Part 4 (1/2)
Then a thought struck him. ”You are traveling alone?”
”With a companion.” A peculiar question, she thought.
”It is not wise,” he commented.
”My father was a soldier,” she replied.
”It isn't a question of bravery,” he replied, a bit of color charging under his skin.
Elsa was amused. ”And, pray, what question is it?” He was like a boy.
”I'm afraid of making myself obscure. This world is not like your world. Women over here. . . Oh, I've lost the art of saying things clearly.” He pulled at his beard embarra.s.sedly.
”I rather believe I understand you. The veneer cracks easily in hot climates; man's veneer.”
”And falls off altogether.”
”Are you warning me against yourself?”
”Why not? Twenty thousand pounds do not change a man; they merely change the public's opinion of him. For all you know, I may be the greatest rascal unhanged.”
”But you are not.”
He recognized that it was not a query; and a pleasurable thrill ran over him. Had there been the least touch of condescension in her manner, he would have gone deep into his sh.e.l.l.
”No; there are worse men in this world than I. But we are getting away from the point, of women traveling alone in the East. Oh, I know you can protect yourself to a certain extent. But everywhere, on boats, in the hotels, on the streets, are men who have discarded all the laws of convention, of the social contract. And they have the keen eye of the kite and the vulture.”
To Elsa this interest in her welfare was very diverting. ”In other words, they can quickly discover the young woman who goes about unprotected? Don't you think that the trend of the conversation has taken rather a remarkable turn, not as impersonal as it should be?”
”I beg your pardon!”
”I am neither an infant nor a fool, Mr. Warrington.”
”Shall I go?”
”No. I want you to tell me some stories.” She laughed. ”Don't worry about me, Mr. Warrington. I have gone my way alone since I was sixteen. I have traveled all over this wicked world with n.o.body but the woman who was once my nurse. I seldom put myself in the way of an affront. I am curious without being of an investigating turn of mind.
Now, tell me something of your adventures. Ten years in this land must mean something. I am always hunting for Harun-al-Raschid, or Sindbad, or some one who has done something out of the ordinary.”
”Do you write books?”
”No, I read them by preference.”
”Ah, a good book!” He inclined against the rail and stared down at the muddy water. ”Adventure?” He frowned a little. ”I'm afraid mine wouldn't read like adventures. There's no glory in being a stevedore on the docks at Hongkong, a stoker on a tramp steamer between Singapore and the Andaman Islands. What haven't I been in these ten years?” with a shrug. ”Can you fancy me a deck-steward on a P. & O. boat, tucking old ladies in their chairs, staggering about with a tray of broth-bowls, helping the unsteady to their staterooms, and touching my cap at the end of the voyage for a few s.h.i.+llings in tips?”
”You are bitter.”
”Bitter? I ought not to be, with twenty thousand pounds in my pocket.”
”Tell me more.”
He looked into her beautiful face, animated by genuine interest, and wondered if all men were willing so readily to obey her.