Part 30 (1/2)

”I am far from despising it, Mr. Bramham,” she said at last, very gently. ”But I happen to want you for a friend, not an enemy.”

Bramham did not see his way quite clear through this. However, he declared stoutly that he had never been a woman's enemy yet.

”Then you must often have been your own,” she retorted, with a little glint of bitter wisdom. Thereafter, the conversation flagged again.

Bramham had missed his cue and his broad shoulders took on a somewhat sullen expression. Poppy had the hopeless feeling that she had lost a lover without finding a friend, and the thought filled her with sadness.

Only G.o.d and she knew how much she needed a friend; and she was sure she could find no stronger, firmer rock to her back than this big, kind man, if she could only get him away from these shoals of emotion on to the firm ground of friends.h.i.+p.

But Bramham was sighing sulkily, and flipping with his forefinger at the end of his cigar, as though he had no further use for it. Obviously, he was thinking of making a chilly departure. Suddenly she put out her hand and touched his, resting on his knee.

”You are quite right, I _am_ cold,” she said softly; ”starving with cold; and you can never know how charming and attractive your fire looks to me, but--after all, the best seat is already taken isn't it?”

Bramham stared hard at her, swallowing something. This was the first time his wife had been mentioned between them. She did not falter.

”Don't you think I am nice enough to have a fireside of my very own?”

She spoke with the soft bird note in her throat, and her smile was a wistful thing to see.

Bramham's other firm hand came down on hers, and gave it a great grip.

”By Jove! I do. And I hope you'll get the best going.”

A wave of grateful warmth rushed over the girl at his words. Her eyes filled with tears.

”Thank you; thank you!” she cried brokenly; and added, on a swift impulse: ”The fire I want seems to me the most wonderful in the world--and if I can't be there, I'll never sit by any other.”

She did not attempt to stanch her tears, but sat looking at him with a smiling mouth, while the heavy drops fell down her cheeks. Bramham thought that, because of the smile, he had never seen any woman look so tragic in his life.

”Don't cry; don't cry, dear!” he said distressfully. ”I can't bear to see a woman cry. Do you love someone, Rosalind?” he asked, using her name shyly.

”Yes, Charlie,” she said simply; ”I do. But there is a knife in my heart.” She turned from him now, and looked away, that he might not see the despair and humiliation in her face.

”I will be your friend, Rosalind. Trust me. I can't understand at all.

You are altogether a mystery to me; I can't understand, for one thing, how a girl like you comes to be living with Sophie Cornell----”

”I came here quite by accident,” she interrupted him. ”I have always meant to tell you, though I know that for some reason Sophie doesn't want you to know. I walked into the garden one day, and saw Sophie using a typewriter, and I came in and asked her to take me for an a.s.sistant.”

”What! But weren't you a governess to some people in Kimberley, and an old friend of Sophie's in Johannesburg?”

”No, I've never been a governess, and I never saw Sophie until I walked in here some three months ago. The girl you take me for never came at all, and Sophie was glad to have me take her place, I suppose. But, indeed, it was good of her to take me in, and I am not ungrateful. I will pay her back some day, for she is of the kind money will repay for anything.” She added this rather bitterly, for, indeed, Sophie never ceased to make her feel her obligations, in spite of daily slavery on the typewriter.

”Well, of all the--!” Bramham began. Later, he allowed himself to remark:

”She certainly is a bird of Paradise!” and that was his eulogy on Sophie Cornell.

”But how comes it that a girl like you is--excuse me--kicking about the world, at a loose end?--How can any fellow that has your love let you suffer!--The whole thing is incomprehensible! But whatever you say stands. You needn't say anything at all if you don't want to----”

”I can't tell you anything,” she said brokenly. ”If I could tell _anyone_, it would be you--but I can't. Only--I want a friend, Charlie--I want help.”