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 s.m.u.ts 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. Cap.r.o.n seated on the low stone bal.u.s.trade 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. Cap.r.o.n's way instead.

Portal said that for two bra.s.s 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. Cap.r.o.n.

"_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 Cap.r.o.n'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. Cap.r.o.n at this moment to make an answer.

"Perhaps," she said pensively, "we were rivals for a king's affection in some past age----"

Mrs. Cap.r.o.n'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. Cap.r.o.n 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 pa.s.sed 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 compa.s.sionate 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."