Part 9 (1/2)
”I despise men,” she volunteered.
”I am beginning to believe that few of them are worth a thought. Those who aren't fools are knaves.”
”Are you sure of your judgment in regard to this man Warrington? How can you tell that he is any different from that man Craig?”
”He is different, that is all. This afternoon he will come to tea. I shall want you to be with us. Remember, not a word of this disgraceful affair.”
”Ah, Elsa, I am afraid; I am more afraid of Warrington than of a man of Craig's type.”
”And why?”
”It sounds foolish, but I can't explain. I am just afraid of him.”
”Bother! You talk like an old maid.”
”And I am one, by preference.”
”We are always quarreling, Martha; and it doesn't do either of us any good. When you oppose me, I find that that is the very thing I want to do. You haven't any diplomacy.”
”I would gladly cultivate it if I thought it would prove effectual,”
was the retort.
”Try it,” advised Elsa dryly.
Warrington's appearance that afternoon astonished Elsa. She had naturally expected some change, but scarcely such elegance. He was, without question, one of the handsomest men she had ever met. He was handsomer than Arthur because he was more manly in type. Arthur himself, an exquisite in the matter of clothes, could not have improved upon this man's taste or selection. What a mystery he was! She greeted him cordially, without restraint; but for all that, a little s.h.i.+ver stirred the tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck.
”The most famous man in Rangoon to-day,” she said, smiling.
”So you have read that tommy-rot in the newspaper?”
They sat on her private balcony, under an awning. Rain was threatening. Martha laid aside her knitting and did her utmost to give her smile of welcome an air of graciousness.
”I shouldn't call it tommy-rot,” Elsa declared. ”It was not chance.
It was pluck and foresight. Men who possess those two attributes get about everything worth having.”
”There are exceptions,” studying the ferrule of his cane.
”Is there really anything you want now and can't have?”
Martha looked at her charge in dread and wonder.
”There is the moon,” he answered. ”I have always wanted that. But there it hangs, just as far out of reach as ever.”
”Two lumps?”
”None. My sugar-tooth is gone.”
Elsa had heard that hard drinkers disliked sweets. Had this been the Gordian knot he had cut?