Part 32 (1/2)

”I never seem to get the chance to say half a dozen words to you,” he grunted, feeling thoroughly put out. ”You women are all so mad about having a good time that you can't spare a moment for us lonely fellows.”

Muriel was quite concerned at his depression, and asked him whether he would have a gla.s.s of port or a whiskey-and-soda.

”No, I will not,” he said, with a gloomy laugh. ”I'm on the water-waggon for your sake, and you don't even say you're glad.”

”O, but I am,” she answered. ”I'm awfully glad. I think you've shown true British grit. You're one of the old Bulldog Breed, and, when once you've set your jaw, nothing can get the better of you.”

Somehow she could not help pulling this man's leg; and she spoke to him in this strain the more readily in that he evidently appreciated the language of what she called the Submerged Male.

”G.o.d knows it's been a struggle,” he said: and, turning away from her, he stared out of the window.

”How did you get into all those bad habits?” she asked, looking at him with interest.

”Oh, India, I suppose,” he replied, with a shrug. ”When one's east of Suez, and the memsahibs have all gone home....”

She stopped him with a gesture. There were limits to the game of leg-pulling; and if he were going to become Anglo-Indian in his phrases, the jest would be intolerable.

”I'm so sorry I can't come to your picnic,” she said, checking the drift of the conversation. ”I'd come if I possibly could, but I've got to attend a meeting.”

”A meeting?” he asked, in astonishment. ”That sounds a funny thing for you to be doing.”

”I'm honorary President of a fund for helping poor European children in Egypt,” she explained. ”It's a very worthy object, I believe.”

He seized his opportunity. ”Yes, we've all got to help the unfortunate, hav'n't we?” he said. ”I do all too little myself-just a yearly donation.”

Muriel was impressed, and questioned him.

”Yes,” he told her, ”I always try to give between 500 and 1,000 a year to the poor.”

”I call that very fine of you,” she declared, warming to him immediately.

”Oh, it's nothing,” he answered. ”I'm blessed with abundance, you know; and I like to practise what I preach. I'm not like _some_ fellows I could mention-full of high principles in public, and full of sins in secret.”

”Who are you thinking of, specially?” she asked, noticing the marked inflection in his words.

He hesitated. ”Well, Cousin Daniel, for example.”

”Oh, Daniel's all right,” she replied.

”I don't know so much about that,” he laughed. ”There are some things you couldn't understand, little woman. But ... well, there are some pretty tough female devils in the Cairo underworld; and Master Daniel has been seen more than once in low cafes and places with a girl who's known as the 'worst woman in Egypt'-the famous Lizette: but I don't suppose you've heard of her.”

The words were like a knife in Muriel's heart. So people were right, then, about Daniel's disreputable character.

”Oh, that's all past,” she replied, hardly knowing what she said.

”No, it isn't,” he answered. ”Only the day before yesterday one of my brother-officers saw him with her. And I saw him myself dining with her not so long ago-in fact I tried to separate them. I admit it was only for the honour of our family that I interfered. He was drunk, I think, and wanted to fight me.”

Muriel stared at him with round, frightened eyes; but Lord Barthampton had shot his arrow, and now desired only to make his escape.

”I must be going,” he said, nervously. ”I oughtn't to have told you that: it slipped out.”