Part 30 (1/2)

”I see,” Freddy said. ”Then I'm not to speak about it yet, am I? Just tell me what you want and I'll do it.”

”Not yet, Freddy--not while that odious woman is here, at any rate.”

”All right, I'll wait. Only I'd rather like to see her face when I congratulated Mike.”

”Ought you to congratulate Mike? I'm your sister--isn't it the other way on? Shouldn't you congratulate me?”

They were close to the door of the hut; Meg lingered.

”He's the luckiest man I know. I wish he had a sister just like you.

Of course he's to be congratulated! And now I must go and make myself beautiful.” His eyes smiled their brightest. ”I bet you I could cut Mike out with the fair Millicent if I set my mind to it.”

In the sunlight Freddy looked irresistible, with his violet eyes, shaded by his thick lashes, his crisp hair, as sunny and fair as a boy's. Meg knew that he was a much better-looking man than Mike--indeed, he would have been too good-looking if his figure had not been all that it was, if there had been the slightest touch of the feminine about him. There was not. Yet in spite of his good looks and astonis.h.i.+ng colouring, Meg was right in her consciousness that for women there was more magnetic attraction in Mike's mobile plainness, in his sensitive, irregular features. When the two men were talking together, the senses and eyes of women would be drawn to the plain man.

During lunch Millicent Mervill was very good. She was interested in hearing about the tomb and, Freddy thought, wonderfully intelligent upon the subject. She was, as he expressed it, as clever as a monkey.

What little knowledge she had she used to the utmost advantage, to its extreme limit. All her intellectual goods she displayed in her shop window. She had a telling way of saying, ”I am completely ignorant upon this or that subject,” suggestive of the fact that she really did know a great deal about many other things. She seldom ”gave herself away.”

Freddy came to the conclusion that she was so quick that it was quite impossible to discover what she really did or did not know or grasp, and, as he said to Mike afterwards, ”What she did not know, she will set about knowing when she gets home. That brain won't rest still under ignorance, or let Meg know what it doesn't know.”

The description of the fine effigy of the queen thrilled her; her appet.i.te for details was insatiable. There was plenty to talk about, so conversation did not flag and personal topics were avoided.

Freddy thought that she was nicer than she had ever been before and even prettier. He enjoyed his lunch; it certainly was a change to have a beautiful woman, who was not his sister, and who did her best to make herself attractive, lunching with them in their desert home. After his tremendous efforts of the last three or four days her presence was pleasing. Even the modern clothes and aggressively-manicured finger-nails gave him healthy sensations. His manhood enjoyed her super-femininity.

The little room palpitated with life, the antagonism of the two women was a thing he could feel. He felt it as surely as he had felt the hot air of the tomb. Freddy enjoyed looking at his sister; her combative mood vitalized her.

Her dark hair, so soft and abundant, looked tempting to touch, after the dragged and matted ”something” which clung to the skull of the mummy.

Nothing in the room was intrinsically worth a couple of s.h.i.+llings. The seat on which Michael was sitting had been made out of empty boxes; they had been converted into a very presentable armchair by the ingenuity of Mohammed Ali. Yet the atmosphere of the hut was human and domesticated, the two women sweet and fragrant.

And so it was not difficult for Freddy to respond to his fair guest's pleasant chatter. She made him laugh heartily more than once, and he was ready for a good laugh. He was braced by her quick wit and humorous way of looking at things.

Meg was doing her best to appear happy; she was really getting angrier and angrier every minute with the woman who was so thoroughly enjoying herself; angry because Freddy, like all other men, was being deceived by her, because he was obviously thinking her very excellent company--which she was. He was no doubt already wondering why she, Meg, hated her so whole-heartedly. Freddy had seldom mentioned Millicent to his sister; he had kept his own counsel. The Lamptons were silent men, whose appreciation of women like Millicent never led them astray in the choosing of their wives.

Michael had given Millicent his first vivid impressions of the tomb in a very ”Mik-ish” manner. He described Freddy, strikingly distinguishable in his white flannels, greedily picking up jewels and gold and bits of blue faience and stowing them away into boxes by the light of an electric torch.

”A tomb burglar if ever you saw one! I shall never forget the sight.”

”There's lots of work for you, Meg, to-night,” Freddy said. ”There's an awful lot of things to sort and clean--beautiful things.”

”How exciting!” Millicent said. ”Can you keep any of the small things?

They'd stick to my fingers, I feel sure.”

”No,” Freddy said. ”Not unless you are a thief. They aren't ours--I'm only entrusted with the finding of them.”

Millicent made a face of dissatisfaction, as she felt for something which she wore fastened to the long gold chain which was hanging from her neck.

”I wonder if you will p.r.o.nounce this genuine or a fake? Do you remember, Mike, our buying it?” She ran her fingers along the chain.

The genuine antique or fake was not on it; it was missing. She felt again. No; there was nothing on the chain.