The Great Amulet Part 62

"Then it would be quite useless to go with you. But I'll ride down, if you like."

Lenox hesitated. He had seen the shadow of disappointment in his subaltern's eyes.

"N . . no," he said at length. "Better stop and play with d.i.c.k. When I come back I'll get you up into the trap, old man, and take you for a drive before dinner. Who's coming, Quita? Just the Desmonds and Courtenay?"

"Yes; and the Ollivers."

"I'm glad. She's good company."

"Which is more than I can say of _him_," Quita remarked, as the door closed behind her husband. "And he takes me in. Poor me! But you'll be on the other side; and you must be very kind to me to make up."

He smiled gravely upon her, without replying. She had established herself on a low stool fronting him; elbows on knees, hands framing her face, her fearless eyes searching his own.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked.

"The notion of a great buffer like me being 'kind' to _you_. It's you and Lenox who are a long sight too kind to me. You're spoiling me between you. Why didn't you go to the sports with him just now?"

"Because I didn't choose!" she answered sweetly. "And as for spoiling,--what else did we have you here for? The only thing I ask in return is that you will give up this nonsense about not letting me paint your portrait. Will you, please?"

He was silent a moment, tugging at his fair moustache, his eyes avoiding hers. Then:

"It wouldn't be worth all the work you'd put into it," he objected with an uneasy laugh.

"I'm the best judge of that. Inspiration's been dead in me for months; and now that you have set the spark ablaze, it's hardly fair or gracious to fling cold water on the poor thing. But of course if the sittings would bore you, now you can move about a bit----"

"Bore me? Mrs Lenox!" He looked straight at her now, emphatic denial in his gaze; and she nodded contentedly, knowing that her point was gained.

"That's a mercy," she said. "Put on your service kit to-morrow morning, and we'll start in earnest. I'm longing to begin. But in the meantime you are generously permitted to beat me at picquet!"

The dinner that evening was, as Quita explained, "Just a family affair," to celebrate Richardson's good progress, and drink success to the punitive expedition, which on that very day was filing through the Gomal Pa.s.s into Mahsud territory, to take toll, not only in men's lives, but 'in steer and gear and stack' for that day of treachery and black disaster, whose hidden motive still remained a mystery even to those most intimate with the tribes of the district.

Honor, who had not seen Lenox for nearly a week, was struck by a change in him, whose significance she understood too well. The lurking shadow in his eyes, the bitterness in his tone,--recalling 'bad days' last hot weather,--so troubled her that she found surface talk and laughter an effort, and felt grateful to Frank, who could always be counted upon for more than her share of both.

She rallied him on his gravity, in happy ignorance of the cause.

"Sure ye're just in low water, Captain Lenox," she declared with her big laugh, "because your dapper little screw guns have been left out of the show. You want to be hitting the scoundrels back with your own sh.e.l.ls, eh?"

To which Lenox replied in an undertone of savage conviction that puzzled Honor.

"You never made a straighter shot, Mrs Olliver. I'd give five years of my life to be taking the Battery through the Gomal to-day."

But if Lenox had little to say for himself, Quita was not in the same dilemma. In fact, it seemed to Desmond that she talked a little too daringly, a little too much; and for the first lime he found his appreciation tinged with criticism.

He had gathered from Lenox that she knew little or nothing of his hidden trouble; but it struck him that a wife of the right sort (Honor, for instance) would have guessed the truth by now. He knew how little Lenox appreciated the constant influx of men to tea and dinner; and one or two people--of the social vulture species--had already spoken to him of her friends.h.i.+p with Richardson in the tone of voice which made Desmond clench and pocket his fists, lest he should knock them down out of hand. He took advantage of his seat next the Gunner to mention, under cover of general conversation, his anxiety about Lenox's health; and managed also to take part in most of his talk with Quita throughout the meal.

She redoubled her friendliness to Richardson by way of flinging down her gage; whereupon Desmond with admirable _insouciance_ retired from the lists. Once or twice her eyes challenged his, half-puzzled, half-defiant. Her quick perception detected his critical att.i.tude, and in her present mood the undernote of antagonism acted as a spur rather than a check upon the dare-devil strain in her, which was responsible for her odd mingling of folly and heroic self-devotion.

Before the ladies left the table, the success and thoroughness of the expedition was proposed with cheers; followed by a second toast, drunk in silence, to the memory of the three men who had been alive in their midst less than a month ago: and later in the evening--when the Ollivers, Richardson, and Courtenay were absorbed in whist, and Honor had gone out with Lenox into the garden, where a late moon was rising--Desmond lured Quita to the piano at the far end of the room by asking her to sing.

At the close of the second song, he leaned his elbow on the top of the instrument, and stood so, searching her face with such discomposing directness that a burning wave of colour submerged her, and she dropped her eyes.

"I don't believe you ever criticised me till to-night, Major Desmond,"

she murmured, striking soft chords at random with her left hand.

"Not since I really came to know you," he answered in the same tone.

"You have never given me cause."

"Well--I don't like it."

"Few of us do. You prefer indiscriminate admiration?"

The flush deepened, but she looked up.

"I prefer your approval to your disapproval," she said, still moving her hand over the notes. "But I have always gone my own way; and I warn you that nothing rouses the devil in me like being scolded or dictated to."

"My dear Quita, I have no right nor wish to do either. I only want to ask you a question or two--if I may?"

"What about?"

"Your husband. He won't consult Courtenay; and I am getting anxious.

Would you mind telling me about how much sleep he has had this last week?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"As far as I know he hardly ever comes to bed at all."

"Quita, you are exaggerating!"

"I only mean, it's no use asking me for accurate information."

"But do you know that insomnia's a serious thing--especially for him?"

"Yes. I made a fuss when he first began working late. It's bad for him and a nuisance for me. But I have given that up now. He's as obstinate as I am about going his own way. It's almost the only quality we share in common."

"Don't you feel it might be worth trying again?"

"Possibly. If _you_ think I ought."

Desmond's eyes twinkled at the implied compliment.

"I do think it."

She sighed.

"Oh, well,--I don't promise, and we've had enough of the dismal subject for now. One never seems allowed to enjoy one's self in peace. D'you want more music, or--would you prefer whist?"

"I'm to cut in, and leave Richardson free. Is that it?"