Burning Sands Part 32

"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."

He could see plainly enough that she was grievously wounded; and his conscience certainly smote him, though it smote with a gentle forgiving hand.

She turned away from him with tears in her eyes; and he, feeling decidedly awkward, bade her "good-bye," and hastened out of the room.

In the hall he came upon Benifett Bindane, who was also making towards the front door. The two malefactors greeted one another; and Mr. Bindane being, as Kate had said, "very fond of lords," attached himself to the younger man with evident pleasure.

"That's a smart turn-out," he remarked, as they came out of the house into the glare of the sunshine.

"Give you a lift?" asked Lord Barthampton. "Anywhere you like."

"Thanks," the other replied. "I'm going to the Turf Club."

"Right-o!" said his friend. "In you get. Hold her head, d.a.m.n you, you little black monkey!" he shouted to the diminutive groom. "Now then!-_imshee riglak!_"-which he believed to be Arabic.

They drove off at a rattling pace, presently scattering the native traffic in the open square outside the Kars-el-Nil barracks, and nearly unseating a venerable sheikh from his slow-moving donkey.

"Why don't you get out of the way!" shouted Lord Barthampton, turning a red face to the mild brown wrinkles of the clinging rider. "Lord! these n.i.g.g.e.rs make me impatient."

"Yes," said his companion, who always disliked a show of temper, "I notice that it's only the English resident officials who have learned to be patient with them."

Arrived at the Turf Club, Lord Barthampton accepted Mr. Bindane's invitation to refresh himself with dry ginger-ale; for, during the drive, a good idea (with him something of a rarity) had come into his head. He had suddenly recollected that Kate Bindane was Lady Muriel's bosom friend; and it had occurred to him that if he could obtain the sympathy of the husband, the wife might plead his cause. It would be better not to say very much: he would adopt the manner which, he felt sure, was natural to him, namely that of the stern, silent Englishman.

He therefore lowered his brows as he entered the club, and looked with frowning melancholy upon the groups of laughing and chattering young men about him.

"G.o.d, what a noise!" he muttered as he sank into a seat.

Mr. Bindane stared vacantly around, and waving a flapper-like hand to a pa.s.sing waiter, ordered the ginger-ale as though he were totally indifferent as to whether he ever got it or not.

"I'm feeling a bit blue today," said Lord Barthampton, leaning back gloomily in his chair.

"What's the matter?" asked his friend.

"I'm in love," was the short reply.

Mr. Bindane was mildly interested. "Who with?" he asked.

"Lady Muriel," the other replied, between his clenched teeth. He was anxious to convey an impression of sorrow sternly controlled.

"A very charming young lady," said Mr. Bindane, "and my wife's best friend."

"Yes, that's why I'm telling you," replied Lord Barthampton, looking knowingly at him. "I've been wondering if you could get her to put in a word for me."

"I'll see," said Benifett Bindane.

"Thanks awfully," answered his companion.

That was all. There was no more said upon the subject; but Charles Barthampton felt that the brief and pointed conversation had been very British and straightforward. There had been no mincing of matters; what he had said had been short and soldierly, as man to man.