"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 s.p.a.ce 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 _pet.i.te mechante_."

"_Pas!_" said Cinthie stoutly.

"You are. Go away, now, to the nursery. I'm very angry with you."

Cinthie retreated, bitterly rea.s.severating:

"_Pas! pas! Pas pet.i.te 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 l.u.s.t for being in the "redmost h.e.l.l 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 Inst.i.tute 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 Momba.s.sa 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 Cap.r.o.ns have sailed with him as far as Momba.s.sa, and Mrs. Cap.r.o.n 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. Cap.r.o.n 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. Cap.r.o.n 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 ..."