Part 48 (1/2)
”After a time they find themselves sitting still on the ground, very sick. That is Mary's position. She sits flat on the ground and surveys a world that makes her feel sick. Nick Cap.r.o.n, however, continues to whirl.”
”She must have great courage to face the situation,” said Poppy sincerely.
”She has more than courage,” said Clem, alight with loyal enthusiasm.
”She is one in a thousand. You know enough of Africa, I daresay, Poppy, to know that life out here is just one huge temptation to a beautiful unhappily-married woman. The place teems with men--good, bad, and indifferent, but all interesting (unless drink is sweeping them down hill too fast), and they all want to be kind to her. Many of them are splendid fellows. But the best of men are half-devil, half-child, and nothing more, where a beautiful woman is concerned. You know that, don't you?”
What Poppy _did_ know was that Clem had far greater knowledge of the world of men and women than she had, and she was only too interested to sit and imbibe wisdom. She frankly said so.
”I thoroughly understand these things,” Clem replied without pride.
”Sinners can never take me by surprise, whatever they do. Perhaps it is because I might easily have been a devil of the deepest dye myself, but for luck--Billy is my luck.”
This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy could not refrain from a trill of laughter.
”I think you are one of those who paint themselves black to be _en suite_ with the people you like, Clemmie,” she said; ”but you're not extraordinarily clever as an artist.”
”Not so clever as _you'll_ have to be when Mrs. Gruyere comes round to have her miniature done,” said Clem maliciously. ”I must think about going, darling. Mary is coming to fetch me in her carriage and she will be here in a minute or two now. Before I go, I want you to promise me to steal away whenever you can. If you sit too much over work you will fall asleep, and have to be put in the poppy-garden instead of flaunting and flaming in the suns.h.i.+ne and being a joy to behold. What a fascinating flower it is! Both your names are fascinating ... _Eve Destiny!_ ...
what could have prompted it, I wonder?”
”Simply an idea. I am a child of destiny, I always think--at least, the old blind hag seems to have been at some pains to fling me about from pillar to post. Eve--” She turned away, knowing that she could not mention that name without giving some sign of the tumult it roused within her. ”Eve--was the most primitive person I could think of” (the lie did not come very glibly), ”and _I_ am primitive. If I were my real self I should be running loose in the woods somewhere with a wild-cat's skin round me.”
”Well, you wouldn't run alone for long, that's very certain,” laughed Clem.
”No, I should want my mate wherever and whatever I was”--Clem laughed again at her frankness, but she went on dreamfully--”a Bedouin, or a s.h.a.ggy Thibetan on the roof of the world, or a 'ca.s.sowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.' Oh, Clem! the sound of the wind in forest trees--the sea--the desert with an unknown horizon, are better to me than all the cities and civilisation in the world--yet here I sit!” She threw out her hands and laughed joylessly.
”You ought to marry an explorer--or a hunter of big game,” said Clem thoughtfully, and got up and looked out of the window. ”Here comes one in the carriage with Mary. But he is an Irishman, so I wouldn't advise you to look _his_ way.... An Irishman should never be given more than a Charles Wyndhamesque part on the stage of any woman's life ... a person to love, but not to be in love with....”
”Oh, Clem! You are Irish yourself----”
Clem did not turn round. She went on talking out of the window and watching the approaching carriage.
”Yes, and I love everyone and everything from that sad green land ...
the very name of Ireland sends a ray of joy right through me ... and its dear blue-eyed, grey-eyed people! Trust an Irish-woman, Poppy, when she is true-bred ... but never fall in love with an Irishman ... there is no fixity of tenure ... he will give you his hand with his heart in it ...
but when you come to look there for comfort, you will find a bare knife for your breast ... unstable as water ... too loving of love ... too understanding of another's heart's desire ... too quick to grant, too quick to take away ... the tale of their lips changing with the moon's changes--even with the weather.... Hullo, Mary! Here I am.... How do you do, Karri?”
Mrs. Cap.r.o.n's carriage had pulled up before Poppy's little side-gate, which gave on to the embankment. She was gowned in black, a daring rose-red hat upon her lovely hair, and by her side was Evelyn Carson.
She waved at the two women in the window, but did not leave the carriage. Carson came instead, making a few strides of the little straggly, sea-sh.e.l.led path.
”We've come to drag Mrs. Portal away,” he said to Poppy, after shaking hands through the window, ”having just met her husband taking home two of the hungriest-looking ruffians you ever saw.”
Clem gave a cry of woe and began to pin on her hat.
”The wretch! I thought he was going to dine at the Club.”
”He gave us strict orders to send you home at once,” laughed Carson, ”so Mrs. Cap.r.o.n won't come in.”
”Who are the men?” demanded Clem.