Part 61 (1/2)
Carson took it like a blow between the eyes. If he had not been sitting, he would have reeled. As it was, he leaned against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, though the lids scorched like flame.
But the woman mistook his att.i.tude for calm unbelief. She thought he shut his eyes because he was pretending to be bored, and she was furious.
”And she pretending to be such a saint all the time,” she repeated. ”A saint in the company of Luce Abinger!” she laughed coa.r.s.ely.
Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering--as well as fury, and surprise, and misery, and four neat brandies become suddenly potent would let him.
Would this woman dare bade up her vile statement with Bramham's name, unless--?... but there must be some explanation. She and Abinger! Oh, G.o.d! _no!_ Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she could not, he would kill her ... he would take her by that long, fair throat----
At that the coldness and calmness of moonlight fell upon him like a pall; his brain cleared; he reflected on the inflamed, furious face opposite him, surveying it deliberately, insultingly, with stony, arrogant eyes. Slowly his handsome lips took on a curve of incomparable insolence and contempt--a look no woman could ever forgive. In that moment Sophie Cornell knew what she was. The colour left her face, and her lips and tongue went dry; She had no words.
His voice was almost gentle.
”It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your” (he paused) ”_inducements_--to understand that Miss Chard's reasons for----”
”No,” she sneered, hissing like a cobra. ”No--of course not--a _saint_ like that! But I know well enough what sort of a man Luce Abinger is--and so do you. His name isn't spelt L-o-o-s-e for nothing.”
That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, going on deliberately:
”--For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to your reasons--or shall we say inducements?”
She hated him with her eyes.
”You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but there _are_ other things of interest in the world besides--inducements. And that the side of Mr.
Abinger's character which appears to be so well known to you, is one that he reserves specially for ladies of your--distractions.”
He smiled and added:
”I'm afraid you hardly realise how distracting you are. Here am I, for instance, with a number of pressing matters waiting for my attention”--he put his hand into the breastpocket of his coat and brought out a bundle of letters and papers--”neglecting them to indulge in a fascinated contemplation of you. But if you will be good enough to release me----”
Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue.
”I hate Rosalind Chard,” she said hoa.r.s.ely, ”but I am sorry for her, all the same, if she gets you. I think you are the worst devil I've ever met in my life. Talk about the three bad men! Abinger and Charlie Bramham are angels compared to you.”
”I will let 'Charlie' know of your favourable opinion of him--he will be flattered. Pray excuse me!” He looked apologetically at the papers in his hand.
”Oh! go to h.e.l.l!” she screamed. Carson bowed, and with that insolent smile still lingering on his lips, gave his attention to his letters.
At Inchanga he stepped out of the carriage and looked about him with careless interest, lighted a cigarette, and presently lounged down the platform. Incidentally he went into the telegraph-office and sent off a wire, requesting Bramham to meet him at the station or be at home waiting for him. When he came out of the little office he was still smoking placidly, but the writing on the telegraph-form resembled the writing of a drunken or palsied man.
On his return to the carriage he found that Miss Cornell had been good enough to remove her distracting presence to some other part of the train.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII
It was the night of the Club ball, the first and chief event of the Durban season, and all the fas.h.i.+onable world was busily pranking itself for the occasion.
Bramham had dressed early, for he had been elected by Mrs. Portal to be one of the wild-geese who were to escort her house-party to the Town Hall. Just as he was choosing some cigars for the night at the dining-room table, Carson's telegram arrived. He whistled, meditating upon it for a while.
”Well, this Carson!” he called out to Abinger, who was in a neighbouring room, also arraying himself for the festival. ”Wants me to meet him at the station, I thank you!”