With Edged Tools Part 56

"You need not tell me that," he interrupted gracefully. "On ne peut s'y tromper."

"And," she went on almost apologetically, "whatever my own feelings on the subject may be, I cannot abandon her now. The world expects much from Millicent Chyne. I have taught it to do so. It will expect more from Millicent--Meredith."

The old gentleman bowed in his formal way.

"And the world must not be disappointed," he suggested cynically.

"No," she answered, with an energetic little nod, "it must not. That is the way to manage the world. Give it what it expects; and just a little more to keep its attention fixed."

Sir John tapped with his gloved finger pensively on the k.n.o.b of his silver-mounted cane.

"And may I ask your ladys.h.i.+p," he inquired suavely, "what the world expects of me?"

He knew her well enough to know that she never made use of the method epigrammatic without good reason.

"A diamond crescent," she answered stoutly. "The fas.h.i.+on-papers must be able to write about the gift of the bridegroom's father."

"Ah--and they prefer a diamond crescent?"

"Yes," answered Lady Cantourne. "That always seems to satisfy them."

He bowed gravely and continued to watch the polo with that marvellously youthful interest which was his.

"Does the world expect anything else?" he asked presently.

"No, I think not," replied Lady Cantourne, with a bright little absent smile. "Not just now."

"Will you tell me if it does?"

He had risen; for there were other great ladies on the ground to whom he must pay his old-fas.h.i.+oned respects.

"Certainly," she answered, looking up at him.

"I should deem it a favour," he continued. "If the world does not get what it expects, I imagine it will begin to inquire why; and if it cannot find reasons it will make them."

In due course the diamond crescent arrived.

"It is rather nice of the old thing," was Millicent's comment. She held the jewel at various angles in various lights. There was no doubt that this was the handsomest present she had received--sent direct from the jeweller's shop with an uncompromising card inside the case. She never saw the irony of it; but Sir John had probably not expected that she would. He enjoyed it alone--as he enjoyed or endured most things.

Lady Cantourne examined it with some curiosity.

"I have never seen such beautiful diamonds," she said simply.

There were other presents to be opened and examined. For the invitations had not been sent out, and many were willing to pay handsomely for the privilege of being mentioned among the guests. It is, one finds, after the invitations have been issued that the presents begin to fall off.

But on this particular morning the other presents fell on barren ground.

Millicent only half heeded them. She could not lay the diamond crescent finally aside. Some people have the power of imparting a little piece of their individuality to their letters, and even to a commonplace gift. Sir John was beginning to have this power over Millicent. She was rapidly falling into a stupid habit of feeling uneasy whenever she thought of him. She was vaguely alarmed at his uncompromising adherence to the position he had a.s.sumed. She had never failed yet to work her will with men--young and old--by a pretty persistence, a steady flattery, a subtle pleading manner. But Sir John had met all her wiles with his adamantine smile. He would not openly declare himself an enemy--which she argued to herself would have been much nicer of him. He was merely a friend of her aunt's, and from that contemplative position he never stepped down. She could not quite make out what he was "driving at," as she herself put it. He never found fault, but she knew that his disapproval of her was the result of long and careful study. Perhaps in her heart--despite all her contradictory arguments--she knew that he was right.

"I wonder," she said half-aloud, taking up the crescent again, "why he sent it to me?"

Lady Cantourne, who was writing letters at a terrible rate, glanced sharply up. She was beginning to be aware of Millicent's unspoken fear of Sir John. Moreover, she was clever enough to connect it with her niece's daily increasing love for the man who was soon to be her husband.

"Well," she answered, "I should be rather surprised if he gave you nothing."

There was a little pause, only broken by the scratching of Lady Cantourne's quill pen.

"Auntie!" exclaimed the girl suddenly, "why does he hate me? You have known him all your life--you must know why he hates me so."

Lady Cantourne shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose," went on Millicent with singular heat, "that some one has been telling him things about me--horrid things--false things--that I am a flirt, or something like that; I am sure I'm not."

Lady Cantourne was addressing an envelope, and did not make any reply.

"Has he said anything to you, Aunt Caroline?" asked Millicent in an aggrieved voice.

Lady Cantourne laid aside her letter.

"No," she answered slowly, "but I suppose there are things which he does not understand."

"Things?"

Her ladys.h.i.+p looked up steadily.

"Guy Oscard, for instance," she said; "I don't quite understand Guy Oscard, Millicent."

The girl turned away impatiently. She was keenly alive to the advantage of turning her face away. For in her pocket she had at that moment a letter from Guy Oscard--the last relic of the old excitement which was so dear to her, and which she was already beginning to miss. Joseph had posted this letter in Msala nearly two months before. It had travelled down from the Simiacine Plateau with others, in a parcel beneath the mattress of Jack Meredith's litter. It was a letter written in good faith by an honest, devoted man to the woman whom he looked upon already as almost his wife--a letter which no man need have been ashamed of writing, but which a woman ought not to have read unless she intended to be the writer's wife.

Millicent had read this letter more than once. She liked it because it was evidently sincere. The man's heart could be heard beating in every line of it. Moreover, she had made inquiries that very morning at the Post Office about the African mail. She wanted the excitement of another letter like that.

"Oh, Guy Oscard!" she replied innocently to Lady Cantourne; "that was nothing."

Lady Cantourne kept silence, and presently she returned to her letters.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII. THE ACCURSED CAMP

Here--judge if h.e.l.l, with all its power to d.a.m.n, Can add one curse to the foul thing I am--

There are some places in the world where a curse seems to brood in the atmosphere. Msala was one of these. Perhaps these places are accursed by the deeds that have been done there. Who can tell?

Could the trees--the two gigantic palms that stood by the river's edge--could these have spoken, they might perhaps have told the tale of this little inland station in that country where, as the founder of the hamlet was in the habit of saying, no one knows what is going on.

All went well with the retreating column until they were almost in sight of Msala, when the flotilla was attacked by no less than three hippopotamuses. One canoe was sunk, and four others were so badly damaged that they could not be kept afloat with their proper complement of men. There was nothing for it but to establish a camp at Msala, and wait there until the builders had repaired the damaged canoes.

The walls of Durnovo's house were still standing, and here Guy Oscard established himself with as much comfort as circ.u.mstances allowed. He caused a temporary roof of palm-leaves to be laid on the charred beams, and within the princ.i.p.al room--the very room where the three organisers of the great Simiacine scheme had first laid their plans--he set up his simple camp furniture.