A Son of the Sahara Part 52

From a box on a table near she took a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Then she struck a match and held it towards him.

In a lazy, contented manner, he let her do it. But when the cigarette was lighted, he did not give her time to draw her hand away.

He caught her wrist, and drawing her hand a little closer, blew out the match. When this was done, he did not let her hand go. Instead, he took one or two puffs at the cigarette, all the time watching her closely.

"I didn't give you my hand 'for keeps,'" she said. "I want it back again, please."

It was hint enough for any man, but Le Breton did not take it.

In a deliberate manner, and with her still a prisoner, he got to his feet, and put the cigarette on the table.

Pansy did not try to free herself. The situation had to be faced.

When the cigarette was laid down, he took the other delicate wrist into his keeping. Then he drew the girl right up to him, until her hands were resting on his chest.

"Pansy, suppose I ask you to redeem your promise?" he said.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she answered, a trifle breathlessly.

"Why not? I'm exactly the same man now that I was when you promised to marry me. A much better man, if you only knew it. Thanks to meeting you."

"I didn't know anything about you then."

"But you knew you loved me."

"I do now, Raoul," she said.

"Does the fact of my Arab blood make marriage between us impossible?"

There was no reply.

In her silence Le Breton read his answer.

His hands tightened on her wrists, and a baulked look crossed his face.

So the black barrier was one that neither love nor grat.i.tude would make her cross willingly.

There were some bitter moments for him, as he realised this. For all his wealth and power, for all his scheming, despite the fact that Pansy confessed to loving him, she refused to be his wife. It seemed that nothing he could do would bring her into his arms in the willing way he wanted.

Pansy was the first to speak.

In that crus.h.i.+ng grip on her wrists, she read an agony of pain and disappointment, that her one desire now was to soothe.

"It's not you, Raoul. It's the idea," she said in a low voice.

"So the idea of marrying me is repugnant. And yet you love me?"

She nodded.

Loosing her wrists he turned to the table, and took another cigarette.

This, however, he lighted for himself.

Pansy watched him, marvelling at the cool way he had taken her refusal.

Considering the fire and temper in the man and his air of never having been thwarted in any way, it was hardly what she had expected. She put it down to the fact that she was completely at his mercy, alone and helpless in this barbaric city. Her heart ached at the thought that through no fault of his own she could only give him pain in return for all his kindness.

Going to his side, she laid a slim hand on his sleeve.

"Raoul, I hope you know you're awful nice about things," she said.

He glanced at her. At the beautiful eyes raised to his with infinite gentleness in their velvety depths.

And he laughed.

"Am I?" he said.

Then he laughed again. And his mirth was a mingling of bitterness and savagery.

CHAPTER XVIII

Pansy saw nothing of her host until the following afternoon. Almost immediately after his declaration Le Breton left her. Most of his time had been spent in contemplating the truth now before him. His scheming had failed. A sense of grat.i.tude had not made the girl forget his colour.

After a sleepless night, he was up and away, riding madly along one of the sandy tracks that served his kingdom as roads, in a vain endeavour to escape from his chagrin and disappointment, and trying to decide on his next move.

He was surprised at his own hesitation. Having failed to attain his object, he was astonished that he should pause before doing what was obviously the only course left open to him. Just take the girl, whether she liked it or not.

But he knew why he hesitated.

Pansy loved him in her own way, as she might love a man of her own nationality. If he took her in his high-handed fas.h.i.+on, that love might be swept from him. And the idea was one that he could not bear to contemplate.

He returned from his wild ride still undecided on the next move.

In this frame of mind he came upon Pansy, in the midst of a solitary afternoon tea, set in a shady corner of the tennis court.

She greeted him as if the episode of the previous afternoon had never been.

"What have you been doing with yourself all day?" she asked, as she handed him a cup of tea.

"I've been trying to ride off my disappointment," he replied.

Pansy, too, had been fighting a battle of her own. Most of her night had been spent in arguing with temptation.

She was rich and independent. Why shouldn't she marry the man she loved, even if it were going against all the canons of her society?

She was wealthy enough to defy society. She owed more than her life to him. Grat.i.tude as well as love urged her towards him. Why should she make him suffer through no fault of his own? Why should she suffer herself? Why should she shut herself up from the man she loved because he happened to be a--a----

"A n.i.g.g.e.r."