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 att.i.tude 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 coa.r.s.ely.

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, G.o.d! _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 hoa.r.s.ely, "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 h.e.l.l!" 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 x.x.xIII

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 Cap.r.o.ns', to see what arrangements Mrs. Cap.r.o.n 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 Cap.r.o.n, 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. Cap.r.o.n 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.

Cap.r.o.n," 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. Cap.r.o.n 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.