A Son of the Sahara Part 13

Crossing to the wash-stand, Le Breton picked up a gla.s.s. Pouring a small dose of brandy into it, he added the requisite water and brought it back to the girl.

Then he seated himself on the bedside, watching her as she drank it.

"What a nasty scar you have on your arm," he remarked, is if any flaw on such perfection annoyed him.

"I've worse scars here and here," she replied, touching her side and thigh; "and they don't look at all pretty. 'The Sultan' did them."

He started slightly.

"The Sultan! What Sultan?"

"A brown Sultan. A very nice Sultan, but we understand one another now."

Le Breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women.

"They're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey.

With an air of relief, Pansy held the empty gla.s.s towards him.

"Thank goodness that's finished. Now, with your permission, I'll go to sleep."

He took the gla.s.s, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside.

"You must tell me your name," he said.

"You'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. It's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays."

"Won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone.

Pansy shook her head.

"Then I must find a name for you," he said. "A flower name would suit you admirably. Let me see, what do you call the flower in English?"

He hesitated.

"Pansy," he finished, after a moment's thought.

"But why 'Pansy' specially?" she asked, smiling at him. "Why not Lily or Rose or May, since I'm to be given a stupid flower name?"

"There are pansies in your eyes, on your nightgown, on the appointments of your dressing-table, on your handkerchief here."

With a deeply bronzed hand he touched a sc.r.a.p of embroidered muslin that peeped out from beneath her pillow and which had a pansy worked on it in one corner.

Pansy laughed, amused at his perception.

"Now, I'm too tired to entertain you any longer," she said. "Good night, and thank you for bringing the brandy."

Le Breton was not accustomed to being dismissed when he was prepared to stay.'

"Are you really anxious to get rid of me?" he asked.

"Most anxious. I'm dying to go to sleep."

In a reluctant manner he got to his feet.

Stooping over the bed, he gave a caressing pat to the tired, small face.

"Good night, Pansy, little flower," he said softly. "I'll go if you really want me to, but I'm not in the habit of going unless _I_ want to."

"What an autocrat you sound! And please--don't forget my reputation.

I can't afford to lose it so early in life."

There was anxiety in the girl's voice, for all her light tone.

"Your reputation will be quite safe with me," he said.

He stood for a moment watching her, an amused expression lurking in his dark, fiery eyes. Then he turned and, switching off the light, went noiselessly from the room.

It was not until he had gone that Pansy recollected that he had touched her twice and she had not minded or reproved him, and usually she very strongly resented being touched by men. And it was not until Le Breton reached his villa that he remembered the girl had not even troubled to ask his name. In fact, once the trick had been played, her only desire had been to get him out of the room.

CHAPTER V

In one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel, Miss Grainger was lolling back in a comfortable wicker chair reading a newspaper.

The door opening made her look round.

A slim, boyish figure entered the room, clad in a well-cut white riding suit, the neatest of brown boots and leggings, and a white felt hat pulled well on to a mop of curls.

"You're late starting this morning, Pansy."

"I am. But--last night I saved a man's life."

"Saved a man's life! Really, my dear, what a way you have of springing surprises on one."

Teasingly Pansy glanced at her old governess.

"Miss Grainger, I must remind you that 'springing surprises' is slang."

Miss Grainger ignored the reprimand.

"But what man did you save, and how did you save him?" she asked in a slightly bewildered manner.

"I forgot to ask his name. I fished him out of the sea. He had cramps."

"But he might have dragged you under!" her companion said in a horrified voice. "I should have thought that last experience of yours with that awful horse would have taught you not to go diving headlong into danger."