Part 17 (1/2)

”If that is the worst,” she said gently, ”I am not at all frightened.

You know that it is my profession to write about men and women. I belong to a world of worn-out types, and to meet any one different is quite a luxury.”

”The worst!” A sudden fear sent an icy coldness s.h.i.+vering through his veins. His heart seemed to stop beating, his cheeks were blanched.

The worst of him. He had not told her that he was a robber, that the foundation of his fortunes was a lie; that there lived a man who might bring all this great triumph of his shattered and crumbling about his ears. A pa.s.sionate fear lest she might ever knew of these things was born in his heart at that moment, never altogether to leave him.

The sound of a footstep close at hand made them both turn their heads.

Along the winding path came Da Souza, with an ugly smirk upon his white face, smoking a cigar whose odour seemed to poison the air. Trent turned upon him with a look of thunder.

”What do you want here, Da Souza?” he asked fiercely.

Da Souza held up the palms of his hands.

”I was strolling about,” he said, ”and I saw you through the trees. I did not know that you were so pleasantly engaged,” he added, with a wave of his hat to the girl, ”or I would not have intruded.”

Trent kicked open the little iron gate which led into the garden beyond.

”Well, get out, and don't come here again,” he said shortly. ”There's plenty of room for you to wander about and poison the air with those abominable cigars of yours without coming here.”

Da Souza replaced his hat upon his head. ”The cigars, my friend, are excellent. We cannot all smoke the tobacco of a millionaire, can we, miss?”

The girl, who was making some notes in her book, continued her work without the slightest appearance of having heard him.

Da Souza snorted, but at that moment he felt a grip like iron upon his shoulder, and deemed retreat expedient.

”If you don't go without another word,” came a hot whisper in his ear, ”I'll throw you into the horse-pond.”

He went swiftly, ungracious, scowling. Trent returned to the girl. She looked up at him and closed her book.

”You must change your friends,” she said gravely. ”What a horrible man!”

”He is a beast,” Trent answered, ”and go he shall. I would to Heaven that I had never seen him.”

She rose, slipped her note-book into her pocket, and drew on her gloves.

”I have taken up quite enough of your time,” she said. ”I am so much obliged to you, Mr. Trent, for all you have told me. It has been most interesting.”

She held out her hand, and the touch of it sent his heart beating with a most unusual emotion. He was aghast at the idea of her imminent departure. He realised that, when she pa.s.sed out of his gate, she pa.s.sed into a world where she would be hopelessly lost to him, so he took his courage into his hands, and was very bold indeed.

”You have not told me your name,” he reminded her.

She laughed lightly.

”How very unprofessional of me! I ought to have given you a card! For all you know I may be an impostor, indulging an unpardonable curiosity.

My name is Wendermott--Ernestine Wendermott.”

He repeated it after her.

”Thank you,” he said. ”I am beginning to think of some more things which I might have told you.”