On the terrace of her quarters, Pansy sat at dinner with her host.
Three days had passed since her rescue from the slave-market; three
delightful days for the girl, assured of her own safety, her father's
coming freedom and the welfare of her friends. During the time, Le
Breton had been with her almost constantly. From breakfast time until
after dinner always at her disposal, ready to fall in with her wishes
so long as they did not entail too much exertion on her part.
She was anxious to be on "The Sultan," and off for a long gallop, but
this he vetoed firmly.
"It would cause too much of a sensation," he had said. "In this
country women don't ride about on horseback. We should have the whole
city at our heels."
Pansy had no desire for this to happen, lest the Sultan Casim should
learn she had fallen into the hands of a friend, and snatch her away
from her rescuer, so she did not urge further. But it was on account
of her health, and not the idea of a crowd of his own subjects, that
made Le Breton refuse this indulgence; for fear she should not be
strong enough to stand the shaking.
He was quite willing to take her rowing on the lake, to play croquet
with her, or a game of billiards; but most of all willing to sit at her
side in the peaceful, scented garden, or in the cool gallery, or the
_salon_, watching her; an occupation that Pansy, with an extensive
knowledge of men and their ways, knew the ultimate end of. An end she
was doing her best to keep at bay.
But, in spite of everything, she had the feeling of being a prisoner.
The iron grilles at either end of the long gallery were never unlocked;
nor was the gate into the paddock.
There was never a boat at the foot of the steps leading to the lake
except when Le Breton was with her.
She had explored her quarters further. Beyond the _salon_ there was a
combined billiard-room and library, and its one exit led into a sort of
big alcove dressing-room. Beyond that was her host's bedroom, as to
her dismay she had discovered on opening the door. For she had found
him there in shirt sleeves and trousers with a dark-faced valet, who,
on seeing her, had melted away discreetly.
Pansy would have melted away also, but it was too late. In a perfectly
unperturbed manner, Le Breton had crossed to her side.
"So, Pansy, you've come to pay me a visit?" he said teasingly. "That's
hardly the sort of thing I'd expected of you."
"I'd no idea----" she began in a confused manner.
"There's no need to make excuses. You'll find all the roads here lead
to Mecca. And I'm always pleased to see you," he broke in, in the same
teasing strain. "If you'd kept your promise, we should be quite a
staid married couple by now. And you'd be free to come and go in my
apartments. Think of it, Pansy."
Pansy thought of it, and her face went crimson.
Her blushes made him laugh.
To the sound of his laughter, soft and mocking, she retreated, and she
did not explore in that direction again.
She explored by way of her own bedroom instead, only to find that led
into his study. And after that she did no more exploring. For it
seemed that all roads did lead to Mecca. Whichever way she turned,
Raoul Le Breton was there, coming between her and the man she feared
and hated--the Sultan Casim Ammeh.
"I feel like a prisoner," she remarked on one occasion.
They were sitting by the lake, under the shade of fragrant trees, with
the blue water lapping the marble steps and the sun setting over the
desert. A gilded world, where a golden sunset edged the golden sand,
one flaming yellow sea above another.
"You're a novelty here," he replied. "A pearl of great price. If I
didn't keep you well guarded, there would be a hundred ready to steal
you. And I flatter myself that, on the whole, you'd rather be with me."
He paused, watching her with dark, smouldering eyes.
"Am I right, Heart's Ease?" he finished tenderly.
Pansy coloured slightly under the ardour of his gaze.
Had he been as other men were, she would not have hesitated in her
reply. She would have said in her own impulsive, truthful way:
"I'd rather be with you than anyone in the whole wide world."
But now his colour and religion were constantly before her. And pride
kept any such confession from her lips.
So instead she said:
"No one could have been kinder than you, Raoul. I can never be
grateful enough."
His kindness had been before her that night when she dressed for
dinner. Pansy had no clothes except the ones in which he had brought
her. But, within three days, there was an elaborate wardrobe at her
disposal; the frocks fashioned like those she had worn in Grand Canary.
In one of these dresses she now sat at dinner with him; a misty robe of
chiffon, but there were no diamonds sparkling like dew upon it. All
her jewels had been left behind in the dim, gilded room in the palace
of El-Ammeh.
When dinner was over, as they sat together in the _salon_, Le Breton
remarked on the fact.
"They've stolen all your pretty jewels, Pansy," he said. "You must let
me give you some others."
"You've done quite enough for me already," she replied promptly. "I
can manage without jewels until I get back to England."
At her words his eyes narrowed.
"Couldn't you be content to stay here?" he asked in a rather abrupt
manner.
"For a few weeks, perhaps, then I should be craving change and variety.
'The Light of the Harem' act isn't one that would satisfy me for long."
Then Pansy was sorry she had spoken. She remembered that he had
admitted to having a harem, probably somewhere in this very house. But
she had spoken with the idea of letting him see his case was hopeless;
of saving him the pain of refusal.
"Considering how ill you've been, the 'Light of the Harem act,' as you
call it, would be the best sort of life for you for some time to come."
"How do you know I've been ill?" she asked quickly.
Le Breton saw he had made a slip, but he covered it up smartly.
"Gossip told me," he said coolly.
There was silence for a time, during which he sat with his gaze on her.
"Why don't you smoke?" Pansy asked suddenly, anxious to get something
between herself and him.
"When you're about I don't need any soothing syrups," he replied.
He was approaching dangerous ground again. To ward him off Pansy rose
and went to the piano. Seating herself there, she wandered from one
item to another, with scarcely a pause between.
But the feeling of his eyes never off her made her stop all at once and
laugh hysterically.
A crisis had to be faced sooner or later. Things might as well come to
a head now as to-morrow or next week.
At that moment Pansy remembered the man who had held her with such
fierce strength and passion in the moon-lit garden of the villa. And
she wondered, not without a touch of alarm, how he would take her
refusal.
She got up and went to his side.
"I must give you something else to do than just watching me. It makes
me nervous," she said.
From a box on a table near she took a cigarette and placed it between
his lips. Then she struck a match and held it towards him.
In a lazy, contented manner, he let her do it. But when the cigarette
was lighted, he did not give her time to draw her hand away.
He caught her wrist, and drawing her hand a little closer, blew out the
match. When this was done, he did not let her hand go. Instead, he
took one or two puffs at the cigarette, all the time watching her
closely.
"I didn't give you my hand 'for keeps,'" she said. "I want it back
again, please."
It was hint enough for any man, but Le Breton did not take it.
In a deliberate manner, and with her still a prisoner, he got to his
feet, and put the cigarette on the table.
Pansy did not try to free herself. The situation had to be faced.
When the cigarette was laid down, he took the other delicate wrist into
his keeping. Then he drew the girl right up to him, until her hands
were resting on his chest.
"Pansy, suppose I ask you to redeem your promise?" he said.
"Oh no, I couldn't," she answered, a trifle breathlessly.
"Why not? I'm exactly the same man now that I was when you promised to
marry me. A much better man, if you only knew it. Thanks to meeting
you."
"I didn't know anything about you then."
"But you knew you loved me."
"I do now, Raoul," she said.
"Does the fact of my Arab blood make marriage between us impossible?"
There was no reply.
In her silence Le Breton read his answer.
His hands tightened on her wrists, and a baulked look crossed his face.
So the black barrier was one that neither love nor gratitude would make
her cross willingly.
There were some bitter moments for him, as he realised this. For all
his wealth and power, for all his scheming, despite the fact that Pansy
confessed to loving him, she refused to be his wife. It seemed that
nothing he could do would bring her into his arms in the willing way he
wanted.
Pansy was the first to speak.
In that crushing grip on her wrists, she read an agony of pain and
disappointment, that her one desire now was to soothe.
"It's not you, Raoul. It's the idea," she said in a low voice.
"So the idea of marrying me is repugnant. And yet you love me?"
She nodded.
Loosing her wrists he turned to the table, and took another cigarette.
This, however, he lighted for himself.
Pansy watched him, marvelling at the cool way he had taken her refusal.
Considering the fire and temper in the man and his air of never having
been thwarted in any way, it was hardly what she had expected. She put
it down to the fact that she was completely at his mercy, alone and
helpless in this barbaric city. Her heart ached at the thought that
through no fault of his own she could only give him pain in return for
all his kindness.
Going to his side, she laid a slim hand on his sleeve.
"Raoul, I hope you know you're awful nice about things," she said.
He glanced at her. At the beautiful eyes raised to his with infinite
gentleness in their velvety depths.
And he laughed.
"Am I?" he said.
Then he laughed again. And his mirth was a mingling of bitterness and
savagery.