Trent's appearance upon the lawn was greeted with a shout of enthusiasm.
The young lady in blue executed a pas seut, and came across to him on
her toes, and the girl with the yellow hair, although sulky, gave him
to understand by a sidelong glance that her favour was not permanently
withdrawn. They neither of them noticed the somewhat ominous air of
civility with which he received their greetings, or the contempt in his
eyes as he looked them silently over.
“Where are the lost tribe?” he inquired, as the girls, one on either
side, escorted him to the house.
They received his witticism with a piercing shriek of laughter.
“Mamma and her rag of a daughter are in the drawing room,” explained
Miss Montressor--the young lady with fluffy hair who dressed in blue and
could dance. “Such a joke, General! They don't approve of us! Mamma says
that she shall have to take her Julie away if we remain. We are not
fit associates for her. Rich, isn't it! The old chap's screwing up his
courage now with brandy and soda to tell you so!”
Trent laughed heartily. The situation began to appeal to him. There was
humour in it which he alone could appreciate.
“Does he expect me to send you away?” he asked.
“That's a cert!” Miss Montressor affirmed. “The old woman's been playing
the respectable all day, turning up the whites of her eyes at me because
I did a high kick in the hall, and groaning at Flossie because she had a
few brandies; ain't that so, Flossie?”
The young lady with yellow hair confirmed the statement with much
dignity.
“I had a toothache,” she said, “and Mrs. Da Souza, or whatever the old
cat calls herself, was most rude. I reckon myself as respectable as she
is any day, dragging that yellow-faced daughter of hers about with her
and throwing her at men's heads.”
Miss Montressor, who had stopped to pick a flower, rejoined them.
“I say, General,” she remarked, “fair's fair, and a promise is a
promise. We didn't come down here to be made fools of by a fat old
Jewess. You won't send us away because of the old wretch?”
“I promise,” said Trent, “that when she goes you go, and not before. Is
that sufficient?”
“Right oh!” the young lady declared cheerfully. “Now you go and prink up
for dinner. We're ready, Flossie and I. The little Jew girl's got a new
dress--black covered with sequins. It makes her look yellower than ever.
There goes the bell, and we're both as hungry as hunters. Look sharp!”
Trent entered the house. Da Souza met him in the hall, sleek, curly,
and resplendent in a black dinner-suit. The years had dealt lightly with
him, or else the climate of England was kinder to his yellow skin than
the moist heat of the Gold Coast. He greeted Trent with a heartiness
which was partly tentative, partly boisterous.
“Back from the coining of the shekels, my dear friend,” he exclaimed.
“Back from the spoiling of the Egyptians, eh? How was money to-day?”
“An eighth easier,” Trent answered, ascending the stairs.
Da Souza fidgeted about with the banisters, and finally followed him.
“There was just a word,” he remarked, “a little word I wanted with you.”
“Come and talk while I wash,” Trent said shortly. “Dinner's on, and I'm
hungry.”
“Certainly, certainly,” Da Souza murmured, closing the door behind them
as they entered the lavatory. “It is concerning these young ladies.”
“What! Miss Montressor and her friend?” Trent remarked thrusting his
head into the cold water. “Phew!”
“Exactly! Two very charming young ladies, my dear friend, very charming
indeed, but a little--don't you fancy just a little fast!”
“Hadn't noticed it,” Trent answered, drying himself. “What about it?”
Da Souza tugged at his little black imperial, and moved uneasily about.
“We--er--men of the world, my dear Trent, we need not be so particular,
eh?--but the ladies--the ladies are so observant.”
“What ladies?” Trent asked coolly.
“It is my wife who has been talking to me,” Da Souza continued. “You
see, Julie is so young--our dear daughter she is but a child; and, as
my wife says, we cannot be too particular, too careful, eh; you
understand!”
“You want them to go? Is that it?”
Da Souza spread out his hands--an old trick, only now the palms were
white and the diamonds real.
“For myself,” he declared, “I find them charming. It is my wife who says
to me, 'Hiram, those young persons, they are not fit company for our
dear, innocent Julie! You shall speak to Mr. Trent. He will understand!'
Eh?”
Trent had finished his toilet and stood, the hairbrushes still in his
hands, looking at Da Souza's anxious face with a queer smile upon his
lips.
“Yes, I understand, Da Souza,” he said. “No doubt you are right, you
cannot be too careful. You do well to be particular.”
Da Souza winced. He was about to speak, but Trent interrupted him.
“Well, I'll tell you this, and you can let the missis know, my fond
father. They leave to-morrow. Is that good enough?”
Da Souza caught at his host's hand, but Trent snatched it away.
“My dear--my noble--”
“Here, shut up and don't paw me,” Trent interrupted. “Mind, not a word
of this to any one but your wife; the girls don't know they're going
themselves yet.”
They entered the dining-room, where every one else was already
assembled. Mrs. Da Souza, a Jewess portly and typical, resplendent
in black satin and many gold chains and bangles, occupied the seat of
honour, and by her side was a little brown girl, with dark, timid eyes
and dusky complexion, pitiably over-dressed but with a certain elf-like
beauty, which it was hard to believe that she could ever have inherited.
Miss Montressor and her friend sat on either side of their host--an
arrangement which Mrs. Da Souza lamented, but found herself powerless to
prevent, and her husband took the vacant place. Dinner was served, and
with the opening of the champagne, which was not long delayed, tongues
were loosened.
“It was very hot in the City to-day,” Mrs. Da Souza remarked to her
host. “Dear Julie was saying what a shame it seemed that you should
be there and we should be enjoying your beautiful gardens. She is so
thoughtful, so sympathetic! Dear girl!”
“Very kind of your daughter,” Trent answered, looking directly at her
and rather inclined to pity her obvious shyness. “Come, drink up, Da
Souza, drink up, girls! I've had a hard day and I want to forget for a
bit that there's any such thing as work.”
Miss Montressor raised her glass and winked at her host.
“It don't take much drinking, this, General,” she remarked, cheerily
draining her glass! “Different to the 'pop' they give us down at the
'Star,' eh, Flossie? Good old gooseberry I call that!”
“Da Souza, look after Miss Flossie,” Trent said. “Why don't you fill her
glass? That's right!”
“Hiram!”
Da Souza removed his hand from the back of his neighbour's chair and
endeavoured to look unconscious. The girl tittered--Mrs. Da Souza was
severely dignified. Trent watched them all, half in amusement, half in
disgust. What a pandemonium! It was time indeed for him to get rid of
them all. From where he sat he could see across the lawn into the little
pine plantation. It was still light--if she could look in at the open
window what would she think? His cheeks burned, and he thrust the hand
which was seeking his under the table savagely away. And then an idea
flashed in upon him--a magnificent, irresistible idea. He drank off a
glass of champagne and laughed loud and long at one of his neighbour's
silly sayings. It was a glorious joke! The more he thought of it, the
more he liked it. He called for more champagne, and all, save the little
brown girl, greeted the magnum which presently appeared with cheers.
Even Mrs. Da Souza unbent a little towards the young women against whom
she had declared war. Faces were flushed and voices grew a little thick.
Da Souza's arm unchidden sought once more the back of his neighbour's
chair, Miss Montressor's eyes did their utmost to win a tender glance
from their lavish host. Suddenly Trent rose to his feet. He held a glass
high over his head. His face was curiously unmoved, but his lips were
parted in an enigmatic smile.
“A toast, my friends!” he cried. “Fill up, the lot of you! Come! To our
next meeting! May fortune soon smile again, and may I have another home
before long as worthy a resting-place for you as this!”
Bewilderment reigned. No one offered to drink the toast. It was Miss
Montressor who asked the question which was on every one's lips.
“What's up?” she exclaimed. “What's the matter with our next meeting
here to-morrow night, and what's all that rot about your next home and
fortune?”
Trent looked at them all in well-simulated amazement.
“Lord!” he exclaimed, “you don't know--none of you! I thought Da Souza
would have told you the news!”
“What news?” Da Souza cried, his beady eyes protuberant, and his glass
arrested half-way to his mouth.
“What are you talking about, my friend?”
Trent set down his glass.
“My friends,” he said unsteadily, “let me explain to you, as shortly as
I can, what an uncertain position is that of a great financier.”
Da Souza leaned across the table. His face was livid, and the corners of
his eyes were bloodshot.
“I thought there was something up,” he muttered. “You would not have me
come into the City this morning. D--n it, you don't mean that you--”
“I'm bust!” Trent said roughly. “Is that plain enough? I've been bulling
on West Australians, and they boomed and this afternoon the Government
decided not to back us at Bekwando, and the mines are to be shut down.
Tell you all about it if you like.”
No one wanted to hear all about it. They shrunk from him as though he
were a robber. Only the little brown girl was sorry, and she looked at
him with dark, soft eyes.
“I've given a bill of sale here,” Trent continued. “They'll be round
to-morrow. Better pack to-night. These valuers are such robbers. Come,
another bottle! It'll all have to be sold. We'll make a night of it.”
Mrs. Da Souza rose and swept from the room--Da Souza had fallen forward
with his head upon his hands. He was only half sober, but the shock
was working like madness in his brain. The two girls, after whispering
together for a moment, rose and followed Mrs. Da Souza. Trent stole
from his place and out into the garden. With footsteps which were steady
enough now he crossed the velvety lawns, and plunged into the shrubbery.
Then he began to laugh softly as he walked. They were all duped! They
had accepted his story without the slightest question. He leaned over
the gate which led into the little plantation, and he was suddenly grave
and silent. A night-wind was blowing fragrant and cool. The dark boughs
of the trees waved to and fro against the background of deep blue sky.
The lime leaves rustled softly, the perfume of roses came floating
across from the flower-gardens. Trent stood quite still, listening and
thinking.
“God! what a beast I am!” he muttered. “It was there she sat! I'm not
fit to breathe the same air.”
He looked back towards the house. The figures of the two girls, with Da
Souza standing now between them, were silhouetted against the window.
His face grew dark and fierce.
“Faugh!” he exclaimed, “what a kennel I have made of my house! What a
low-down thing I have begun to make of life! Yet--I was a beggar--and I
am a millionaire. Is it harder to change oneself? To-morrow”--he looked
hard at the place where she had sat--“to-morrow I will ask her!”
On his way back to the house a little cloaked figure stepped out from
behind a shrub. He looked at her in amazement. It was the little brown
girl, and her eyes were wet with tears.
“Listen,” she said quickly. “I have been waiting to speak to you! I want
to say goodbye and to thank you. I am very, very sorry, and I hope that
some day very soon you will make some more money and be happy again.”
Her lips were quivering. A single glance into her face assured him
of her honesty. He took the hand which she held out and pressed her
fingers.
“Little Julie,” he said, “you are a brick. Don't you bother about me. It
isn't quite so bad as I made out--only don't tell your mother that.”
“I'm very glad,” she murmured. “I think that it is hateful of them all
to rush away, and I made up my mind to say goodbye however angry it made
them. Let me go now, please. I want to get back before mamma misses me.”
He passed his arm around her tiny waist. She looked at him with
frightened eyes.
“Please let me go,” she murmured.
He kissed her lips, and a moment afterwards vaguely repented it. She
buried her face in her hands and ran away sobbing. Trent lit a cigar and
sat down upon a garden seat.
“It's a queer thing,” he said reflectingly. “The girl's been thrown
repeatedly at my head for a week and I might have kissed her at any
moment, before her father and mother if I had liked, and they'd have
thanked me. Now I've done it I'm sorry. She looked prettier than I've
ever seen her too--and she's the only decent one of the lot. Lord! what
a hubbub there'll be in the morning!”
The stars came out and the moon rose, and still Scarlett Trent lingered
in the scented darkness. He was a man of limited imagination and little
given to superstitions. Yet that night there came to him a presentiment.
He felt that he was on the threshold of great events. Something new
in life was looming up before him. He had cut himself adrift from the
old--it was a very wonderful and a very beautiful figure which was
beckoning him to follow in other paths. The triumph of the earlier part
of the day seemed to lie far back in a misty and unimportant past. There
was a new world and a greater, if fortune willed that he should enter
it.