Part 23 (1/2)
”She can't. She told me so.”
”Did she? Now, Percy, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But how many men do you suppose she has told the same thing to--in her time?”
”None. Her marriage was only one of convenience. She was forced into it.”
”Of course. They always are. Now, supposing she had told me, for instance, she couldn't do without me? What then?”
”You? Why, you never set eyes on her till this morning.”
”No. Of course not. I was only putting a case. Again, she's rather older than you.”
”There you're wrong. She's a year or two younger. She told me so.”
Blachland, happening to know that she was, in fact, five or six years the young fellow's senior, went on appreciating the humours of the situation. And really these were great.
”By Jove! Listen!” said the other suddenly, as a chattering and clucking of fowls was audible outside. ”There's a jackal or a bushcat or something getting at the fowls. They roost in those low trees just outside. I'll get the gun, and if we put out the light, we may get a shot at him from the window.”
”Not much,” returned Blachland decisively. ”The window's at the head of my bed, not yours. I wouldn't have it opened this beastly cold night for a great deal. Besides, think what a funk you'd set up among the women by banging off a gun at this unG.o.dly hour. The hens must take their chance. Now look here, Percy,” he went on, speaking earnestly and seriously, ”take a word of warning from one who has seen a great deal more of the world, and the crookedness thereof, than you have, and chuck this business--for all serious purposes I mean. Have your fun by all means--even to a fast and furious flirtation if you're that way disposed. But--draw the line at that, and draw it hard.”
”I wouldn't if I could, and I couldn't if I would. Hilary--we are engaged.”
”What?”
The word came with almost a shout. Blachland had sat up in bed and was staring at his young kinsman in wild dismay. His pipe had fallen to the ground in his amazement over the announcement. ”Since when, if it's a fair question?” he added, somewhat recovering himself.
”Only this evening. I asked her to marry me and she consented.”
”Then you must break it off at once. I tell you this thing can't come off, Percy. It simply can't.”
”Can't it? But it will. And look here, Hilary, you're a devilish good chap, and all that--but I'm not precisely under your guardians.h.i.+p, you know. Nor am I dependent upon anybody. I've got a little of my own, and besides, I can work.”
”Oh, you young fool. Go to sleep. You may wake up more sensible,” he answered, not unkindly, and restraining the impulse to tell Percival the truth then and there, but the thought that restrained him was the coming interview with Hermia on the morrow. He was naturally reluctant to give her away unless absolutely necessary, but whatever the result of that interview, he would force her to free Percival from her toils. To do him justice, the idea that such an exposure would involve himself too did not enter his mind--at least not then.
”I think I will go to sleep, Hilary, as you're so beastly unsympathetic,” answered the younger man good-humouredly. ”But as to the waking up--well, you and I differ as to the meaning of the word 'sensible.' Night-night.”
And soon a succession of light snores told that he was asleep, probably dreaming blissfully of the crafty and scheming adventuress who had fastened on to his young life to strangle it at the outset. But Hilary Blachland lay staring into the darkness--thinking, and ever thinking.
”Confound those infernal fowls!” he muttered, as the cackling and clucking, mingled this time with some fluttering, arose outside, soon after the extinguis.h.i.+ng of the light. But the disturbance subsided--nor did it again arise that night, as he lay there, hour after hour, thinking, ever thinking.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
”YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH HER.”
Bright and clear and cold, the morning arose. There had been a touch of frost in the night, and the house, lying back in its enclosure of aloe fence, looked as though roofed with a sheeting of silver in the sparkle of the rising sun. The spreading veldt, too, in the flash of its dewy sheen, seemed to lend a deeper blue to the dazzling, unclouded vault above. The metallic clatter of milk-pails in the cattle-kraal hard by mingled with the deep-toned hum of Kaffir voices; a troop of young ostriches turned loose were darting to and fro, or waltzing, and playfully kicking at each other; and so still and clear was the air, that the whistling call of partridges down in an old mealie land nearly a mile away was plainly audible.
”Where's West?” Bayfield was saying, as three out of the four men were standing by the gate, finis.h.i.+ng their early coffee.
”Oh, he's a lazy beggar,” answered Earle, putting down his cup on a stone. ”He don't like turning out much before breakfast-time.”