sorry I am. 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." + +"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." + +Bramham gave her a searching look. + +"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----" + +"Oh, don't do that?" said Sophie hastily; "we've called a doctor in +already, you know." + +"Who have you got?" + +"I must go--I can hear her calling," said Sophie suddenly. "Good-night." + +Incontinently she disappeared, the door closed, and Bramham was left to +pick his way through the dark garden as best he might. + +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. + +"My God, Rosalind! What a _shrik_[5] you gave me! _Man!_ 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. + + [5] Start (fright). + +"_Gott!_ Rosalind!" repeated the Colonial girl. "Has someone been trying +to murder you?" + +"Yes," said the other tonelessly. "And I've come here for safety. Will +you take me in, Sophie?" + +"Of course. But who was it? A man, I'll bet--or has your old aunt gone +up the tree?" + +"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. + +This she proceeded to do. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The person largely instrumental in bringing Poppy back to health and a +remote interest in life was Charles Bramham. + +One day Sophie Cornell met him in West Street and asked him to come and +call. + +"I have Rosalind up at last," she told him; "but she looks like a dying +duck, and I believe she _will_ die if someone doesn't buck her up. It +would be a _real_ charity if you would come and talk to her." + +Bramham, though an exceedingly busy man, accepted the invitation with +vivacity, for he was much _intrigue_ 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. + +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. + +"Why! _you_ 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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"But you are not sick," said Poppy, smiling less wanly. + +"No, but when all the flowers are in full bloom the quail come down," +was the artless rejoinder. "Not that _that_ will be for a long time +yet; September is the time. But I like that place." + +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 _great_ friend of his, who had once lived in +Durban, until the women drove her out saying that she was mad and bad. + +"Certainly her face was all marked up," said Bramham gravely. "She said +her temperament did it; but _they_ 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." + +"She must be very clever," said Poppy drily. + +"She is. She's a _bird_," 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. + +"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 _Diana Amongst the Wesleyans_ at once; wrap each in the +_Sunday at Home_ and despatch to my office.'" + +Poppy gave a little ringing laugh and asked eagerly: + +"Is she here now?" + +"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." + +"'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. Gruyere, and +if ever you meet her, beware!" + +"'I thought the ideal woman was always young,' she snippered at me. + +"'Not at all,' I said. 'She may be old, but not _too_ old. She may be +ugly, but not _too_ ugly. She may be bad, but not _too_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _boys'_ compound. +Certainly 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Life out here is saltless and savourless--just one day's march nearer +_voetsack_, unless someone takes an interest 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. + +"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." + +"How do you know I'm a success?" somewhat gloomily. + +"Oh, anyone can see that. You have the calm, assured look of a man whose +future is secure." + +"You mean I look smug and self-satisfied!" + +"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?" + +"Are you comparing me with Johnson?" asked Bramham, grinning. + +"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." + +"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." + +Poppy smiled sceptically. + +"Difficulties, yes--but poverty and bitter want? + + "'Slow rises worth by poverty depressed!' + +"What do South Africans know of terrible poverty? Their minds are often +starved, but never their bodies, 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?" + +"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!" + +Poppy _could_ understand; but she was so much surprised that she said +nothing. + +"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 _there_ has been mighty useful +too. But their place 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 _any_ famous man had escaped her knowledge. It certainly put +heart into _me_ 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." + +Bramham smiled gaily. Poppy wondered what the worst mental suffering +had been, but she had too much respect for suffering to ask. + +Indirectly, Bramham presently enlightened her. + +"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." + +He made a long pause. Poppy said nothing. She was sitting with her +elbows among the papers on the table listening intently. + +"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." + +"She was a noble woman," said Poppy softly. "How you must have made it +up to her afterwards." + +"She died just when things were beginning to come our way," said +Bramham. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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 _might_ 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. + +"Don't do that," she said; her manner was careless, but there was a +_timbre_ in her voice that chilled. Bramham instantly removed his hand. + +"Why not?" he asked discontentedly. + +"Because I don't care about it," she said, her tone pleasant and +friendly again. + +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. + +"I'm afraid you are very cold-blooded." + +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. + +"It must be unpleasant to be so cold." + +"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, _quelquefois_." + +"I think that what _you_ need is a bonfire." Bramham was feeling +distinctly cross, but Poppy laughed so merrily at this _mot_ 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: + +"I don't see why you should despise my nice bright flame." + +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 _little_ 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! + +"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." + +Bramham did not see his way quite clear through this. However, he +declared stoutly that he had never been a woman's enemy yet. + +"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. + +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. + +"You are quite right, I _am_ 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?" + +Bramham stared hard at her, swallowing something. This was the first +time his wife had been mentioned between them. She did not falter. + +"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. + +Bramham's other firm hand came down on hers, and gave it a great grip. + +"By Jove! I do. And I hope you'll get the best going." + +A wave of grateful warmth rushed over the girl at his words. Her eyes +filled with tears. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"What! But weren't you a governess to some people in Kimberley, and an +old friend of Sophie's in Johannesburg?" + +"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, 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. + +"Well, of all the--!" Bramham began. Later, he allowed himself to +remark: + +"She certainly is a bird of Paradise!" and that was his eulogy on Sophie +Cornell. + +"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----" + +"I can't tell you anything," she said brokenly. "If I could tell +_anyone_, it would be you--but I can't. Only--I want a friend, +Charlie--I want help." + +"I'll do anything in the world for you--all you've got to say is +'Knife.'" + +"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." + +"Oh, that's simple!" said Bramham easily. "But have you any friends to +go to in England?" + +"I have no friends anywhere--except you. + + "'I have no friend but Resolution + ... and the briefest end!' + +"But I don't think my end is yet. I must go away from Africa, when I +love it most--as _you_ 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." + +She jumped up and stood in the light of the window, 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. + +"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 _my_ 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----?" + +"I should just say I _do_," said Bramham heartily. "You're true-blue all +through, without a streak of yellow in the whole of your composition." + + + + +PART III + + + Nothing is better I well think + Than Love: the hidden well water + Is not so delicate to drink. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Poppy sailed by one of the pleasant small lines that run direct between +Natal and England without touching at East London or the Cape. + +"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 _you_ look to me like a girl who wants +rest, and to forget that there is such a place as Africa on the map." + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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: + + "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." + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 _mal-de-mer_, 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, 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 _then_, 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. + +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 _that_ 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. + +On a hot day in the tropics the ship's _chef_ had resort to tinned +supplies, and amongst other things sent to the luncheon-table was an +_entree_, 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 _entree_ was _hors de combat_ with a mild attack +of something in the nature of ptomaine. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 +_that_ heading." + +"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----" + +She probably knew a great deal more, but she left it at that. + +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 _boys_, 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 _boys_, and are trusted by them to the death. + +Ah! with an effort she dragged back her thoughts from across the sea. +That way madness lay! She gave her ears once more to Newnham and the +Rand. + +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. + +"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." + +"But they all go and live in Park Lane, don't they?" smiled Poppy. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Never sign a paper, or drink water in the dark," was a Spanish proverb +well known to her, and she had another of her own: + +"Never rest where you cannot see the eyes of a man you distrust." + +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 debris-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. + +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. + +"What's wrong?" he asked in his casual but not offensive manner. + +"Oh, nothing!" Then she stood still, seized by a sudden thought. "Do you +think the woman would take that lace back again?" + +"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?" + +"Oh, yes. I love lace. But I have just remembered that I can't afford +it." + +"Well, I don't think it's the slightest use going back. But _I'll_ buy +it, if you like?" + +"You? What for? What would you do with it?" + +"Give it to you, of course," he said pleasantly, but she flushed and her +manner instantly became cold. + +"I do not wish you to buy it," she said shortly. "I like it and will +keep it myself." + +"I wonder how many times to the minute a woman changes her mind!" he +jested, but he was secretly much amazed. + +"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. + +"I bet that'll suit her book," he cynically thought. + +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. + +"Why have you been so cruel to me?" he demanded almost violently. "What +have I done to make you angry?" + +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. + +"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: + +"I swear I didn't mean to be insolent." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _lace_ again." + +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 _that_ 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 +next he longed only to crouch himself, offering his neck, his body, his +soul to her feet. + +While he wrestled with his longings and inclinations, breathing hard at +her side, she composedly arose and left him with a cool good-night. + +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! + +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 _that_ 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. + +Newnham, restless and miserable, quoted with some trace of emotion: + + "O to be in England + Now that Spring is there." + +But his emotion was neither for Spring nor England. He 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: + +"If ever you want a friend--doctors are sometimes useful people, you +know." + +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. + +"Miss Chard ... Rosalind ..." he had discovered her name--"I will do +anything for you." + +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. + +"Thank you, Dr. Newnham," she said kindly, but with no particular +fervour. + +"Do you understand what I mean?" he said huskily, after another pause. +"I can help you." + +He could not see the expression on her face, but he saw that she turned +her head to look at him as she answered: + +"What can you mean?" + +"Oh, you needn't beat about the bush with me," he spoke with coarse +irritation. "I know what you have to face." + +"You must be wonderfully clever," she said, with a touch of sarcasm; +"but I should like to know just what you mean." + +Irritation now became anger. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't know what you mean ... I think you must be mad." + +Newnham laughed--derisively, devilishly. + +"I'll bet that's what you are going home for, all the same." + +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: + +"You vile man! Never dare speak to me again. You are not fit to live!" + +Then she was gone. + +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: + +"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." + +However, he did not. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +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 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 _Ko-bel_, and the cry of the +oyster-man be exceeding dolorous like the cry of a soul in the depths. + +_Clam ... Clam ... clamavi._ + +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 _knew_! Flying home on swift +feet, she nailed herself once more to her work-table. She _must_ 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, hurrying faces that passed along--frenzy, terror, +despair; not for themselves, but for _others_. _She must work!_ + +But Inspiration hid Her face; and shadows came out of the four corners +of the room and closed in upon her. + + * * * * * + +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 _hors-d'oeuvres_ 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 _Confessions_, 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: + +"Go and _buy_ some inspiration." + +She stared about the empty room. + +"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. + +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 _anything_ but a writer of +poems and romantic fiction, at which she was obviously a dismal failure. + +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 "_South +Africa_" 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: + + "She said: God knows they owe me naught. + I tossed them to the foaming sea, + I tossed them to the howling waste, + _Yet still their love comes home to me._" + +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. + +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. + +"How _can_ I be buying magazines and flowers with money I have not +earned?... I am becoming degraded! ... a parasite!" + +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. + +"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 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--_Intandugaza_: 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 _Renouncement_: + + "I must not think of thee; and tired yet strong + I shun the thought that dwells in all delight, + The thought of thee: and in the heaven's blue height: + And in the sweetest passage of a song----" + +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 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! + +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--_Loraine_, 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 +_would_ 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 _knew_! Kykie had told him. That was +what she had stayed up for, supposing herself to be the herald of glad +tidings. + +It made the girl recoil and quiver to think that those two had known and +spoken of what had been hidden from _her_; 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. + +"But, oh, Mother of God!" she cried aloud and bitterly. "Why is this +thing so sweet, and yet so terrible to bear?" + +Even while she asked she knew, and gave herself the answer. + +"I am a Transgressor----" + + * * * * * + +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 _sworn_ that a shadowy figure rose, too, +from the bed, and slipped into the far shadows. + +Beads of fright sat on her forehead. + +"I am going mad!" she thought. "There was a woman on my bed ... she is +still in the room. I am going mad!" + +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. + +"Who's there? What do you want?" said an excited voice, ready to scream. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What did you see?" asked Kate. + +"See? I don't know ... there was something strange----" + +"It was _'er_, sure enough!" + +"What do you mean, Kate?" Poppy felt her spine curling. + +"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--_no one ever sleeps in that room long_. A lydy cut her +throat there!" + +"What!" + +"Yes--sure as I'm sitting here. I've been afraid to creep up the stairs +at night for fear of _her_. How you could a _slep_ 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 _'ell_. 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 _it_. +And the 'usbin 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 _hanythink_, 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. _She done it in the very bed you bin sleeping +in._ 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." + +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. + +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 _briquette_ 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 room, in quite a poor part +of the _Quartier_; and the girl had carelessly told her that there were +plenty of the same kind to be had. + +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 _bonhomie_ and a wide charity for the world of women. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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 _beyond_ +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. + +Afterwards, she would complete her book and fire it off at the world. +She knew she could write. All she 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. + +Her physical condition began to oppress her sorely, too, and she no +longer _wanted_ 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 _could_ 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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _might_ +be successful as the editress of a woman's dress paper? + +No! no! She denied it vehemently. She _knew_ 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 of a magic land full of +strange people and cruel ghosts and dear delights: and an imagination: +and a vocabulary. + +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. + +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. + +One day her breezy landlady approached her, using all the tact and +kindness she had command of, yet taking the girl cruelly unawares. + +"My dear," she said pleasantly, "I hope you have found a place to go to +when your time comes?" + +Poppy sat paling and reddening before her, speechless with confusion. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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, 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----" + +"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 +_where_, but I will do so at once--I'll find out as soon as I can----" + +"Yes, yes, of course--don't worry; don't upset yourself, +dear--_Butterton's Weekly_ 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." + +The moment she had gone Poppy flew out to the nearest paper-shop, bought +a _Butterton's Weekly_, 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 _secret_ and +_confidential_ homes? And were these homes offered by _discreet nurses_ +who could _get the baby adopted if desired_, 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. + +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, "_Near Westminster Abbey._" + +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! _His_ son should be born near Westminster +Abbey! + +The next day she sought the address--No. 10, Old 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: + +"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: + + "Knives to grind. + Scissors to grind. + Pots and tea- + Kittles to mend." + +"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. + +"Good-evening, lady. I see it is me you want," was her laconic greeting. +"Step inside." + +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. + +"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 _esteemed_ in the +neighbourhood; that the house was quiet and private "in the extreme"; +and that, as a nurse, she possessed all the necessary diplomas and +certificates. (Whether this last was true or not her listener never +discovered.) + +"You will be _most_ comfortable," she finished. Poppy shuddered. + +"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. + +"I could not afford to pay that," she answered; and Nurse Selton +regarded her coldly. + +"That is not much for a lady of your sort--_first_, I presume? You won't +get lower terms anywhere else. Won't _the gentleman_ help you?" + +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: + +"Well--I'll make it thirty shillings a week _until_, and two pounds a +week _after_. Two guineas _for the little affair_--and if you want a +doctor, a guinea extra." + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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. + +"I will stay," she said simply. + +The woman thought her a fool. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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 _The +Cornfield_ had sent her a cheque for eight pounds seventeen shillings, +in payment for a story which she had 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. + +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 _Hope_--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. + +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. + +Sometimes the woman in the adjoining room moaned all night, railing at +Fate and God that she should have been brought to this pass. + +Once through an open door Poppy heard haggling going on about the +premium to be paid with a baby that was to be "adopted." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"... 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 _that_ +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 _did_ recognise something I had been +looking for all my life--Love. And I put out both arms and embraced it. +_Now_ 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 _his_ son. +_Then_ I suppose the Abbey would have been for me too!----" + +She twisted her lips and flung out her fingers. + +"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 _his_ 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: + +"Good-night, old Abbey! You are _mine_ all the same--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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +Nurse Selton came in often, but the girl preferred to be alone. Most of +the day was spent between _Hope_ 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: + +"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!" + +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. + +In the street below, a woman's raucous voice pathetically shrieked: + + "It's 'ard to give the 'and + Where the 'eart can _Nev_-ver be." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I am a _real_ woman," she said. "This is what I was born for and made +beautiful for. Poor, _poor_ old Sara!" + +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: + +"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. + +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 _your_ sake now. I +must fight _your_ enemies--until you are old enough to fight them for +yourself. To _dare_ suggest such a thing!" A little while after she +whispered passionately to the sleek, black head: + +"She did not know she was speaking of a king's son!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _protegee_. 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 _passee_ 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. + +"'E always puts on that look," smiled Mrs. Print to Poppy; "in case I +might ask 'im for an hextra sixpence for the 'ousekeeping." + +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 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. + +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. + +"Come off there, Jimmy! Jack, if you do that again, I'll pay you--I'll +pay you _somethink merciful_!" 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 +_St. Viper's Dance_. + +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. + +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 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. + +The days were all too short, and soon the midnight-oil began to burn. +Thereafter, shadows really _did_ 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 _lydy_ upstairs, who lay on the sofa +all day reading novels. + +"Miss Never-Sweat--that's what I calls her!" she said, contemptuously +dismissing thus an anaemic 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 _dilettante_ +was one of resentful suspicion--resentful because she did nothing: +suspicious for the same reason! + +"With everybody helse in this 'ouse, including you, Mrs. Chard, it is + + "'Come day, go day, + Please, God, send Sunday.' + +"But all days looks the same to _'er_," 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; _then_, mayhap, she would depart. + +"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, _dear_, I _do_ feel so 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 _rore_.' I gives one look at her yeller skin, and I says: 'Why, +you've got the _boil_, that's what _you've_ 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 _that_, 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." + +"Now, Mrs. Print," said her listener wearily, "do make haste and finish +that fender. I want to work while baby is asleep." + +"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." + +She always spoke of her husband as Old George, her children as _our_ +Jack and _my_ Jimmy. + + * * * * * + +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. + +And nothing happened to encourage her. She had no news of her _Book of +Poems_, and when she called to see 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 _The Cornfield_, 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. + +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. + +"You are sitting to your desk too much, dear, and losing your +beauty--and you know no girl can afford to do _that_ 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 _me_, dear, there's nothing so comforting in this world as a +regular salary." + +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 regular salary had its potent charm, +too--Miss Drake spoke like an oracle there! + +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. + +"Lie there and wait for the inspired hour," she said. "I must look for +other ways and means to boil the pot." + +The wrench was to leave the "king's son" at home crooning in hired arms +beneath the eye of Mrs. Print. + +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. + +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. + +"No: I won't go into panto--not if Frankie goes down on his knees to +me." + +"Oh, he's sure to do _that_, dear!" + +"She says that her figure is her stock-in-trade--musical comedy, of +course." + +"H'm! more stock than trade, I should say." + +A score or so of made-up eyes raked Poppy from under heavy +_complexion_-veiling; she became aware of such strong scents as +_frangipani_ and _chypre_; many ropes of large pearls; heavy fur coats +flung open to reveal sparkling _art_-chains slung round bare, +well-powdered necks. A wry-lipped quotation of Abinger's flitted through +her memory: + + "Diamonds me. + Sealskins me, + I'm going on the stage." + +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. + +"Well, dear, what do _you_ 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. + +"Any experience?" + +"No." + +"Can you sing?" + +"No." + +"Dance?" + +"Yes." (Abinger had allowed her to take lessons in Florence.) + +"Good legs?" + +He regarded her puzzled eyes with impatience. + +"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 _you_, dear, for I can see----" + +"I don't think I am what you require in any case," she said as she +reached the door. "Good-morning." + +She fled through the waiting-room and down the stairs. Some of the +loungers shared a smile. + +"A greenhorn, evidently!" they said. "What has Frankie been saying?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Go to the theatres themselves," they said; adding cheerfully: "not that +_that's_ 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." + +One agent, rather more kindly than the rest, suggested that she should +try the Lyceum Theatre. + +"Ravenhill is taking it for a Shakespearian season," he said. "And I +should say that class of work would just suit you." + +Poppy thought so too, and wasted no time about finding the Lyceum. + +"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. + +He was a thin, Hamlet-faced man, with a skin of golden pallor and +romance-lit eyes, and he looked at Poppy with kindness and comradeship. + +"Have you had any experience?" he asked. + +"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. + +"Is there anything you could recite to me?" + +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: + + "When you are old and I am passed away-- + Passed: and your face, your golden face is grey, + I think--what e'er the end, this dream of mine + Comforting you a friendly star shall shine + Down the dim slope where still you stumble and stray. + + "Dear Heart, it shall be so: under the sway + Of death, the Past's enormous disarray + Lies hushed and dark. Still tho' there come no sign, + Live on well pleased; immortal and divine + Love shall still tend you as God's angels may, + When you are old." + +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." + +"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 to study and work hard. I can't offer you more than thirty +shillings a week--with a difference if you play." + +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. + +As for her: she could have fallen at his feet in thankfulness. The +contract was signed and she went home happy. + +Thirty shillings a week _certain_! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Her appearance, when "made up," was quite charming, and Ravenhill was +always glad to put her into a scene, and 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 _Richard II_, or a stately lady dancing in the house of +the _Capulets_, or an Egyptian girl in the streets of Alexandria +carrying a torch to light _Antony_ and _Cleopatra_ 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. + +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 _matinee_ 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 +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. + +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. + +Indeed, she was at this time striving with a valorous heart to live +according to Stevenson's creed: + + "To be honest: to be kind: + To earn a little--and to spend a little less." + + * * * * * + +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 _en deshabille_, her head wrapped in a +towel, full of excitement. + +"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!" + +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! + +Pale with amazement, she stood glimmering at him through her hair. + +"You!" she cried; then held out her hands in welcome, for welcome he +truly was, with the smell and burn of Africa on him. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"What do you want?" she asked half crossly, when they were in the +sitting-room. + +"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." + +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." + +"But why work like this?" he said discontentedly. "You'll kill yourself +burning two candles at once." + +"Not I?" said she gaily. She had no intention of letting him know that +but for her stage salary she would be penniless. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid I can't," Poppy faltered. "I never go 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. + +"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. + +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 _this_. 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? + +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. + +"My son, Charlie!" + +He stared down blankly at the little lovely thing, and it stared back at +him. + +"Good God!" said he; "am I dreaming? I could swear that was Eve Carson's +child!" + +"Yes," said Poppy softly, and her voice was _ci risuoniamo in +cristallo_. "It is. But how did you know?" she wonderingly asked. + +Charles Bramham was dumb. He could only stare. Later, he sat down +heavily in a chair and used his handkerchief. + +"Life has held a good many surprises for me, but never one like this. +_Carson!_ ... and _you_!... 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 _can't_ understand it.... Good God! I love that +fellow! ... _he_ could--?" + +"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 didn't know that +this wonderful thing was going to happen to me_ ... and _he_ knows +nothing. It is _my_ secret." + +Bramham digested these things as best he might. Later, he said: + +"Well he's _got_ 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 ... _of course_, he can't know ... but I shall tell him, +if I have to go up to Borapota after him." + +"Never, _never_!" said she. "No one shall ever tell him. It is _my_ +secret. You dare not interfere. I would never forgive you." + +He turned away from her, angry, sore, bitterly puzzled. + +"Oh, Charlie," she said wistfully. "Don't be angry. This is _my_ +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 ... _his_ son?" + +"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." + +"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 _that_ strange, sweet secret. + +Only one more question Bramham asked her. + +"Was it Karri you told me of that night, Rosalind?--the man you loved?" + +"Yes," she said. "The only man I have ever loved, or will love." + +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. + +"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 _should_ 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 _me_ some day, Charlie." + +"Why?" said he, looking keenly at her. "Are you ashamed of your child?" + +"Ashamed!" she laughed happily. "Ashamed of the greatest joy that ever +came to a woman; the son of the man she loves!" + +A happy look came into his face, too, for the first time since he had +known the truth. + +"That's the spirit! If a woman has the courage to take the big jump, she +should have the grit to face the 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." + +She looked at him thoughtfully for a while. + +"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 _you_ are to women--" +Impulsively he put his hand on hers lying on the dinner-table. + +"Let me--" he began. + +"But never offer to help _my_ 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +At the end of April the season at the Lyceum drew to a close, and +Ravenhill re-formed his company to tour the provinces. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Book of Poems_, 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! + +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 should "turn up," to read it and make her a _conscientious offer_ +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. + +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. + +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 _Sarah Bernhardt_. She and Poppy had shared the +same mirror in a Lyceum dressing-room, and become friendly over their +"make-up" boxes. + +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 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. + +"You are the _very_ girl I wanted to see," she cried. "Come into +'Slater's' for tea, and _do_ see if you can help me in a _great_ +difficulty." + +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. + +"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 _me_ round, no matter where I +am, and really, you know, dear, it's a _little_ hard on _me_ to have my +_career_ 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. _Do_ say you can?" + +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. + +"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 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." + +Poppy's face changed. A hundred a year! If she _must_ part with Pat that +would at least ensure him a home in the country, and she could save the +rest. + +"It is very good of you, Miss Ashley.... Will you let me think it over?" + +"Oh, yes--_anything_, if you will only take it on. I should be _so_ +glad. Her husband is always round bothering the life out of me to find +someone. Oh! I must tell you, dear there's _one_ thing besides Frances's +temper ... _he_ is difficult." + +"Bad-tempered, too?" smiled Poppy. + +"_Far_ 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." + +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 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. + +"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 _always_ she would turn her feet away from the +paths frequented by men. + +"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." + +"Yes, _do_, 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. _Do_ +take it on, there's a darling--good-bye." + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Print assured Poppy that no _Dook's_ 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 rose-clad cottage whenever she was free, +for Sarah had lots of room, a lovely garden, and corn-fields all round +her. + +"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." + +"Nothing but hills and corn-fields!" + +The words brought a mist over Poppy's eyes. _That_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Ah! I _know_ you are the girl Marion was talking about," cried the +invalid. "You _will_ come, won't you? How lovely you are--I shall just +_love_ 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." + +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, from a cold hauteur which she vainly tried to make +indifferent, to entreaty that was almost servile. + +"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--_of +course_, everybody _hates_ it. Can you play?" + +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. + +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 _must_ 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. + +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. + +"Oh, Harry!" cried the invalid. "This is Miss Chard--she is going to be +my new companion. Miss Chard--my husband." + +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. + +Harry Chesney was the hero of the adventure in the underground railway +carriage. + +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. + +It would have been awkward and painful to have told the sick woman _now_ +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. + +"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. + +"Touch the bell twice," said Mrs. Chesney. + +"Oh! I'll see Miss Chard down," said Chesney, but Poppy had made no +delay in touching the bell and a maid magically appeared. + + * * * * * + +The next day she waited at the York Theatre and saw Marion Ashley after +rehearsal. + +"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." + +The brightness of Marion's smile was dashed for an instant, but she +speedily recovered. + +"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." + +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! + +But the romantic drama was an unromantic failure. + +Long before the end of the first week, the principals 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 _that_ playing to "paper houses" every night. + +Marion Ashley met Poppy in the wings during a quarter of an hour's wait +that occurred in the second act. + +"Isn't this an awful disappointment?" she said. "Have you anything in +view, dear, if we come to a full-stop here?" + +"Nothing!" said Poppy, with a brave, careless smile. "Divil a thing!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +When the hour came for her to go to the theatre, Poppy called in the +faithful Mrs. Print once more to watch over 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. + +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. + +It was, indeed, a name she knew: and yet did not. _Sir_ Evelyn Carson! +His name was on the Birthday List of Honours. He had been made a baronet +_for services rendered to the Empire_. 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +On her dressing-table at the theatre Poppy found a 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. + +During the wait in the second act she sought out Marion Ashley. + +"Does Mrs. Chesney still want me?" she briefly inquired, and Marion +turned to her eagerly. + +"Of course she does. Will you go? Oh, you dear girl! I'm _so_ glad. When +will you be able to take up your residence with her?" + +"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 ... _worse_." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + + + + +PART IV + + + "This bitter love is sorrow in all lands, + Draining of eyelids, wringing of drenched hands, + Sighing of hearts and filling up of graves." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +On a January night in 1898, Charles Bramham was smoking and writing in +the dining-room of Sea House. + +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. + +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. + +"Read the _Field_ 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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Capron," said Abinger laconically. + +"What! again? A repetition of last night?" + +Bramham shot a glance at Carson, but the latter's face expressed nothing +more than _ennui_: he had put his head far back in his chair, and was +smoking ceilingwards, following the gyrations of the bat with a +contemplative eye. + +"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." + +Bramham got up and went to the sideboard, bringing glasses and decanters +to the table. + +"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." + +They all drank and smoked again in reflective concord. + +"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 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." + +"Oh, get out!" said Abinger. "Is your name Max Nordau, perhaps?" + +"Or are you Mr. Lecky?" derided Carson. + +"Ah, well, you fellows can laugh, but it would be a good scheme all the +same. Capron, now----" + +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. + +"Capron, now--is thirsty," said he. "And what was the interesting remark +you were about to make, Brammie, my dear?" + +"Only just _that_," Bramham responded serenely. "That you were probably +thirsty--as usual. Help yourself--and you, Ferrand." + +They drank and were seated, and all smoked, less peacefully now, but +more reflectively. Capron appeared to be the only person afflicted with +_gaiete de coeur_. + +"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?" + +The others remained calm and incurious. + +"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 +_then_; but now, by Gad! she has a face that would set any man's blood +on fire." + +"Indeed!" said Abinger dryly; and Bramham virtuously remarked: "We are +not all so inflammable as you." + +"Ah, I forgot! You're all saints and celibates here." + +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. Gruyere only yesterday why it was--and what do +you think she said, my dears?" + +No one seemed anxious to learn, but Capron sprightfully proceeded: + +"--Because one's wife wouldn't live with him, and another wouldn't live +with his wife, and the third has a _penchant_ for the wife of his +neighbour." + +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. +Gruyere were a nice brace of birds. + +"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 _mot_ 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-per-haps," stammered Abinger softly, "if you ask us we'll tell you." + +"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." + +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. + +"I am going to bed," said one. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"What did you want to bring him here for?" demanded Carson of Ferrand, +but the latter was unabashed. + +"I couldn't shake him, and I was tired of his insults. It was indicated +that Bram should have a turn." + +"Someone ought to do unto him as was done unto the Levite's concubine," +was Abinger's graceful contribution. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Bite on that!" added Bramham without any polish of manner. + +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. + +"She's pale, but she glows like a rose: she has chaste eyes, but there +is _diablerie_ 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." + +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. + +Bramham thought: "Part of that might fit one woman ... but it literally +_couldn't_ be her ... I wonder if I should go round and----" + +"If I _could_ be interested in a girl," thought Carson, "I might.... _A +rope of black hair!_ ... anyway, I have to go and look up Nickals at the +Royal to-morrow." + +"Could it possibly be that devil Poppy?" was Abinger's thought. "I shall +go round and see." What he said was: + +"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. + +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. + +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: + +"Isandhlwana nineteen years ago to-day, Luce!" + +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. + +"That day we lay above Inyezan, Bram ... do you remember? When you +potted the big fellow in the _umpas_ 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 _Gaarons_, one of their best +leaders ... a sure shot ... he got ten of our men ... but Bram got _him_ +all right." + +They sat for two solid hours reminiscing. + +"You and Luce have had some times together, Charlie!" said Carson, after +Abinger had gone. + +"Yes ... it makes one feel old--I suppose we _are_ 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?" + +"I thought she was dead?" + +"So did I--but she wasn't. She is, _now_, however ... dropped down one +night behind the scenes and passed out in half an hour." + +"_Tant mieux!_" 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?" + +"Yes: I got the advice about them: they'll be in dock to-morrow. We'll +go down and look everything over during the week if you like. How long +are you going to give yourself before you go back?" + +"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." + +"Five years of solitude and natives and pioneers!" commented Bramham. +"Pretty tough on you!" + +"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--_you_ know that. It's the people who come up after the work is +done who stick in my gizzard." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I know half a dozen who'd jump at the chance, and I expect you do, +too. Women are fearfully keen on adventure nowadays. And then you're an +attraction in yourself, Karri." + +"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. + +"Joking apart--you ought to marry. Why don't you, Karri?" + +"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 _menage-a-deux_ in the desert? +Even supposing that I knew someone anxious to share it----" + +"You have your salary--two thousand a year," argued Bramham. He did not +know what a _menage-a-deux_ was, but he could guess. + +"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." + +"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 when it comes to transporting them over a few thousand +miles of unbroken roads--why, of course, it is expensive! + +"I know all about that, Carson--all the same, I think it would be a good +thing if----" + +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 _a_ wife, +but _the_ wife, and I haven't met her yet--the woman who could stand the +test of five years of _wattle-and-daub_, and boot-and-saddle, and +sleeping under the stars for a change when one gets tired of the +_wattle-and-daub_; 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. _We_ 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----" + +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. + +"--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. + +"Who can never materialise because she's mostly made up of dreams." + +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 secretly +enshrined in his heart.' It appears that she was right." + +Carson laughed, too: but his face softened. + +"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." + +Bramham gave him a shrewd glance. He would have given half he possessed +to say at that moment: + +"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. + +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. + +"You can't hate a fellow like that," he thought. + +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. + +"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 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?" + +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. + +"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 _the_ 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, +_something_ ... 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 _that_.... 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." + +They gripped hands and parted for the night. + +Afterwards Bramham mused thus to himself: + +"He was lying! He must have been--or else she was. What the deuce is +one to make of it? _Plenty of water under the bridge since then!_ I +daresay!... Capron's stray shaft went home.... I wonder if there's any +truth in _that_ 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +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. + +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-- + + "And a smile on the face of the tiger." + +That, at least, was the line from the poets which flashed into Bramham's +head, as Abinger grinned upon him. + +"What do _you_ want?" was the latter's affable greeting, and Bramham +answered fearlessly: + +"Oh, just a gin-and-bitters! It's getting somewhere about lunch-time, +isn't it?" + +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. + +"Hullo! you fellows! Waiting to see Nickals, too?" + +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 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. + +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 _he_ 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. + +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. + +_Ennui_ 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 followed, to inform him +in a discreet voice that a note had come for him by one of the Royal +_boys_. 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. + +"I had a premonition, by Jove!" he exclaimed excitedly, and tore it +open. It was brief. + +"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." + +Bramham stared at the letter for several minutes, then seized his hat +and rang the bell. + +"Call Mr. Merritt," was his order, and the secretary reappeared. + +"Merritt, I am going out again at once. If Mr. Carson or Mr. +Abinger send over for me from the Club, _I'm engaged. Very +important business--here._ Shall probably see them later in the +afternoon--understand?" + +"Certainly, sir," said the discreet Merritt, and withdrew. + +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. + +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 crepe, with 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. + +"I can't believe my eyes," he said. "It is the most amazing thing that +ever happened--to see you!" + +"Why?" she asked softly, looking him in the eyes. + +"I thought you were in England fighting your way along the road to +Fame----" + +"I don't care about Fame any more, Charlie." + +"Don't care for Fame! Why, you were crazy after it!" + +"Crazy--yes, that is the right word. Now I am sane. You have had my hand +quite a long time----" + +He did not release it, however, only held it tighter. + +"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!" + +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. + +"What has happened to you?" he asked, in a low voice. + +"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 grief too deep for words. The hand that he awkwardly +brushed across his face was his salute to sorrow. + +"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, _Hope_ 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. + +"Don't ever speak of it again, will you?... I can't ... I am not +able..." + +"Of course not.... No, all right ... I won't," he hastily and earnestly +assured her. + +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. + +"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----" + +Her face when she turned told him nothing. + +"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." + +"Mrs. Portal! I didn't know you knew her." + +"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, if you know her +at all, you know how kind and lovely her ways are." + +"Yes, indeed," Bramham heartily agreed. "She is altogether charming." + +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. + +"I am dining with her to-night to meet her great friend, Mrs. Capron," +continued Poppy, eyeing him gravely. + +"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. + +"Ah! and why shouldn't I?" she queried softly, but her tone brought a +slight flush to Bramham's cheek. + +"Oh, I don't know," he stammered. "No reason at all, I imagine." + +"On the contrary," she said quietly, "you imagine every reason." + +Bramham scrambled out of his tight corner as best he might. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +She smiled at him with such comradeship that he could not sulk any +longer. + +"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?" + +"You suppose rightly: I have _got_ 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." + +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. + +"You!... You!... why, I've never even heard of you!" he cried, +mortified, astonished, and it must be confessed, slightly unbelieving. + +"But perhaps you have heard of _Eve Destiny_? Here 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." + +"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. + +"A hundred a year! Why, if you go on like this you'll be more likely to +haul in ten thousand a year." + +"Ah! but I'm not going on," she interpolated calmly. "I don't mean to +work any more." + +"Not work any more? Why? Are you panned?... dried up ... fizzled out?" + +"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." + +"But since when did you begin to feel like that?" + +"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 _that_, 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 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. + +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. + +"If you go to the Portals you will meet Eve Carson. He is _persona +grata_ there." + +"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." + +"His wife----?" + +"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. + +"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----" + +"He would be sure to say something arresting," said Poppy, but she had +grown pale as death. Her eyes waited upon Bramham's lips. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 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----" + +"Never! Never!" she cried fiercely. "I should curse you for ever ... +I.... And so he is not married?" she said in an ordinary voice. + +"No, nor ever will be, till he finds the woman of his dreams, according +to his own tale." + +Suddenly she rose from her chair. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 _Eve +Destiny_. Bramham became so engrossed at last that he forgot all the +staring people in the room and the two coffee-cups and his discomfort. + +"She's a genius, by Jove!" he said grimly. "One must get used to being +made uncomfortable." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +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. + +"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!) + +"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----" + +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. + +"Listen to the blood-shedders!" said Mrs. Capron. + +"Yes, one of them is Bill," said Clem, "and I hoped he was looking after +people inside! Who is he talking to, I wonder." + +Mrs. Capron opened her lips to answer, then closed them again and looked +away at the sea. Luce Abinger smiled to himself. + +"That's C-Carson," he said. "He c-came up with me." + +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. + +But in whatsoever way he looked, he always made the woman he was talking +to _tete-a-tete_ 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, _must_ 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. + +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, 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. Gruyere, 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. + +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. + +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 _cheep-cheeping_ of some tame guinea-fowl in a +neighbouring garden. + +If only Mrs. Gruyere 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 say "Oh!" and "Really?" quite prettily at appropriate intervals, +and he much preferred her to Mrs. Gruyere, 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. Gruyere'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?" + +Mrs. Gruyere, who had been educated at a Colonial _seminary_, +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. + +"But, _dear_ Mrs. Portal, desirable qualifications are not always +sufficient ones. _Where_ did she come from, and who are her people, I +wonder? It seems _strange_ in a small place like Durban, not to have met +her before! What does she want here?" + +"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." + +Thereafter, she looked dreamily into space, apparently thinking of +something else--an old ruse of hers when harassed about her harum-scarum +acquaintances. Abinger 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. Gruyere. + +"Indeed! An artist?" that lady insisted abominably. "I wonder if----" + +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. + +"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----" + +"Really?" said Mrs. Gerald Lace, all attention, thinking what a charming +miniature her blonde beauty would make. + +Mrs. Gruyere 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. Gruyere had got her second wind. + +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, _much_ more eligible for the post? (Her own +brother, in fact--_hinc illae!_) 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? + +"--And was made Mayor, and died!" she finished as though she had been +reciting a new kind of creed. + +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. Gruyere, and remarked with great emphasis +and point: + +"Rot!" + +Mrs. Gruyere 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. + +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. + +"He would never _dream_ of marrying a Colonial: Gerald told me so." + +Mrs. Gruyere'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, _how_ Mrs. Gruyere +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-_vo_-ted." What +satisfaction can be got out of a woman like that? Mrs. Gruyere 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. + +"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." + +Abinger's answers were as various as Mrs. Portal's sandwiches, and as +liberally supplied with mustard. + + 1. Yes; but he didn't live with Miss Mappin. + 2. Carson had not asked his advice about the best place to spend a + honeymoon. + 3. Miss Mappin had not told him that she loved Carson. + 4. He did not read Carson's letters. + 5. He could not swear that Carson was not already married. + 6. All women were in love with Carson, anyway. + +At that, Mrs. Gruyere sat back satisfied. + +"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. + +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. + +"You ask too much, Mrs. Gruyere," 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." + +"When _I_ am in love!" said Mrs. Gruyere loudly. + +"Oh!" cried Mrs. Lace with a shocked little laugh. + +"Isn't it true, Mr. Abinger?" Clem asked. + +"Oh, Carson is not so black as he's painted," said he with a great air +of liberality. + +"As he paints, I suppose, you mean," pertly rejoined Mrs. Gruyere. + +"There is a form of colour-blindness that makes its victim see +everything black!" said Mrs. Capron drily. Mrs. Gruyere sniffed again. + +"You need be colour-blind when you look at his eyes," she said +unpleasantly; "but some people have a morbid liking for deformity." + +They all looked astonished. + +"_Deformity!_" cried Mrs. Capron; "why, everybody admires his striking +eyes!" + +"And, _dear_ lady," said Abinger, with great _tendresse_, "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----" + +"Brass," said Mrs. Gruyere neatly--for her. + +At this opportune moment Carson sauntered round the corner and joined +them, and Mrs. Gruyere's face became so like a Bougainvillea flower that +there was hardly any difference, except that the Bougainvillea was +prettier. + +"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?" + +Seeing no chair, Carson seated himself next to Abinger on the +floor--"two bad, dissolute men, cheek by jowl," said Mrs. Gruyere to +herself. + +"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." + +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. Gruyere, +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. + +It was Poppy. + +The two bad men looked up. + +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. + +Clem Portal rose, and, under cover of general conversation, said swiftly +to her: + +"If Mrs. Gruyere puts you to the question--_you paint_--charming little +water-colours. You are going to do my miniature." + +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. + +Carson felt the old dream stir. He gave her a long, long look. As for +Abinger, the expression of utter astonishment and bewilderment had +passed from his face; he was smiling. + +"So _this_ is Miss Rosalind Chard!" he said softly, but not too softly +for Carson to hear him. + +"_Who_ is she, do you say?" he asked in a low tone. + +They had both risen from the floor. + +"A Cheltenham College girl, with pretty ankles," was the enigmatic +response. + +Unaccountably, they both found themselves at Mrs. Portal's elbow. She +introduced them with a gay inclusive little: "_Les amis de mes amis sont +mes amis_"; then turned away to bid a guest good-bye. + +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. + +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. + +"You are very _un-Irish_, Miss Chard, in spite of your face and your +superstitions." + +This, said with great grace and gentleness, meant that no real +Irishwoman would have had the abominable taste to notice what Mrs. +Gruyere had termed his "deformity." But the girl either could not, or +would not, taste the salty flavour of his compliment. She made a curious +answer. + +"I do not profess to be Irish." + +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. + +"Oh, you mustn't mind Carson," said Abinger easily. "You see, he has +unfortunately got a real Irish monkey for sale." + +"An Irish monkey?" + +"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." + +Her tears had slipped back unused to whence they came; she was now +dry-eyed and rather haughty. + +"How could I know?" she began stiffly. + +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. + +By the time he had finished his remarks Miss Chard had regained her +tranquillity. + +"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?" + +Some emotion kept Abinger dumb for several seconds; then under her +tranquil gaze he recovered himself. + +"No, I am a cosmopolitan; incidentally of Scotch birth." + +"Indeed!" Miss Chard looked politely interested. "You flatter yourself +chiefly on the first, I suppose?" + +"I did, until to-day." + +"To-day?" + +"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 _you_ +are--English." + +Her colour remained unchanged: her eyes regarded him steadfastly. + +"You took me for some new kind of barbarian, perhaps?" + +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.'" + +The girl's sweet laugh fell from her lips. + +"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 _first_ visit." + +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!" + +She stemmed that tide. + +"Why talk about 'home'?" she said impatiently. "It is far more +interesting out here." + +"Why?" cried Ferrand the poetical. "_Why?_ 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 +the fog and getting splashed with the mud and smelling the Thames...." + +"Yes," said Miss Chard; "and I infinitely prefer the smell of mangoes." + +Ferrand would have turned away from her, if he had been able to turn +away from any woman. + +Mrs. Portal, who had just joined them, agreed with her. + +"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?" + +But still Ferrand looked at Miss Chard. + +"'She is London, she is Torment, she is Town,'" he muttered. + +"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. Gruyere ... +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." + +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. + +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 wondering how she +could possibly get the address of Miss Chard's dressmaker without asking +for it. + +"_Of course_, you are staying, Mary," said Mrs. Portal, sitting down by +her and putting an arm around her waist. "And you, too, Karri?" + +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. + +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. + +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. Gruyere, who always came and stood near him and began +telling someone in a loud voice about his poor devoted wife living and +dying like a saint at home. + +"Just as though it wouldn't have been far more saintlike to have come +out here and minded her sinner, if he _is_ one, which I don't believe," +said Mrs. Capron. + +"_De mortuis!_" broke in Clem, gently; and de Grey said, laughing: + +"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 "Cafe Royal" last time we were +home; and for saints, they did themselves remarkably well--didn't they, +Cora? And looked remarkably well too." + +"Yes: it's a becoming role--dressed by _Paquin_," said Cora de Grey +drily. _She_ 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. + +Abinger began to stammer softly, and everybody listened. + +"B-Bramham will be able to come forth at l-last. Mrs. Gru' has a new nut +to crack." + +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. + +"And it will t-take her all her time to do it," he finished gently--even +dreamily. + +"You frighten me!" said Clem. "What _can_ you mean?" + +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. + +"Miss Chard," she cried suddenly. "I keep wondering and wondering where +I have seen you before. _I know_ we have met." + +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. + +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. + +"Perhaps," she said pensively, "we were rivals for a king's affection in +some past age----" + +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. + +"--Of course, _I_ was the successful rival or it would have been I who +remembered, and not you." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +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. + +"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." + +She nodded. + +"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----" + +She looked at him quickly, apprehensively. + +"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 again for the first time since--" She closed her eyes. +He did not speak, only looked at her with compassionate eyes and waited. + +"I have made up my mind not to let everything go to wreck," she began +again presently. "I'm going to work again--I _am_ working." She threw +back her head and smiled. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Where is it?" + +"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." + +"It sounds altogether too romantic for Durban. I expect these features +exist only in your imagination. But can you possibly mean Briony +Cottage?" + +"But, of course." + +"Good--it _is_ a dear little place--and with the bay right before you, +you'll hardly know you're down in the town." + +"I'm having a companion." She made a mouth, and Bramham himself could +not disguise a faint twist of his smile. + +"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 +_genteel_." + +"Ah! I know her--a weary sort of plucked turkey," said the graceless +Bramham, "with a nose that was once 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----" + +"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 _most imperative_ 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 _Eve +Destiny_ would be another matter. I couldn't keep that quiet." + +"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?" + +"A divorce case--or, rather, I think a nullity case is what it would be +called." + +"A _what_?" Bramham could say no more. + +"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 _ought_ +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 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 _knew_ ... I was obliged to fly from his house half clad.... It was +_then_ I found refuge with Sophie Cornell." + +"And these things all happened here? Do you mean to tell me that +blackguard was some Durban fellow?" + +"He did live here at that time." + +"And now?" + +"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." + +"Well, upon my soul! I can't think who the fellow can be!" said Bramham +artlessly, and Poppy could not refrain from smiling. + +"I don't think there would be any good in telling you, 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." + +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. + +"You should have tackled the thing at home," said Bramham thoughtfully. +"They'd have fixed you up in no time there, I believe." + +"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 Eugene was dead, but that they had already +gone into the matter on behalf of _my husband_, 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." + +"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----" + +He stopped, staring at her pale face. + +"Don't ever offer to lend me money," she said fiercely rudely. + +"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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +The day Poppy moved to her new home, Clem Portal was the first person to +visit her and wish her luck and happiness there. + +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 roses of the usual chintz. The grey walls were guileless of +pictures, except for the faithful blue _Hope_ 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. + +"You've found the sweetest place in Durban," said Clem. "Whenever I feel +like a mealie--a _green_ 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." + +Later, she said: + +"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 _don't_." + +Poppy was dreaming with her tea-cup in her lap, and the glitter of the +bay in her eyes. + +"Do you think three women ever get on well together?" she asked +evasively. "There is always one out." + +Clem was quick to see the meaning of this. A look of disappointment came +over her gay, gentle face. + +"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 if I deserted her for you ... what am I to do if you two +don't like each other?" + +"If _you_ love Mrs. Capron, Clem, she won't need to bother about the +liking of a woman like me." + +"She likes _you_, 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 _you_ 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 _that_ about +her--most people do." + +"I have gathered that she is not very happily married," said Poppy. + +"Have you ever seen him?" + +"I believe the first time I ever saw you, Clem, he was with you." + +"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: + +"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. + +"Nick Capron was not _quite_ impossible in those days," she continued; +"but now a good place for him would be under the debris 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 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 _Loa_, +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 _that_ 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?" + +Poppy looked up, anxious to learn, and Clem continued with the air of an +oracle of Thebes: + +"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." + +"She must have great courage to face the situation," said Poppy +sincerely. + +"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 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?" + +What Poppy _did_ 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. + +"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." + +This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy could not refrain +from a trill of laughter. + +"I think you are one of those who paint themselves black to be _en +suite_ with the people you like, Clemmie," she said; "but you're not +extraordinarily clever as an artist." + +"Not so clever as _you'll_ have to be when Mrs. Gruyere 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 ... _Eve Destiny!_ ... +what could have prompted it, I wonder?" + +"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 roused +within her. "Eve--was the most primitive person I could think of" (the +lie did not come very glibly), "and _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." + +"Well, you wouldn't run alone for long, that's very certain," laughed +Clem. + +"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. + +"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 _his_ 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...." + +"Oh, Clem! You are Irish yourself----" + +Clem did not turn round. She went on talking out of the window and +watching the approaching carriage. + +"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 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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Clem gave a cry of woe and began to pin on her hat. + +"The wretch! I thought he was going to dine at the Club." + +"He gave us strict orders to send you home at once," laughed Carson, "so +Mrs. Capron won't come in." + +"Who are the men?" demanded Clem. + +"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." + +Clem's groans were terrible. + +"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 +_menu_." + +"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." Smiling, he plucked a sea-pink and stuck it in his +coat. They were in the garden now on the way to the carriage. + +"Deserter! Well, Mary, _you'll_ have to come and let them feed upon your +damask cheek--something has got to be done." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +She rang for fresh tea and went to the tea-table. Carson stood about the +room, seeming to fill it. + +"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. + +"I love _green_ best of all colours," she answered steadily; "but one +gets tired of green walls now that they are fashionable and everyone +has them--" her voice broke off suddenly. In his looming about the room +he had stopped dead before _Hope_ 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. + +"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. + +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: + +"You will think I am mad ... but I imagine I know _that_ 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?" + +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. + +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. + +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 of +his own country; but he did not know it. If he _had_ known it he would +have repudiated it with all his strength, for already he was a bound +man. + +"His honour rooted in dishonour stood." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +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. + +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 many, that were spent at her +desk _dreaming_. For no writer does work of any consequence without +dreaming, even if the dream is not always of work. + +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 +_work_ which unfortunately kept her so busy that she could see no +one--_at present_. 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +A sprinkling of Durban people came and went. + +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. + +To be Mrs. Portal's friend was to share her friends, to know them, to +gossip with them, to criticise and be in 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. + +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 _tete-a-tete_. 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: + + "To the women who didn't know why + (And now we know they could never know why) + And did not understand." + +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 _vieux jeu_--are made for one, or at the most, two +listeners. + +Poppy's ears took in many pretty and many witty things. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _cold_. This warmed the +coldest of them--with a glow of self-satisfaction. + +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 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: + +"Did you ever hear of a Sphinx without a secret?" + +"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." + +"No," she said dreamily. "Everyone has a secret in this country, haven't +they? even girls." + +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. + +But Mary Capron said something to Carson that kept him awake that night. + +"She's _quite_ clever, isn't she? Only it's a pity she has to begin at +the beginning for herself." + + * * * * * + +Carson had scarcely been struck by Miss Chard's +_cleverness_--considering that on both his first and second meeting with +her she had had odd lapses of something very like _gaucherie_. 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 +her voice amongst his thoughts and considered the fact a curious and +rather annoying thing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Of course, Rosalind Chard was backed by Mrs. Portal, but that did not +prevent tongues from wagging. + +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. + +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; 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 _anything with a root to it_. +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. + +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? + +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. + +So out of _pure curiosity_ 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. + +Of all the rest she was careless. Let them think what they would--Clem +was her friend. + +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. + +One day Mrs. Capron said: + +"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.) + +"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." + +"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----" + +Clem winced; then, remembering Lady Mostyn's outraged face, laughed. + +"Well, one hardly picks up those things at school, _cherie_--and she may +have been on a desert island ever since." + +"That would be an interesting reason for her bad manners, darling, +but----" + +"I won't admit that they are bad--only unusual; and, besides, she has +the excuse of genius. If I might only tell you what I know of her +work----" + +"_Miniatures?_" asked Mrs. Capron wickedly. + +"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." + +"Clem, you are infatuated." + +"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." + +She escaped. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +--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 would +distract, and presently bring back vivacity and strength, and renew +courage. + +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? + +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. + +Oh! she had her black and desperate days-- + + "And the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night." + +But afterwards _Hope_ played for her on the one brave string--and she +took up her pen and worked on. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And while she sat, there came a little tap at the door. + +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. + +"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 _very_ important." + +"Thank you," said Poppy quietly, and sat staring at the letter long +after her companion had left the room. + +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 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 _this_ her glad day +of finished tasks. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + I. + + Across the purple heather + The winds of God blow sweet. + But it's O for the smell of London + And the roar of a London street! + + II. + + Upon the wine-dark waters + The sun strikes clean and hot. + But it's O for a London garden + And the woman who loves me not! + +"You say you are no musician, Clem, but I never knew anyone who could +make lovelier sounds come out of a piano," Poppy said. + +Clem laughed. + +"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?" + +"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 +_Dick Heldar_. 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." + +"The most usual circumstance," said Clem laughing, "is that the woman +loves too well. Some men find that hardest of all to bear." + +Poppy reflected on this for a while. + +"I suppose you mean wives! It is curious how many people seem to marry +to live apart, isn't it, Clem?" + +"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." + +Poppy was laughing. + +"Well, some of the reptiles make marvellous recoveries," said she, +remembering one, at least, whom she had known. + +"You can't blame them for _that_--it isn't very interesting to be dead, +I suppose." + +"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 of them. And then they label themselves +'happily married.'" + +"Now, Poppy, I won't have you walking over my cabbages and onions." + +"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----" + +"Yes; Bill and I _are_ rather wonderful"--Clem jumped up in a hurry--"I +must _absolutely_ 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. + +"She won't discuss her happiness with me," thought Poppy. "It is too +sacred!" + +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. + +"You won't be able to see to darn holes," said Poppy. + +"Ah! you don't know Billy's holes," Clem answered sadly. "And Cinthie +inherits the gentle trait. It is _too_ bad, for I hate darning." + +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. + +"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. + +Clem Portal looked at her in astonishment. + +"Darling, I ought to rebuke you for blasphemy." + +To her astonishment the girl burst into wild weeping. + +"No ... it isn't blasphemy ... I am in pain, Clem ... these storms ... a +storm like this reminds me of when I was a child ... I was once out in +a storm like this." + +"You?" + +"Yes ... once ... on the veldt ... for three days." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +Dense blackness filled the room. In it nothing was 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. + +"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 _we_ give to shine with that lovely cold, pure glow ... but +they can't take from us what our misery has bought." + +"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----" + +Poppy laughed bitterly at the lame ending. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I don't care. What does a name matter?" + +"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.'" + +"What do these things matter?" + +"My life, for the last three years, has been a struggle in deep waters +to keep myself from I know not what deeper deeps----" + +"I have always maintained that a woman has a right to use whatever +weapons come to hand in the fight with life, Poppy." + +"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!" + +"No, Poppy--only I can't understand why! What could have been worth it?" + +"Ah! you think nothing is worth blackening your soul for, Clem! That is +where you will not understand." + +"I will try to understand, dear one ... tell me. One thing I am sure of, +it was never wanton. You had some miserable reason." + +"_Miserable!_ 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 +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 +paean of praise to the gods that _my_ lover would never go lacking the +gift of my breasts. I made a song--all Africa knows it now: + + "'I thank thee, Love, for two round breasts----'" + +"And what harm in that?" cried Clem, staunchly. "When Cinthie is twelve, +will you want her to be thinking of lover's caresses?" + +"You would not have been, either, if you'd had a mother's caresses. Your +nature was starving for love, poor child!" + +"You have a tender heart for sinners." + +"I don't consider you a very bad sinner, darling." + +"You don't know all the lies yet.... I am going to tell you _something_ +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 _roles_ 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 +_wonderful innocence_. 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 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 _real_ friend if I should ever want one, and I +understood very well what _that_ 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 _pure_ and _innocent_. 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.... _He_ 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 _hundreds_--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 _there_ long ... innocence is not very valuable on the +stage--except in the play!... and though I have a special talent for +acting _off_ the stage, I am too nervous _on_ it to open my lips ... so +there was no hope for advancement that way ... I had to begin again on +the old round." + +"But, Poppy, dear, forgive me, I can't understand--why? _why?_... what +was it all for?" + +"For money, Clem. I wanted money." + +"I can't believe it!--Oh! _not_ for money!" + +"Yes; for money. Some women are bad for money; there is nothing they +will not do to get gold in their hands. I was _good_ for money ... a +saint, an angel, a virgin--most especially a virgin." + +"Don't hurt me like this," Clem said. "Whatever you say can make no +difference to me. I _will_ love you. I _will_ 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--_is_ there?" + +Poppy answered her "Yes!" And after a long time a few words dropped into +the silence of the room. + +"I wanted the money for my child." + +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. + +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: + +"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 _what_ I did 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 +_always_ 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 _good_. + +"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 _his_ +eyes and saw that they were _not_ 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 _purity_, 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!" + +"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. + + "'Dost thou know, O happy God!----' + +"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 _is_ soiled.... You _look_ good--not +smirking, soft goodness that means nothing, but brave, strong +goodness ... and I _know_ 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 _why_ is it, Poppy?" + +"I don't know. If it _is_ 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 _good_, as the +world calls it, has no charm for me. Many of the men I have spoken of +had a sinister attraction. _I understood what they felt._ 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 _really_ innocent those +years, nothing could have saved me. I 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." + +"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 _that_ you owe your beauty, dear." + +"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?" + +"I remember everything--but, dear, there is one thing that grieves and +bewilders me--why, _why_ could you not have earned a clean, fine living +with your pen ... where was your gift of writing?" + +"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!" + +"Poor child! everything has mocked you!" Clem put her arms round the +girl and kissed her tenderly; then 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. + +"Heavens!" cried Clem; "and I hear Billy's voice in the garden; Eve +Carson's, too, I believe. _Fly_ to your room, Poppy. I expect Sarah has +laid out one of your gowns." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +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. + +So Carson came, and had no faintest inkling that Poppy was there too. +Being an old _intime_ 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 +his veins and that the splendour of life had come back at last with the +rush and swell of full-tide. + +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. + +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--_and his_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A little after eleven Carson left. He shook hands with everyone at +parting, and for a brief instant he and Poppy drank another deep +draught of joy from each other's eyes. + +No sooner had he gone than Clem said: + +"Poppy, you are to go to bed instantly, and stay there until I give you +leave to get up. You look like a spectre." + +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. + +"I must come and see if your room is all right." + +"Yes, but who are these midnight vigilantes in the garden?" exclaimed +Portal. "I believe I hear Bramham!" + +Bramham, indeed, it was who came into the light with a crumpled and +weeping woman clinging to his arm. + +"What the----?" softly demanded Portal of Heaven, and Clem stared. Poppy +swiftly recognised Miss Allendner. + +"What is it?" she cried, stepping forward. + +Miss Allendner only wept more violently. + +"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: + +"Miss Chard's house has been burnt to the ground; fortunately no one is +hurt, but everything is destroyed." + +"Burnt! _burnt?_... _everything?_ My work ... my freedom--" cried Poppy +wildly with clasped hands. + +"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 _am_ sorry!" He stared dismally. + +"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: + +"Poor Miss Allendner. Shall we put her to bed, in my bedroom, Clem? She +is worn out!" + +The women went away. At the gate Bramham said to Portal: + +"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 _Eve Destiny_, 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." + +This thing was news also to Portal. Mrs Portal being that lovely thing, +a close woman, he knew nothing of Poppy's identity with _Eve Destiny_. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +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 _real_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +And Bramham was in his dining-room insanely drinking whiskies-and-sodas. + +"What the----?" Carson stood in the doorway staring. + +"Waiting up for you, of course! Where have you been?" said the drunk and +dauntless Bramham. + +"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. + +"Miss Chard's house was burnt to the ground last night!" + +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. + +"What was that you said, Bram?" he asked, later. + +"Miss Chard's house is burnt to the ground. The whole town knows now +that she is _Eve Destiny_, the South African novelist----" + +"The how much?" + +"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 _In a Tin Hotel at Witpoortje_ and _A Veldt Ghost_. Why, Carson, +you don't seem to know anything! You ought to employ someone to dig you +up every five years." + +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 +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. + +One thing alone, stood out, a salient point in the narrative: + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Just before they had finished, Carson casually said: + +"I'm going up to the Rand to sell everything I hold." + +Bramham regarded him piercingly, and at the moment a _boy_ entered with +the morning papers. Each man reached out for one, and turned with +striking unanimity of interest to the Market reports. + +"Good Lord!" cried Bramham instantly. "_East Rands_ at 5.5.0, and still +sinking." + +Carson gave a groan, which meant, "Oh, Hades! why didn't I sell at L10?" + +Bramham continued his dolorous tale, quoting all the prices in which he +and Carson were interested. + +"Main Reefs, Randfonteins, Crown Reefs, Knights--all steadily sagging in +sympathy; if you sell now, Karri, you'll be in the cart." + +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 _money_--money to +marry Rosalind Chard and take her with him to Borapota; to free _her_ +from the cares of life and money for evermore. + +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. + +"What about my claims on the South Rand?" he demanded blithely. + +"Have you still got those?" cried Bramham in surprise. "Good! How many?" + +"Half interest in a hundred?" + +"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." + +They rose from the table. + +"When shall you go? To-day?" + +"No; to-day I have every moment occupied until six o'clock." + +"There's a good train to-night at nine." + +"I can't go to-night--I have something else to do." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +"Clem, scuttle up--we'll be late," shouted Portal. "What _is_ she doing, +Miss Chard?" + +"Hearing the bratiken's prayers, I think." + +"I wish you'd hurry her up." + +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. + +"Say them now, Cinthie--'Gentle Jesus----'" + +"No, mummie." + +"Yes, darling." + +"I want you to sing 'Bye-low Lady.'" + +"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." + +"No, mummie." + +"Go on now, darling. Mother'll be cross with you in a minute. 'Gentle +Jesus----'" + +"No, mummie." + +A silence. + +"'Gentle Jesus'--Go on now, Cinthie--'Gentle Jesus--'" + +"'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: + +"Mother's sorry her little girl is so naughty to-night. Good-night, +Cinthie." + +"G'night," was the cheerful response. + +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. + +"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 _that's_ all right--what do _we_ care for the first act of +a play?" + +Clem took not the slightest notice. She turned to Poppy. + +"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 do_ wish +you would have come too. It might have made you forget all about that +wicked fire." + +"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." + +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. + +"Cinthie!" + +"Eum!" + +"Hallo, Cinthie!" + +"Hallo!" + +"You asleep?" + +"No, not yet." + +"Sure you're not?" + +"No, I'm not, Poppy." She sat up in bed and gave a lively prance to show +she was awake. + +"Well, I've come to have a little talk." + +Cinthie made a joyful noise that sounded like _corn-cookoo_, and gave +another prance. + +Poppy sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her coffee, tendering to +Cinthie an occasional spoonful, which was supped up rapturously. + +"Who've you got there with you?" + +"Two my chil'ren." + +"Which ones?" + +"_Daisy-Buttercup_ 'n _Oscar_" + +"Oh! have they said their prayers yet?" + +A pause, then: + +"I didn't tell them to say prairses to-night." + +"Not?" cried Poppy, in shocked surprise. + +"No." (A pause.) "They's too tired." + +"Oh, but Cinthie! Fancy, if they died in their sleep! How sorry they'd +be they hadn't said their prayers." + +An uncomfortable pause. Poppy drank some more coffee. + +"I know _you_ would never go to sleep without saying _your_ prayers." + +A silence. + +"I hope you prayed for me to-night, sweetness?" + +A silence. + +"--And for that darling mummie of yours?" + +Silence. + +"--And your lovely daddie?" + +Silence. + +"--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." + +"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. + +"I'm so glad you prayed for mummie and daddie and me," she said +fervently. "Good-night, darling-pet." + +"G'night." + +"You don't have the candle left, do you?" + +"No." + +"Shall I put the mosquito-curtain round?" + +"Yes, please." + +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. + +"Well, good-night." + +"G'night." + +She opened the door and went out slowly. + +At the last conceivable instant, as the door was on the point of +closing, a little voice cried: + +"Poppy!" + +"Yes, sweetness." + +"I want a drink of water." + +Poppy went back, poured a glass of water, and carried it to the +delinquent, who took a mouthful; then said, slowly and sorrowfully: + +"I think I'll say prairses, Poppy." + +"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: + + "Gen-tuljeesus, meek n' mil', + Lookup pon a little chil'; + Pitimysimplisitee, + Suffer me t' come to Thee. + +"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 _DAILY BREAD_ +N' forgive us our trespasses 'gainst us. But 'liver us from evil. For +Thine's kingdom, Power and GLORY, frever and ever, Amen. + +"Our Father, please bless my darling Mummie, and take care of her at the +theatre, and my lovely Daddie, _and_ Grannie, _and_ Grandad, _and_ +Poppy, _and_ all the servants in _this_ house, _and_ all the little +children in the world, _and_ fill our hearts with love 'n kindness, +Amen--now I must say my _Latins_." + +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: + +"_Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus tecum: benedicta tu in mulieribus, et +benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus._" + +"_Sancta Maria! Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora +mortis nostrae. Amen._" + +Afterwards she fell into a peal of laughing. + +"Why do you laugh, darling?" Poppy gravely asked, and the answer was: + +"Oh, Poppy! Wouldn't _Nunc_ be a funny name for a dog!" + +Then once more the sheets were tucked in, the mosquito-net arranged, and +a kiss blown through it. + +"Good-night, Pansy-face!" + +"G'night, Red-rose!" responded Cinthie ardently. + +"Good-night, Gold-heart!" + +Cinthie thought laboriously for a few seconds, struggling for a fitting +response. At last, just as Poppy reached the door, she shouted +breathlessly: + +"G'night; White-soul!" + +At that Poppy gave a cry and ran back once more and hugged her. + +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. + +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. + +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----! + +"Oh, God! be good to me for once!" she cried with soundless lips. "Let +him come--I will do the rest. There is no barrier I cannot break down +between him and me. He is mine--dear God, you _know_ 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 bore his son_." 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----" + +And he came, through the open gate, up the broad pathway, straight to +her. + +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. + +"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. + +He put an arm through hers and they walked together in the gracious +dimness. + +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 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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Darling, my heart, good-bye--for a little while," he said; "and +then--_never_ good-bye again. The next time we kiss, you must be my +wife." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +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 +_one_ he knew there must yet be a scene, most painful and bitter, which +could not be shirked; the thought of it, _when_ 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. + +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. + +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 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." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _their_ 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. + +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: + +"My office! Come and pow-wow!" + +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 trend of the market was always worth +hearing, and usually as nearly right as possible. + +"Shall I sell or hold?" demanded Carson, when his affairs had been laid +upon the board and swiftly scanned. + +"Hold?" screamed Rosser. "Everything is going to the devil. Do you think +I take any stock in this good news? Why--_the country is rotten_. 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 _anything_--up to ninety days. +Destruction comes after." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well?" + +"Damned if I don't do it, Charlie. You can sell calls on everything I've +got, this morning--here's the list, and in the afternoon you can sell +everything I haven't got on 'fixed delivery,' or 'to arrive.'" + +"Good, man!" cried Rosser. + +"And what about my block of South Rands?" + +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. +_Now_ rumour went, the Big House wanted them. + +"What will you take for them?" asked Rosser, grinning. "Cost?" + +"No!" said Carson violently, "nor double, nor quadruple. I'll do or die +by those damned things." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"At the Club," said Carson briefly. "One sharp. My table is third on the +left as you go in ... don't be late." + +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 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. + +Punctually at one Rosser arrived at the Rand Club. Carson was deep in an +_indaba_ 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. + +"I've sold everything on time!" he said. "Committed you--roughly--to ten +thousand pounds of sales ... sixty days ... buyer's options." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, if you'll make up your mind to stick to it for three months +you'll make ten thousand pounds at least." + +"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." + +"Right!" cried Rosser gaily, and with a heart at peace proceeded to +acknowledge his friends at various tables, while Carson turned up the +wine-list. They had been eating and drinking steadily through lunch. + +"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: + +"I wonder how long it will last!" + +"What, the market?" Once more the teeth of Carson's soul chattered. + +"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." + +"Let's hear the proposition," said Carson, beginning to take a more +cheerful view of life through his smoke rings. + +"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 +_must_ be found dipping through them, and the Big House _must_ 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Good, man!" cried Rosser. "I must scoot. I've two appointments before +'Change this afternoon--so long!" + +Carson was left to his own many and various devices. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +At the end of the first month Carson's bear account closed with a +handsome profit to himself of twelve thousand pounds. + +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 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. + +"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 _can_ +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. + +Suddenly he grew horribly lonely; the days dragged and the nights +brought memories that set him in bodily torment. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +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. + +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. + +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 _menu_ 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. + +The moment breakfast was over Clem had flown to prepare the drawing-room +for a committee-meeting of ladies interested in the fate of fifty +able-bodied domestics arriving by the following week's mail-boat. + +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 _now_ 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. + +Cinthie was six now, and growing tall. Her brown holland overall was a +mere frill about her neck, and looked anaemic 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 _mis bolitje_. 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. + +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. + +"What are you going to do with that dough, Cinthie?" she asked. + +"Make pudding." + +"Who for?" + +"For my chil'ren." She dipped her fingers into a doll's 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. + +"Are these all the children you've got?" + +"No; _Minnie-Haha_ and _Danny Deever's_ inside. They been naughty. +They's in bed." + +"What on earth did they do?" + +"Wouldn't say they prairses last night." + +"Oh, how naughty!" + +"Yes; I don't love them when they don't say prairses for their daddy." + +"Their daddy?" + +"Yes; he lives in England. He has been living in England for twenty +years. They have never seen him." + +"Goodness!" + +"Yes; it's very sad." She wagged her head dolefully. + +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. + +"I wish I could make puddings like you," said Poppy, lying on her elbow +and eating her orange. + +"I can make nicer ones'n this," said Cinthie boastfully. "I can make +Best-pudding-of-all." + +"Oh, do tell me, Cinthie, so when I have nine children I can make it for +them too." + +Cinthie looked at her dreamfully. + +"Perhaps you won't have any children," she said. "Perhaps you'll be a +widow." + +"Oh, Cinthie, don't be unkind--of course, I shall have some! Go on now, +tell me about the pudding." + +Cinthie rubbed her nose and reflected for a long time. At last, +solemnly, with a long think between each sentence, she delivered the +recipe. + +"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. + +"Yes?" + +"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. + +"Well, I shall just make a pudding like that," said Poppy determinedly. + +The gentle slurring of a silk petticoat was heard on the dry grass, and +Mrs. Capron joined them, smiling mischievously. + +"The committee meeting is over," she said, "and Clem has gone to see +Lady Mostyn off on _The Scot_ 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." + +"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. + +"Fleet of foot, but, alas! that one should have to say 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. + +"Her feet are scarcely formed yet," said the latter; "and Clem has +perhaps let her wear sandals too long." + +Mrs. Capron withdrew her fascinated eyes from the ring and shook her +head sadly. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Mr. Abinger is a better judge of deviltries than of good women," said +Poppy drily. + +"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. + +"Are you accusing Clem of being a rip?" + +"Of course not, though Bill is so charming he must have been one some +time, don't you think?" + +"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. + +"You are a very loyal friend, Miss Chard; and I hope you don't think +that I am _not_, just because I find it intensely 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _pounded in the mortar_." + +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. + +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. + +"What I am terribly afraid is that her suffering is not over, but only +beginning." + +Poppy stared at her startled, and saw that the beautiful brown eyes were +filled with tears. + +"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. + +"_Once_ I have seen her in the ashes of misery and despair. I would +rather die than witness it again." + +Poppy sat up and rested her hand on those of the trembling, troubled +woman before her. + +"Don't," she said soothingly; "don't fret--Clem is brave and strong +enough to fight every imaginable trouble in the world; and _don't_ say +anything more; I'm sure she would not wish it." + +"But I _must_ ... I must tell you.... She is going to suffer +again--_terribly_ ... and I want to save her if I can, and I want you to +save her." + +"Me!" faltered Poppy, listening in spite of herself. "What can I do?" + +Mary Capron's tears were falling thick and fast now. + +"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." + +"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 ... _Clem!_" Afterwards she said burningly: "If it _could_ be true, +how could you sit there and betray her?" + +Mary Capron's eyes flamed at her through the tears. + +"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_ could do it, I would. Let me tell +you, Rosalind Chard, that there is _nothing_ 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 _condemnation_ 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...." + +But Poppy could only whisper to herself: "Clem! Is there _any man in the +world_ 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 _any man_ ... 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. +_She knew what she was going to hear._ + +What came dully to her ears was something she had long known--long, +long. + +"--And when he went away to Borapota she was like a woman mad with +grief ... I thought she would have died.... She besought me, _besought_ +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 was for her.... Nick would tell +you ... he too knows ... it was always _Loraine_...." + +"Ah!" The girl under the tree gave a cry and covered her smitten eyes +with her hands. + +"Always it was _Loraine_. 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 ... _he_ used it though ... he ... _he loved her_... 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 _Clem_ ... 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 _her_ sake ... I +love her ... do _you_ love her ... enough to spare her?" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _siesta_), 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. + +"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!" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +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. + +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 _menu_, 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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Very well, Sarah--give cook as much help as you can this evening." + +"Oh, _yes_, m'm." + +The maid went her ways, and Mrs. Portal to her room. + +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. + +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: + +"Come in," and opening the door she softly entered. + +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. + +"Oh, Clem!... I beg your pardon," she stammered. "I was so certain I +heard you say 'Come in' ... I ... Oh, you _know_ 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 to misery! And +now she saw the tragic eyes that looked at her--and she knew what it all +meant! _This_ was the first moment in the whole long day Clem had had to +herself ... and she ... _she_ must needs intrude on the secret grief of +the woman she loved _and had robbed_! 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: + +"It doesn't matter ... I don't mind _you_ ... I have had some bad news. +But don't ask me about it, dear. I can't speak of it--_even with you_!" + +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. + +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 a delightful fling and +dancing their heels off at the coming ball. + +"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." + +"_Everybody_ 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 _now_ I shall be able to dance with him +uninterruptedly all night." + +"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." + +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. + +Poppy found herself upon the arm of Luce Abinger. + +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. + +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. + +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 _polonaises_ and polkas of her vanished youth. + +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. + +"You look ill, Luce," she said kindly. + +"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, +_who_--but you know very well who it is, and what, that I want." + +She drew back from the look in his eyes. His tone changed instantly; he +looked and spoke idly. + +"Well--my offer holds good at any time." + +"Your offer?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +He thought of all the furious rage and contempt he had expended on +himself within the last few weeks while he 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---- + +And she had never read the letter! All was as before! + +She did not know, and there was still a fighting chance that, wearied +out with the strife and siege, she would turn and surrender. + +Then he would say: + +"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." + +Thinking of these things, what could he do but look at her and softly +laugh? + +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. + + "What need to strive, with a life awry?" + +Life was awry with everyone it seemed! What did it matter what Luce +Abinger had to say? + +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. + +"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. + +"When are you coming back to your home and your husband, Poppy?" + +Indoors, the card-party had broken up. The travellers 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. + + "_Come back to me. You have never been out of my heart for a moment + since first I loved you.--Loraine._" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +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. + +"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 more subtly +insistent. Carson spun out of the Club into a cab and in fifteen minutes +was in his broker's office. + +"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." + +"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 _that_ all right? _Now_ +will you be good!" + +An hour later Carson regained his cab and was driven to his rooms. A +portmanteau at _Vetta's_ 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. _Vetta_, 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. + +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 A.M., 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 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. + +Presently, at Newcastle, came the faithful _Vetta_ 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 +_Vetta_, 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. + +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, even as in +Wiertzs's picture Napoleon is menaced by the arms of women. + +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. + +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, _not hers_, would break in +upon him, crying: + +"Evelyn, I love you. For your sake men may brand me--swear you will +never forsake me for another woman!" + +Did he ever swear? Was that his voice he seemed to hear?--tender, +fervent--swearing by her face, by his life, by---- + +"Oh, Lord God! what a blackguard!" he groaned aloud. + +But his heart held steadfast to his plan. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +At last Carson was enlightened. He was, in fact, in the pleasant company +of Miss Sophie Cornell. + +"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 +she should have spoiled its effectiveness by wearing a pair of yellow +_suede_ evening shoes. + +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. + +"I am in an _awfully_ 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 _awfully_ annoyed with me for leaving +_literary_ work, but really it was _so_ dull--and, of course, it's a +great mistake to think one can't stay _a lady_, whatever one does; don't +you think so, Sir Evelyn, eh?" + +"Certainly!" he gravely agreed. + +"I am treated as _quite_ 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 _frot_[6], 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." + + [6] Rotten. + +"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." + +"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 _me_, Sir Evelyn, I assure +you. There's not a single fellow in Africa can say a _thing_ about me." + +This was very impressive, but Carson did not exactly know what it might +mean. He only knew that he was growing a little weary. + +"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 +_slang_.[7] Yet I can assure _you_, Sir Evelyn, that when I was on the +Durban Race-course three weeks ago, with two _perfect gentlemen_ from +the Rand, she sat quite close to me in a carriage with that Mrs. Portal, +and though I smiled and bowed to her _twice_, she deliberately looked +right through me.... I might have been a bit of rubbish lying in the +street...." + + [7] Snake. + +Something in this narrative dimly, though unpleasantly, interested +Carson. He forgot his weariness for the moment and looked at the woman +intently. + +"Yes ... what do you think of that? Deliberately _cut_ 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 _she_ 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 _that_? 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. + +"Do you mind telling me whom you are talking about?" said Carson +quietly. + +"Certainly--I'm delighted to. It is only fair that everybody should know +what a _slang_ that girl is, to cut _me_ 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----" + +Carson's tanned skin had turned an ashy-yellow shade, which was neither +becoming nor artistic. + +"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. + +"Och! don't you _woman_ me!" she cried, bridling. "So _you're_ 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 _his_ house she came that night I +took her in! My _boy_ 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." + +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. + +"And she pretending to be such a saint all the time," she repeated. "A +saint in the company of Luce Abinger!" she laughed coarsely. + +Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering--as well as fury, +and surprise, and misery, and four neat brandies become suddenly potent +would let him. + +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! _no!_ Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she could +not, he would kill her ... he would take her by that long, fair +throat---- + +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. + +His voice was almost gentle. + +"It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your" (he paused) +"_inducements_--to understand that Miss Chard's reasons for----" + +"No," she sneered, hissing like a cobra. "No--of course not--a _saint_ +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." + +That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, going on +deliberately: + +"--For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to your reasons--or shall +we say inducements?" + +She hated him with her eyes. + +"You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but there _are_ 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." + +He smiled and added: + +"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----" + +Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Oh! go to hell!" she screamed. Carson bowed, and with that insolent +smile still lingering on his lips, gave his attention to his letters. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!" + +"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 _boys_ to see that Carson got it as soon +as he arrived; then jumping into his carriage, he set off for the +Portals' house. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some +use. When do you expect him back?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him. + +"No, coming back to-night--should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting +into his carriage. + +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. + +"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He +looked at her in surprise. + +"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!" + +"No--oh no ... not at all ... only I thought--" She regained her +composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies. + +"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. + +"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----" + +"Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a quartette easily, but if +you want more room for your skirts, I'll sit up aloft." + +"Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit up aloft too." + +They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance or two from her +now. + +"I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he ventured. + +"Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like." + +"_What?_" + +"Yes, really--and whichever others you like." Bramham seized her card +blithely. + +"Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger and Carson----" + +"But ... _he_ ... 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. + +"No ... not yet. But he _might_ run in, mightn't he? You're not thinking +of going back on me, are you?" + +"Of course not!" She turned away. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _all_ shine ... I +never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... Come along, good +peoples." She pushed the 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. + +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. + +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. + +Other women came up and greeted them. + +"What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn off our backs when the +dancing begins ... don't you think it was a mistake to have the ball so +early?... so hot still!" + +Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women say to the other in a +low voice: + +"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 _something_ wrong!" + +"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. + +"That depends on who told you." + +"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. + +"How did you get here, Mary?" + +"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is my +_Machinka_ gown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?" + +"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." + +When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow: + +"Don't forget _me_." 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. + +"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left." + +"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. + +"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. + +"Will you please be where I can see you--and reach you _instantly_ ... +if I should want you?" + +A slight, bitter smile came to his lips. + +"Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good place, I should say." + +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: + +"Do you want me--_Luce_?" + +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. + +"Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath. + +"Well--to-night--I think I may come--_home_," she faltered; then without +another word or look she turned away, and took Bramham's arm for the +first waltz. + +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 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: + +"Poppy ... _to-night_?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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!" + +Carson stared at him with a stunned air. + +"Capron!" he stammered. + +"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." + +"Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. "I have +business of my own." + +"You've _got_ 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 +haemorrhage. Come on, now. He won't keep you long; he's booked!" + +Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got into the rickshaw +and went off together. + +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 _boy_ and told him to hurry. + + * * * * * + +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: + +"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 +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." + +"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the +momentary excitement. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the +dining-room they sat down and Bramham 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. + +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. + +Abinger smiled sourly at him. + +"Whose trail are _you_ on, Bram?" + +"There's something odd in the air--some unusual scent," was the answer. + +"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham +ventured near her, sniffing still. + +"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy +scent." + +"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in +the _boys_ again and questioned them in Zulu. + +"No--no one had been," they said, "excepting only _Intandugaza_, who had +remained but a little while and gone away very angry." + +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 +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. + +"_Rest, rest, rest--peace--rest_," it whispered and sang. + +Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking +about the room. + +"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new +statement. "Can't you, Abinger?" + +"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you." + +Poppy poured him out another cup. + +"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile. + +"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. + +Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering +sea: + +"_Rest, rest--peace, rest._" + +"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily. + +"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger. + +"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!" + +They returned to the dining-room. + +"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?" + +"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to +Mr. Abinger." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +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. + +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. + +"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? _She_ ought to be here to speed +the parting guest ... Mary--a damned iceberg ... but I'd like some +ice.... Give me some ice, Karri----" + +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. + +"--And an infernal long time she is about it," said Ferrand. "What do +_you_ think, Karri?" + +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. + +"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. + +Ferrand cocked a professional eye at him. + +"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 _must_ 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 _peleela_ ... take my cart." + +Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by Portal through the +silent rooms of the Club to the front verandah. + +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. + +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. + +"Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be dead!" + +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 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. + +"What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. Anything wrong? ... +besides Capron, I mean...?" + +The other responded with apparent composure. + +"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----" + +"When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He was unable to make head +or tail of Portal's speech. + +"Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a fascinating chap." + +Carson gazed at him. + +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. + +"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 heard a row ... +and there was Capron ... _he'd got ahead of me_." + +"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. + +"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 _my_ castle is in ruins.... You can have +it if it's any good to you." + +"Thanks, Carson--my finances are all right." + +"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 +_two_ until to-night. _Now_, 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. + +"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. + +"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 _that_ your trouble?" + +Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on him austerely and +keenly. "If it's any other woman, don't expect _me_ to sympathise with +you--I could forgive any man that but you--bah! but it couldn't be ... +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 _you_ 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 _not_.... 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." + +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. + +"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 _you_ are one of those fellows that +don't know when a star has come down to you, why----" + +Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other man. + +"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 say +strange things in the name of Love!... But I _know_ that what you say is +true--I believe in you, Karri." + +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. + +"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. + +"Good-night, Karri--I'm going home, too." His face was transformed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"_Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!_" + + * * * * * + +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 was trickling down it. +The silence was broken by Bramham's voice--quite calm and pleasant. + +"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." + +Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly: + +"She can live--_if she wants to_"--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!" + +The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died +away. + +"Well! _you_ 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: + +"God! Karri, what is it?" + +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. + +"Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you love--less than +nothing." + +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? + +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 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. + +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-_coiffe_ 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. + +"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?" + +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--_his_ 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. + +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: + +"So you lied! ... false woman! ... and _base friend_!" + +But Mary Capron turned from her. Shaking with rage and defeat, she flung +a torrent of low, rushing words at Carson. + +"_You_ love this girl ... girl! ... her confessions to Luce Abinger here +to-night were not very girlish ... I 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 _only_ to +that man and could never love any other----" + +"No more," broke fiercely from Carson's white lips. + +"But you _shall_ hear!" she cried, flinging out a hand and catching his +arm. "_She has had a child_ ... she boasted of it ... _the child of the +man in the garden_.... 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. + +"There ... there ... you see?... let her deny it if she can!" + +Stiffly Carson turned his head now and looked at Poppy; his lips twisted +like a man's who is tasting poison; his eyes demanded. + +"Yes, I have borne a son," she said simply. + +For a moment there was such a silence as is found in rooms where the +dead are lying. Then Mary Capron broke it again: + +"She is proud of it!... You _see_ ... you see what you love? Is it +possible that for a woman like _that_ ... that for _her_ you can turn +from my love, I who would let men brand me in the face for you--who----" + +"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. + +"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 _our_ 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. + +"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?" + +She went at that, with hurrying feet; and the man with the bleeding, +smiling face followed her. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Is it true?" he muttered; "is it true, after all?--_a child!_" His own +sins were forgotten in this overwhelming, bitter revelation. + +She went over to him, and kneeled between his knees. + +"Yes; it is true, Eve ... _your_ child! ... child of the night you +dreamed that poppies grew upon the eternal hills.... _I am Poppy!_ Do +you not know me?" He sat up straight then and looked down at her, looked +down 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." + +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! + +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. + +"Poppy? ... _Poppy!_ ... _not_ a dream?... _Not_ the ravings of +fever?... Poppy!" He held her hair across his face as though smelling +some wonderful flower. + +"Eve ... did you not say to me, '_If I were stricken blind in this +hour_--'" she stopped. + +"'--_from ten thousand women I could search you out by the scent of your +hair_,'" he finished. + +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. + +"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: + +"Poppy--where is my son?" + +She lifted her eyes to him. The tears which she could never shed for +herself would always come rushing forth for that sweet memory. + +"All my love could not keep him, Eve." + +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. + +"Do you regret?" he asked. "Have you ever regretted? Oh, God! how can I +ask?" + +"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! + +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. + +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. + +"O, Lord God--forgive me my sins!" + + * * * * * + +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. She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he +held it closely, preciously--for he, too, loved this woman. + +"Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes one good thing!" he +said. "_Your_ 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." + +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. + +"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: + +"Forgive!--_Loraine!_" + +She was that lovely thing, a close woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +The quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of the +_Tunis_. 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. + +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, _Eve Destiny_; and his wife was +accompanying him to Borapota on the _Tunis_. + +Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been invited _en +masse_ 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 _denouement_. 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 _Tunis_ before the hour of sailing. The +rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and +blackening the Breakwater. + +Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and +scrunching of chains began to be heard, and word was given for people +to leave the _Tunis_. 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. + +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 _that_ imagination +could no further go. + +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! + +"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. + +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 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. + +"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--_can it be +true_?" + +"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we +part I must tell you something ... about my name--_Loraine_. Bill wants +me to tell you ... and he says _you will know why_. 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 _you know_--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 _Loraine_ 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----" + +Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly. + +"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: + +"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 _everything_." +She turned white and began to tremble. "How _fearful_ one is! I have +been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared show +_him_ 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: + +"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" Bramham bustled up. + +"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!" + +She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes. + +"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 _live_." + +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. + +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. + + "'The Lord is debonair, + Let sinners not despair,'" + +said he, and they smiled into each other's eyes. + +And so their ship swept out to sea. + + * * * * * + +Ashore, one or two acrid things were said. In a little detached group, +of which Mrs. Gruyere, Mrs. Lace, and Cora de Grey were the central +figures, Brookfield thought it interesting to say: + +"There's a rumour that she's as wicked as her books--if so, Carson is +not to be envied." + +Cora de Grey, who was sometimes also called _Cobra_ de Grey, bit into +him swiftly: + +"If she's wicked, she's clever beyond the cleverness of any woman, for +none of her men friends have ever given her away." + +"Her _men_ friends--that's a new story!" retorted the surprised +Brookfield. + +"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," said Cora, with her +Karoo smile. "When a woman is _really_ wicked, some renegade will always +tell his dearest friend, or his wife, and then--short shrift for _her_." + +Brookfield retired. + +Mrs. Gruyere said: + +"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. And I _know_ Charles +Bramham was in love with _her_. What will he do now, I wonder?" + +Mrs. Gruyere's voice was so penetrating that it often reached the ears +of her victims. Bramham, coming up, answered her cheerfully. + +"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 _she_ can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks +full of French gowns." + +This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyere, who only feared two things on +earth--French gowns and the malicious pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she +preserved a brave front. + +"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to wear with them," was +her last barb. + + * * * * * + +Driving home, Clem said to her husband: + +"Will they be happy, think you, Billy-Bill?" And he, with the deep +wisdom vouchsafed only to true lovers, answered her: + +"Happy? Of course not! But they will count unhappiness with each other +the best that Life can give." + + +FINIS. + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + +p. 22 corrected doubled "she" + +p. 68 "unwittingy" changed to "unwittingly" + +p. 72 "eared" changed to "cared" + +p. 110 "relasped" changed to "relapsed" + +p. 146 "widow" changed to "window" + +p. 178 "quater" changed to "quarter" + +p. 183 "champange" changed to "champagne" + +P. 272 "aways" changed to "always" + +p. 356 "whatver" changed to "whatever" + +p. 361 "knowlege" changed to "knowledge" + +p. 377 "found" changed to "round" + +p. 449 "love each very much" changed to "love each other very much" + +Minor punctuation corrections left unnoted. + +Words with multiple spellings left as in original. + +Italics indicated with underscores _like this_. + +Small caps and bold indicated with upper case _LIKE THIS_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poppy, by Cynthia Stockley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPPY *** + +***** This file should be named 36138.txt or 36138.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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