Part 7 (1/2)

The restraint which Ballantyne showed towards Thresk only served to inflame him against his wife.

”So that you may pull their gowns to pieces and unpick their characters,”

he said. ”Never mind, Stella! The time'll come when we shall settle down to domestic bliss at Camberley on twopence-halfpenny a year. That'll be jolly, won't it? Long walks over the heather and quiet evenings--alone with me. You must look forward to that, my dear.” His voice rose to a veritable menace as he sketched the future which awaited them and then sank again.

”How's London!” he growled, harping scornfully on the unfortunate phrase.

Ballantyne had had luck that night. He had chanced upon two of the ba.n.a.lities of ordinary talk which give an easy occasion for the bully.

Thresk's twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur provided the best opening.

Only Thresk was a guest--not that that in Ballantyne's present mood would have mattered a great deal, but he was a guest whom Ballantyne had it in his mind to use. All the more keenly therefore he pounced upon Stella.

But in pouncing he gave Thresk a glimpse into the real man that he was, a glimpse which the barrister was quick to appreciate.

”How's London? A lot of London we shall be able to afford! G.o.d! what a life there's in store for us! Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dinner, breakfast, lunch--all among the next-door neighbours.” And upon that he flung himself back in his chair and reached out his arms.

”Give me Rajputana!” he cried, and even through the thickness of his utterance his sincerity rang clear as a bell. ”You can stretch yourself here. The cities! Live in the cities and you can only wear yourself out hankering to do what you like. Here you can do it. Do you see that, Mr.

Thresk? You can do it.” And he thumped the table with his hand.

”I like getting away into camp for two months, three months at a time--on the plain, in the jungle, alone. That's the point--alone. You've got it all then. You're a king without a Press. No one to spy on you--no one to carry tales--no next-door neighbours. How's London?” and with a sneer he turned back to his wife. ”Oh, I know it doesn't suit Stella.

Stella's so sociable. Stella wants parties. Stella likes frocks. Stella loves to hang herself about with beads, don't you, my darling?”

But Ballantyne had overtried her to-night. Her face suddenly flushed and with a swift and violent gesture she tore at the necklace round her throat. The clasp broke, the beads fell with a clatter upon her plate, leaving her throat bare. For a moment Ballantyne stared at her, unable to believe his eyes. So many times he had made her the b.u.t.t of his savage humour and she had offered no reply. Now she actually dared him!

”Why did you do that?” he asked, pus.h.i.+ng his face close to hers. But he could not stare her down. She looked him in the face steadily. Even her lips did not tremble.

”You told me to wear them. I wore them. You jeer at me for wearing them.

I take them off.”

And as she sat there with her head erect Thresk knew why he had bidden her to wear them. There were bruises upon her throat--upon each side of her throat--the sort of bruises which would be made by the grip of a man's fingers. ”Good G.o.d!” he cried, and before he could speak another word Stella's moment of defiance pa.s.sed. She suddenly covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

Ballantyne pushed back his chair sulkily. Thresk sprang to his feet. But Stella held him off with a gesture of her hand.

”It's nothing,” she said between her sobs. ”I am foolish. These last few days have been hot, haven't they?” She smiled wanly, checking her tears.

”There's no reason at all,” and she got up from her chair. ”I think I'll leave you for a little while. My head aches and--and--I've no doubt I have got a red nose now.”

She took a step or two towards the pa.s.sage into her private tent but stopped.

”I _can_ leave you to get along together alone, can't I?” she said with her eyes on Thresk. ”You know what women are, don't you? Stephen will tell you interesting things about Rajputana if you can get him to talk.

I shall see you before you go,” and she lifted the screen and went out of the room. In the darkness of the pa.s.sage she stood silent for a moment to steady herself and while she stood there, in spite of her efforts, her tears burst forth again uncontrollably. She clasped her hands tightly over her mouth so that the sound of her sobbing might not reach to the table in the centre of the big marquee; and with her lips whispering in all sincerity the vain wish that she were dead she stumbled along the corridor.

But the sound had reached into the big marquee and coming after the silence it wrung Thresk's heart. He knew this of her at all events--that she did not easily cry. Ballantyne touched him on the arm.

”You blame me for this.”

”I don't know that I do,” answered Thresk slowly. He was wondering how much share in the blame he had himself, he who had ridden with her on the Downs eight years ago and had let her speak and had not answered. He sat in this tent to-night with shame burning at his heart. ”It wasn't as if I had no confidence in myself,” he argued, unable quite to cast back to the Thresk of those early days. ”I had--heaps of it.”

Ballantyne lifted himself out of his chair and lurched over to the sideboard. Thresk, watching him, fell to wondering why in the world Stella had married him or he her. He knew that a blind man may see such mysteries on any day and that a wise one will not try to explain them.

Still he wondered. Had the man's reputation dazzled her?--for undoubtedly he had one; or was it that intellect which suffered an eclipse when Ballantyne went into camp with n.o.body to carry tales?