Part 8

"There have been times," said Ronnie when they had found chairs and drawn them to the shadow of a big elm, "when I felt that I could write no more unless I saw you for a moment. But I set my teeth and worked. I pretend sometimes that you are sitting on the other side of the table and I look up and talk to you."

"You are like Christina," said the delighted girl, "she makes up things like that. Would you have liked to see me really walk into the room and sit down opposite to you?"

He held her more tightly. "Nine-tenths of my troubles would vanish," he said fervently, "and I could work--by heaven, how I should work if I had the inspiration of your company! I wish you weren't such a dear little puritan. I'm half inclined to engage a housekeeper if only to chaperon you."

He waited for a rejoinder, but it did not come.

"You have such queer ideas about how people should behave," he said. "In fact you are awfully old-fashioned, darling."

"Am I--I suppose I am."

"Why, the modern girl goes everywhere, bachelor parties and dances--chaperons are about as much out of date as the dodo."

"What is a dodo?"

"A bird--a sort of duck."

She gurgled with laughter. "You funny boy--"

"You know Sault, don't you? Isn't he a great friend of yours?"

She struggled up out of his arms. "Friend! Of course not. He is a great friend of Christina's but not of mine. He is so old and funny-looking. He has gray hair and he is quite dark--when I say dark, I mean he is not a negro, but--well, dark."

"I understand. Not a friend of yours?"

"Of course not. There are times when I can't stand him! He doesn't read or write, did you know that? Of course you do--and he has been in prison, you told me that, too. If mother knew she would have a fit. Why do you talk about him, Ronnie?"

"I've no special reason, only--"

"Only what, has he been talking about me?"

"Not to me, of course--he told a friend of mine that he didn't like you to know me. It was a surprise to me that he was aware we were friends. Did you tell him?"

"Me--I? Of course not. I never heard of such nerve! How dare he!"

"S-sh--don't get angry, darling. I'm sure he meant well. You have to do something for me, Evie dear."

"Talking about me--!"

"What is the use?" He bent his head and kissed her. "It will be easy for you to say that you've only met me once or twice--and that you are not seeing me any more."

"But you--you _will_ see me, Ronnie?"

"Surely. You don't suppose that anything in the world will ever come between us, do you? Not fifty Saults."

"It is Christina!" she said. "How mean of her to discuss me with Sault! And I've done so much for her; brought her books from the store and given her little things--I do think it is deceitful of her."

"Will you do as I ask?"

"Of course, Ronnie darling. I'll tell her that I've given you up. But she is terribly sharp and I must be careful. I sleep in the same room, ours is a very small house. I used to have a room of my own until Sault came--the horrid old man. He is in love with Christina. It does seem ridiculous, doesn't it, a man like that? Christina says she isn't, but really--she is so deceitful."

"Will you tell her what I suggest?" he insisted.

"Yes--I'll tell her. As for Mr. Sault--"

"Leave me to deal with Mr. Sault," said Ronnie grandly.

Evie reached home, her little brain charged with conflicting emotions. Her relief at meeting the man again, the happiness that meeting had brought, her resentment at Sault's unwarranted interference, her hurt from Christina's supposed duplicity and breach of confidence, each contended for domination and each in turn triumphed.

"I have given up Ronnie and I am not going to meet him again," she said as she entered the room.

She was without finesse and Christina, instantly alert, was not impressed. "This is very sudden. What has happened?"

"I've given him up!" Evie slammed her hat down on a rickety dressing-table. She had no intention of letting the matter rest there. Her annoyance with Sault must be expressed.

"If a girl cannot have a friendship without her own sister and her sister's beastly friends making up all sorts of beastly stories about her and breaking their sacred word, too, by telling beastly people about their private affairs, then she'd better give up having friendships," she said a trifle incoherently.

"I want to sort that out," said Christina, frowning, "the only thing I'm perfectly sure about is that somebody is beastly. Do you mean that people have been talking about you and your--Ronnie?"

Evie glowered at her. "You know--you know!" she blurted tremulously. "You and Sault between you, trying to interfere in my--interfering in my affairs."

"Oh," said Christina, "is that all?"

"Is that all! Don't you think it enough, parting Ronnie and I? Breaking my heart, that is what you're doing!" she wailed. "I'll never speak to Sault again. The old murderer--that's what he is, a murderer! I'm going to tell mother and have him chucked out of the house. We're not safe. Some night he'll come along with a knife and cut our throats. A nigger murderer," she screamed. "He may be good enough to be your fancy man, but he's not good enough for me!"

"Open the window and tell the street all about it," suggested Christina. "You'll get an audience in no time. Go along! Open the window! They would love to hear. Every woman in this street screams her trouble sooner or later. The woman across the road was shouting 'murder' all last night. Be fashionable, Evie. Ronnie would love to know that you made a hit in Walter Street."

Evie was weeping now. "You're horrible and vulgar, and I wish I was dead! You've--you've parted Ronnie and I--you and Sault!"

"I don't think so," said Christina quietly, "my impression is that you are saying what Ronnie told you to say."

"I swear--" began Evie.

"Don't swear, Evie, screech. It is more convincing. Ronnie told you to say that you had given him up. What did Ambrose Sault do?"

"He went to a friend of Ronnie's with a lot of lies--about me and Ronnie. And you must have told him, Christina. It was mean, mean, mean of you!"

"He didn't want telling. He heard you the other night when you were having hysterics and yelling 'Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie!' at the top of your voice. You did everything except give Ronnie's address and telephone number. Apart from that I did tell him. I wanted to know the kind of man you're raving about. And your Ronnie is just dirt."

"Don't dare to say that--don't dare!"

"If mother didn't sleep like a dormouse she'd hear you--some people think they can make black white if they shout 'black' loudly enough. Ronald Morelle has a bad reputation with girls. I don't care if you foam at the mouth, Evie, I'm going to say it. He is a blackguard!"

"Sault told you! Sault told you!" Evie's voice had a shrill thin edge to it. "I know he did--a murderer--a nigger murderer, that is what he is. Not fit to live under the same roof as me--I shall tell Ronnie what he said--I'll tell him tomorrow, and then you'll see!"

"As you are permanently parted, I don't see how you will have an opportunity of telling him," said Christina. "I could have told him myself, today, I saw him."

"Saw him, how?" Evie was surprised into interest.

"With my eyes. Mr. Sault took me into Kensington Gardens and I saw him--he pointed him out to me."

Evie smiled contemptuously. "That is where you and your damned Sault were wrong," she said in triumph. "Ronnie has been working in his flat all the afternoon! He was writing an article for _The Statesman_!"

"He didn't seem to be working very hard when I saw him," said Christina unmoved, "unless he was dictating his article to Miss Merville. They were driving together. Mr. Sault said: 'There is Morelle'--"

"He should have said 'Mister'."

"And I saw him. He is good-looking; the best looking man I have ever seen."

"It wasn't Ronnie--I don't mean that Ronnie isn't good looking. He's lovely. But it couldn't have been him. Besides, he hates that Merville girl, at least he doesn't like her. You are only saying this to make me jealous. How was he dressed?"

"So far as I could see, he wore a long-tailed coat--he certainly had a top hat. Mr. Sault said that he thought he had been to Lady Somebody-or-other's garden party. Mr. Steppe was going, but couldn't get away."

"Now I know it wasn't Ronnie! He was wearing a blue suit--no, he hadn't changed his clothes. He told me he didn't dress until an hour before he met me. Sault is a--he must have been mistaken."

Before she went to bed she came over to say "good night."

"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Chris."

"My dear, if you lose nothing else, I shall be happy."

"I hate your insinuations, Christina! Some day you will find out what a splendid man Ronnie is--and then you'll be surprised."

"I shall," admitted Christina, and later, when Evie was dropping into sleep, "Who did Ambrose kill?"

"Eh--? I don't know. Somebody in Paris--" Another long silence.

"He must have been a terrible villain!"

"Who, Sault?"

"No, the man he killed," said Christina.

She lay awake for a long time. It was two o'clock when she heard his key in the lock. She raised her head, listening to the creaking of the stairs as he came up. He had to pass her room and she whispered: "Good night, Ambrose!"

"Good night, Christina."

She blew a kiss at the door.

V

Mr. Steppe, with a gardenia in his buttonhole, leaned out of the window of his car and waved his yellow glove in greeting and Beryl, who was just about to enter her own machine, stepped back upon the sidewalk and waited. She felt a little twinge of impatience, for she was on her way to the Horse Show and Ronald.

"Is the doctor in--good! He can wait--where are you off to, Beryl, huh? Looking perfectly lovely too. I often wonder what those old back-veld relations of mine would say if they ever saw a girl like you. Their women are just trek-oxen--mustn't say 'cows,' huh? Are you in a great hurry?"

"Not a great hurry," she smiled, "but I think father is expecting you."

"I know. But he'll not be worried if I'm late. Drive me somewhere. I want to talk."

She jumped at the opportunity of placing a time-limit on the conversation.

"Drive to Regents Park, round the inner circle and back to the house," she ordered, and Mr. Steppe handed her into the car.

"I want to have a little chat about your father," he said, greatly to her surprise. He had never before spoken more than two consecutive sentences in reference to Dr. Merville.

"What I tell you, Beryl, is in confidence," he said. "I'm not sure whether I ought to tell you at all, but you're a sensible girl, huh? No nonsense. That is how a woman should be. The doctor has lost a lot of money--you know that?"

"I didn't know," she answered in alarm, "but I thought father confined his investments to your companies?"

"Yes--so he has. He has taken up a lot of shares--against my advice. He is carrying--well I wouldn't like to tell you the figure. He bought them--against my advice. Most of my stock is only partly paid up. He is carrying nearly a million shares in one concern or another. That is all right. You can carry millions, always providing there is a market, and that you can sell at a profit, or else that there isn't any need to call up the remainder of the capital. That need has arisen in the case of two companies in which he is heavily involved. Now, Beryl, you are not to say a word about what I have told you."

"But--I don't quite follow what you have said. Does it mean that father will be called upon to pay large sums of money?" He nodded.

"Or else--?"

"There is no 'or else'," said Steppe. "The capital has to be called in, in justice to the shareholders and the doctor must pay. Somebody must pay. In fact, I am going to pay. That was the reason I was calling on him today."

"He has been very worried lately," said Beryl in a troubled tone. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Steppe. Is it a big sum?"

"It runs to hundreds of thousands," said Steppe. "Very few can lay their hands on that amount, huh? Jan Steppe! They know me in the city, hate me, would slaughter me, but they don't despise me. I can sign cheques for a million and they'd be honored."

"But father must make some arrangement to pay you, Mr. Steppe--" she began.

"That is nothing. The shares may rise in value--there is no telling what may happen with the market in an optimistic mood. But I thought I would let you know. Steppe isn't a bad fellow, huh?"

She heaved a long sigh. "No--you are kind, most kind. I wish father wouldn't touch the stock market. Temperamentally, he is unfitted for a gambler. He is so easily depressed. Can't you persuade him, Mr. Steppe?"

"If you say the word, I'll stop him," said Steppe. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, Beryl." She was silent.

"I'm grateful," she said, as the car was heading for the house. "I cannot put myself under any bigger obligation--father must do as he wishes. But if you could help him with advice--?"

It occurred to her then, that if he could, at a word, arrest the speculative tendencies of Dr. Merville, why had he contented himself with "advice" when her father had made his disastrous investments?

Saying good-bye to him at the door of the house, Beryl drove on to Olympia a disturbed and anxious girl. Steppe watched the car out of sight before he mounted the steps and rang the bell.

"You saw us, huh? Yes, I wanted to talk to Beryl and I knew that you wouldn't mind waiting. I've got to call up the unpaid capital of Brakpan Mines and Toledo Deeps."

The doctor moved uneasily. "Couldn't you wait a little while?" he asked nervously. "The shares are moving. They went up a fraction yesterday--which means that there are buyers."

"I was the buyer," said Steppe. "I took a feeler at the market. I bought five hundred--and I could have had five hundred thousand at the price. They were falling over one another to sell. No, I'm afraid I've got to make a call and you'll have to take up your shares, huh? Well, I'm going to let you have the money."

"That is good of you--"

"Not at all. I must keep your name sweet and clean, Merville. I am going to marry Beryl."

The doctor opened a silver box and took out a cigar with a shaking hand. "Beryl is a very dear girl," he said. "Have you spoken to her?"

"No, there is plenty of time. I don't want to scare her--let her get used to me, Merville, huh? That's that. You are crossing with me tonight, huh? Good, I hate the Havre route, but you can sleep on board and that saves time. Abrahams is coming from Vienna with the Bulgarian concession. I'm inclined to float it."

Ronnie was waiting in the main entrance when the girl arrived. In some respects he was a model escort. He never expected a woman to be punctual and had trained himself in the art of patient waiting.

"No, really, I haven't been here very long," he replied to her apology, "and you, of all women, are worth waiting for."

"You are a dear. I don't believe you, but still you are a dear. I'm so sick of life today, Ronnie--don't ask me why. Amuse me."

"How is the doctor?" he queried, as they were shown into their seats.

"He is going to Paris tonight with Mr. Steppe," she said. "I'm rather glad. Two or three days abroad will do him a lot of good. There aren't many people here this afternoon, Ronnie."

"Most of the swells are at Ascot," he explained, "the night seance is crowded. Gone to Paris, eh?" The news made him thoughtful.

She drove him back to the house to tea. Dr. Merville was out and was not returning to dinner. The maid said he had left a letter in his study. Beryl found it to be a note saying he was unlikely to see her before he went; his bag would be called for, he added.

"My hard-hearted parent has gone without saying good-bye," she said. "Take me out to dinner, Ronnie. After, I would like to see a revue. I feel un-intellectual today; I'm in the mood when I want to see people with red noses and baggy trousers. And I want to be in a box. I love boxes, since--"

Ronald Morelle walked home from Park Crescent stopping at a messenger office to scribble a note.

"It is at a drug store in Knightsbridge," he said. "I want the boy to give it to the young lady in the pay desk. Perhaps he had better make a purchase--a cake of soap, if that is the boy," he smiled upon the diminutive messenger, "and let him hand the letter to the lady when he puts in his bill."

He came to the flat to find François laying out his dress-clothes.

"Finish what you are doing and go home. I shall not want you this evening," he said. "Stay--have a bottle put on ice. You can lay the small table. You might have bought some flowers. I hate flowers, but--get some. You can throw them away tomorrow."

"Yes, m'sieur," said his imperturbable man, "for how many shall I lay supper?"

"For three," answered Ronnie.

It was a convention that he invariably entertained two guests, but François had never had to wash more than two used glasses.

VI

Beryl was still in the drawing-room and the tea table had not been cleared when Ambrose Sault came for the doctor's bag. She heard the sound of his voice in the hall and came to the head of the stairs.

"Is that you, Mr. Sault? Won't you come up for a moment?"

The doctor had telephoned to Moropulos, he explained, asking him to take the grip to his club. She gathered that it was usual for Ambrose to carry out these little commissions.

"How is Miss Colebrook?--has she forgiven me for acting the part of district visitor? She is a nice girl and her hair is such a wonderful color."

"The osteopath says she will get well," replied Ambrose simply, "and when I went in to see her this morning she told me she really thought that she felt better already. She has the heart of a lion, Miss Merville."

"She is certainly brave." Beryl knew she was a brute because she could not work up an enthusiastic interest in Christina Colebrook.

"It will be wonderful if she is cured." Sault's voice was hushed. "I daren't let myself think about it--in fact, I shall be more bitterly disappointed than she, if the treatment does not succeed."

"You are very fond of her?" She had been examining his face as he spoke, wondering what there was in him that she had seen at their first meeting which reminded her of Ronnie. There was not a vestige of likeness between them. This man's face, for all its strength, was coarse; the eyes were the only fine features it possessed. And the skin--there was a yellow-brown tinge in it. She remembered her father saying once that people who had negro blood in their veins betrayed their origin even though they were quite white, by a dark half-moon on their finger-nails. Whilst he was speaking, he moved his hands so that his nails were discernible. They were ugly nails, broad and ragged of edge--yes, there it was--a brown crescent showing against the deep pink.

"Yes, I'm fond of her. She is lovable. I haven't met anybody like Christina before."

Why was she annoyed? Perhaps "annoyed" hardly described her emotion. She was disappointed in him. Her attitude toward Sault was enigmatical--it was certainly capricious. She was a little nauseated and was glad when he went.

Sault carried the suitcase to the club and left it with a porter. He wished he had an excuse for calling every day at the house--the sight of her exalted him, raised him instantly to a higher plane.

He saw Evie walking home in front of him; she saw him, stopped and became interested in a shop window. She always avoided him in the street and would not dream of walking with him. In the kitchen, to which she followed him, she condescended to speak.

"You were looking very pleased with yourself when I saw you in High Street, Mr. Sault," she said.

"Was I--yes, I was feeling good. You're home early tonight, Evie."

Mrs. Colebrook had a washing day and was at her labors in the scullery, and Evie could flare up without reproof.

"I'm so glad you notice when I come in, and go out!" she said. "It is nice to know that all your movements are watched. I suppose I ought to ask your permission when I stay out late? We always like to please the lodger!"

He looked down into the pretty flushed face and smiled gently. "I believe you are trying to be cross with me, Evie," he said good-naturedly, "and I don't feel like being cross with anybody. My dear, it is no business of mine--"

"Don't call me 'my dear', if you please! You have a nerve to 'my dear' me! A man like you!"

Sault's knuckle touched his chin awkwardly. "I didn't mean to be offensive--"

"You _are_ offensive! You are the most beastly offensive person I know! You go prying and spying into my business and telling lies about gentlemen whose boots you're not fit to blacken."

"Hello, hello!" Mrs. Colebrook stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her soapy hands on her apron. "What's this, Evie? Telling lies about you? Mr. Sault would not tell a lie to save his life. What gentleman? He'd have to be a pretty good gentleman for Mr. Sault to blacken his boots."

Evie wilted before her mother's fiery gaze and, turning, slammed from the room.

"It is nothing, Mrs. Colebrook," smiled Ambrose. "I made her angry--something I said. It was my fault entirely. Now what about those blankets?"

"You're not going to wash any blankets," said Mrs. Colebrook, "and Evie has got to say she is sorry."

"I washed blankets before you were born, Mrs. Colebrook, or soon after, at any rate. I promised you I'd come home and help you."

He went with her to the little scullery with its copper and wash tub, she protesting.

"I didn't think you meant it," she said, "and I can't let you do it. You go into the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"Blankets," said Ambrose, rolling up his sleeves.

Evie burst into her room, red with anger. She hated Sault more than ever. She said so, flinging her hat wildly on the bed.

"Oh--was that you who was strafing?" asked Christina.

"I gave him a piece of my mind," said Evie with satisfaction.

"That was generous, considering the size of it." Christina bent outward and laid down the paper and stylograph she had been using.

"I couldn't have done that a few days ago," she said, "and what has poor Ambrose done?"

"He had the cheek to tell me I was home very early, as if he was the lord of the house!"

"Aren't you home early?"

"It is no business of his, the interfering old devil!"

Christina eyed her critically. "You came home in a bad temper," she said. "I suppose giving up Ronnie has got on your nerves."

"I haven't given him up!" Evie snapped, "only he's busy tonight."

Christina chewed a toffee ball reflectively. "That man is certainly industrious," she said. "They will have to bring out new papers to print all he writes. Does he find time to eat?"

Evie lifted her nose scornfully. "What did you say to my Ambrose?"

"I told you."

"You said that you gave him a piece of your mind--that doesn't mean anything to me. Did you call him a murderer?"

"Of course I didn't--I hope I'm a lady."

"I've often hoped so, and maybe one of these days my hopes will be realized. So you didn't call him a murderer? You lost a great opportunity. Don't be offensive to him again, Evie," she said quietly.

Evie did not reply. When Christina spoke in that tone of voice she was frightened of her.

"What is Ambrose doing now?"

"I don't know--in the kitchen, I suppose, guzzling food. And I'm starving! But I won't sit down at the same table as a black man, I won't!"

"Don't be a fool, Evie. Go down and get some food. You can bring it up here and eat it. And, Evie--Ambrose is a very dear friend of mine and I dislike hearing you call him a 'black man'. He is almost as white as you and I. His great grandfather was an Indian."