Poppy Part 11

At that he laughed raspingly.

"Why d-drag in the women?"

She looked at him scornfully. It was ridiculous of him to pretend that men meant more to her than women.

"It is unreasonable of you to expect me to spend my youth in secrecy and seclusion, just because you--" she stopped hastily.

"Go on!" he said with a devilish gaiety. "'Just because _you_ happen to have a face like a mutilated b-baboon'--was that what you were going to say?"

"Oh Luce, you _know_ it was not! Because ... because ..." she stood stammering with distress, while he stood grinning. "Because _you_ don't happen to care for the society of other people--was what I was going to say.... Don't think," she went on appealingly, "that I don't appreciate all you have done for me. I remember it every day and every night.... I shall never forget it ... and though I know I can never repay you, I will show you all the rest of my life how grateful I am.... But I don't see what difference it would make to you to let me know a few people ...

you have so many friends ... surely you know some nice women who would call on me----"

He broke out in a harsh voice, smiling no longer. "You are mistaken; I have no friends. The whole thing is out of the question and impossible."

"I don't see why it should be at all," she pursued valiantly; "if you get me some pleasant woman as a chaperon."

"In G.o.d's name what do you want with women?" he burst out. "A g-girl like you will never find a friend amongst them. They will hate you for your face, and your brains, and your youth.... They are d-devils all--lock, stock and barrel.... They'll rip you open and tear the story of your life out of you; if they once find out that you are a South African they'll never rest until they have nosed out the whole thing, and then they'll fling the t-tale to the four winds and the first thing you know you'll have your Bloemfontein aunt bearing down on you----"

"Oh Luce! I don't believe they're as bad as all that----"

"Then don't believe it," he retorted, with the utmost rudeness. "But understand one thing, I'll have no she-devils round this house."

"Very well, let them be he-devils," she flung back at him. "I am accustomed to those."

At that he stamped away from her towards the other door, gesturing with rage, and throwing broken words in her direction.

"Isn't my life bad enough already?... Oh Hades!... I wouldn't stand it for a minute ... curse all women ... don't ever talk to me about this again ... I tell you.... It's monstrous ... a lot of thieves and blackguards.... You're driving me out of my own house ... I shall go to the Rand to-morrow ... why, by G.o.d, I!..."

The door closed with a crash behind him.

CHAPTER III

At two o'clock one afternoon Sophie Cornell walked into her sitting-room and flung upon the table by the side of her typewriter a great roll of MSS. She was gorgeously attired in a hat ma.s.sed with roses of a shade that "never was on land or sea," and a furiously befrilled gown of sky-blue silk-muslin. But her face was flushed and heated, and her eyebrows met in a scowl of decided ill-temper. Opening a door that led through a long pa.s.sage to the kitchen, she shouted:

"Zambani! Zambani! _Checcha_ now with my lunch. Send Piccanin to lay table. _Checcha wena!_"

She flung her hat into one chair and herself into another, and stared at a telegram which she spread out before her.

"'Sorry can't come,'" she read, muttering; "'something better turned up; you understand!' Yes, I understand well enough! Just like the rotter to study her own convenience and throw me over at the last moment. What am I to do _now_, I'd like to know?"

She lolled in her chair and glared angrily at a small black _boy_ in a blue twill tunic and short blue knickers above his knees, who was laying a cloth on one end of the table.

"Is there any soda in the house, Piccanin?" she demanded; and when he signified yes, ordered him to fetch it then and be _checcha_. In the meantime, she rose and unlocked from the sideboard a bottle of whiskey.

Lunch was a slovenly meal, consisting of burnt mutton-chops, fried potatoes, and a beet-root salad liberally decorated with rings of raw onion. Miss Cornell, however, ate heartily, and enjoyed a whiskey-and-soda. She then proceeded to attack a wobbly blanc-mange beringed with strawberry jam. Occasionally she demanded of some invisible personage:

"And what am I going to do _now_, I'd like to know?" and the scowl returned to her brows.

Suddenly, upon the front door which stood slightly ajar fell a soft knock. Miss Cornell's hands slipped to her hair, the scowl disappeared from her face, and in a high affected voice she called:

"Come in!"

Entered, with a shy and demure air, a girl dressed in the simplest kind of dress made of thin black muslin, with a white fichu over her shoulders falling in long ends below her waist. Her large white-straw hat had round it a wreath of lilac, which was of exactly the same colour as her eyes. Her lips were amazingly scarlet.

"I beg your pardon," she said in a soft, entrancing voice. "I am sorry to disturb you at your lunch----"

"That's all right," said Sophie affably; "I'm just done. Do sit down!"

The girl seated herself daintily. Sophie, observing that she wore no jewelry of any kind except a ring, in which the diamond was so large that it must surely be paste, decided that her visitor must be "hard up." She (Sophie) had not much of an opinion of that "black rag of a gown" either, but she thought she detected the faint murmur of a silk lining as her visitor moved. The lilac eyes looked at her winningly.

"I heard that you had a typewriting machine," she said, "and I wondered if you would be so good as to do a little typing for me--" She indicated a tiny roll of writing which she held in her hand. Miss Cornell sat up with an air.

"Oh, I don't take in work!" she said perkily. "I couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing. I'm _sekertary_ to a gentleman who has an office down town."

"Lilac Eyes" regarded her calmly and did not seem overwhelmed by the importance of this communication.

"What a bother!" said she serenely.

Miss Cornell became languid.

"I get an enormous salary, and I have more work than I know how to get through already. Indeed, I am trying to get an a.s.sistant."

"Really?" said the other girl. "I wonder if I would suit you?"

"You!" Miss Cornell's face lit up with sudden interest and eagerness.

She surveyed the other again. _Of course_, she was only a "hard-up" girl looking for work, and that air of gentle insolence that Sophie had been conscious of, was, after all, only "side" stuck on like the rose in the front of the simple black gown to hide poverty. Upon these reflections Miss Cornell's air became exceedingly patronising.

"You? Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Can you type?"

"Not at all. But I daresay I could soon learn."

"Oh well! I couldn't give you much salary if you are only a beginner."

"I shouldn't want any salary," said "Lilac Eyes"; but added quickly, as she saw the other's look of amazement: "At least, not for some months.

If you would allow me to use your machine for my own work sometimes I should be repaid."

At this Sophie had neither the wit nor the patience to conceal her satisfaction. Her haughty air departed and she beamed with delight. She had suddenly seen a clear way through a very difficult _impa.s.se_.

"You'll suit me down to the ground," she declared joyfully. "When can you move in?"

"Move in?" the other gave her a wondering smile. "Oh, I couldn't come to live--only for a few hours every day."

Sophie's face clouded again, but in a moment her eyes took on the absorbed look of a person who is rapidly reviewing a difficult situation. Presently she said:

"Well, perhaps that wouldn't matter so much if you wouldn't mind _pretending_ sometimes that you live here."