Part 29 (2/2)
she added, ”and the Shenachrum shall be ready in ten minutes.”
Within five minutes Mr. Fogo was seated by the corner of the hearth, and watching her as she heated the beer which, together with rum, sugar, and lemon, forms the drink known and loved by Trojans as Shenachrum. The Twins had retired to wash in the little out-house at the back, and their splas.h.i.+ng was audible every now and again above the crackling of the wood fire, which now, as before, filled the kitchen with fragrance. Its warmth struck kindly into Mr. Fogo's knees, and coloured Tamsin's cheeks with a hot red as she bent over the flame. He watched her profile in thoughtful silence for some moments, and then fell to staring at the glowing sticks and the shadows of the pot-hooks and hangers on the chimney-back.
”So that is Shenachrum?” he said at last, to break the silence.
”Yes.”
”And what, or who, is Samson?”
”Samson is brandy and cider and sugar.”
”With his hair on?”
She laughed.
”That means more brandy. Samson was double as strong, you know, with his hair on.”
”I see.”
The silence was resumed. Only the tick-tack of the tall clock and the splas.h.i.+ng of the Twins disturbed it. She turned to glance at him once, and then, seeing his gaze fixed upon the fire that twinkled on the rim of his spectacles and emphasised the hollows of his face, had looked for a moment more boldly before she bent over her task again.
”She is quite beautiful, but--”
He spoke in a dreamy abstracted tone, as if addressing the pot-hooks.
Tamsin started, set down the pan with a clatter, and turned sharply round.
”Eh?” said Mr. Fogo, aroused by the clatter, ”you were saying--?”
And then it struck him that he had spoken aloud. He broke off, and looked up with appealing helplessness.
There was a second's pause.
”_You_ were saying--”
The words came as if dragged from her by an effort. Her eyes were full of wrath as she stood above him and waited for his reply.
”I am very sorry,” he stammered; ”I never meant you to hear.”
”You were talking of--?”
”Of you,” he answered simply. He was horribly frightened; but it was not in the man's nature to lie, or even evade the question.
The straightforwardness of the reply seemed to buffet her in the face. She put up a hand against the chimney-piece and caught her breath.
”What is 'but'?” she asked with a kind of breathless vehemence.
”Finish your sentence. What right have you to talk of me?” she went on, as he did not reply. ”If I am not a lady, what is that to you?
Oh!” she persisted, in answer to the swift remonstrance on his face, ”I can end your sentence: 'She is quite beautiful, but--quite _low_, of course.' What right have you to call me either--to speak of me at all? We were content enough before you came--Peter and Paul and I.
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