“_Our hopes are wild imaginings,_
_Our schemes are airy castles._”
Leslie Graham and Molly Seaton were comrades of some years’
standing, who had met under unusual circumstances. Business had taken
Molly to one of the big London railway stations. On a bench in the
waiting room she noticed a child sitting all alone. The little girl
looked worried, so Molly had asked what the matter was. A sweet voice
that had taken Molly’s gentle heart by storm had explained the
situation.
That day she and her father had arrived in England from New Zealand.
He had left her in the station while he went to transact some business
outside. He had said he would not be more than an hour, and she was to
wait on the seat until he came back. Three hours had passed and he had
not returned.
That night a black-haired little girl cried herself to sleep in
Molly’s arms, in a bed-sitting-room Brixton way, and the elder Leslie
Graham’s disappearance had been reported to the police.
A week passed, but nothing was heard of him. Molly was advised to get
rid of the child. This she refused to do, for Leslie clung to her as
the one sure thing in a world suddenly turned upside down.
Very little of the lost man’s history could be found out, and that
little was mostly what his daughter had to tell. Leslie had spent the
first ten years of her life in a Spanish convent. She had not seen her
father until two years ago when he had taken her from school to the
store in New Zealand where he was employed. Beyond the fact that he
belonged to the army of educated wastrels drifting about the world,
nothing more was culled. It was more than likely the name was an
assumed one, for Leslie had never heard of any relatives--except a
brother who had died before she was born.
A deserted child is not of rare occurrence or much account. Molly was
advised to let her protegée go to the poorhouse. She refused to do
so. Instead, for two years she kept the little girl.
When Leslie was fourteen, she secured employment as a typist in
Molly’s office, but she did not rest long in this position. Her
knowledge of languages stood her in good stead. She quickly
out-distanced her benefactress in both position and salary. At sixteen
she was foreign correspondence clerk in the shipping house where they
were both employed.
When Leslie was eighteen, Molly, never very strong, was seriously ill.
For three months the younger girl went to the office alone and Molly
stayed at home fretting over her uselessness.
However, with the summer, things looked up again.
Then winter came, and, with it, the darkest days of all.
Molly was ill again, so ill that she had to leave London, if possible
go to the South of France. And just when money was most needed their
firm amalgamated with another and Leslie was numbered with the
unemployed. Molly was sent to Harrogate. Leslie went to Paris as a
teacher in a school of languages, the first post that presented
itself. And she went wondering what would happen when their savings
ran out, for the care Molly needed could not be got out of two pounds
a week.
Then the sky cleared again, and Leslie sat in the hall of the hotel in
a fever of impatience waiting to impress upon the still truant Molly
the greatness of this stroke of luck.
Full of suppressed excitement she watched the hands of the clock creep
slowly round to half-past eight. She wondered why Molly had not wired
to account for her absence, but she knew her friend’s easily agitated
and flustered ways too well to take much notice of this.
As Fletcher and Mellors left the dining-room, the sight of Leslie
sitting small and erect with eyes for nothing beyond the clock and the
entrance, brought the Captain to a halt.
“I tell you she’s no more a friend of that villain’s than I am,” he
said with some heat. “Does she look the sort of girl to take up with a
nigger? He’s taken advantage of her impulsive action and thrust
himself upon her, and she’s too much of a child to know how to get out
of the situation. As far as I can see she hasn’t a friend in the
place. If rumor is to be believed one girl from here has just gone and
made an unholy mess of her life by marrying a nigger. At the risk of a
snub, I’ll give that kid a word in season.”
“Let her alone,” Mellors replied. “If she has no more respect for
herself than to be seen with Lebrassa, she’s not worth troubling
about.”
“If she were ten years older I wouldn’t give the matter a second
thought. But a child like that, loose on the world, is everybody’s
concern.”
Mellors shrugged his shoulders. Captain Lindsay Fletcher crossed the
hall.
A voice well above her head brought Leslie’s gaze back from the
entrance.
“I owe you an apology,” it said in a conciliatory tone. “I’d no idea
you were standing within earshot on that occasion before dinner, or I
wouldn’t have expressed myself quite so forcibly.”
Fletcher experienced a nervous tremor as two vivid purple eyes were
switched on him. He stood expecting the snub he had laid himself open
to.
“You owe me no apology,” she said. “But you certainly owe one to the
people you were so rude to.”
“I’d a reason for what I said. But had I known Lebrassa was a friend
of yours I shouldn’t have said a word.”
“I can hardly claim Mr. Lebrassa as a friend--except perhaps a friend
in need.”
Fletcher braced himself up.
“For a friend in need you’d be wiser to stick to your own sort and not
apply to the black people here. I’ve had dealings with niggers for
over twelve years and the less white women have to do with them the
better. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll avoid Lebrassa. If he
endeavors to thrust himself on you, I shall be only too pleased if
you’ll use me as an excuse.”
Leslie was dumbfounded.
“How dare you come and talk to me?” she managed to gasp. “The man you
call a ‘nigger’ at least knows how to behave himself properly.”
Fletcher stuck to his guns.
“Certainly our two meetings can’t have impressed you favorably. As
your opinion of me can’t be any worse than it is, I may as well have
my say out. To begin with, this Lebrassa is half a negro, he’s known
to be a bad lot, he--”
“He’s not the Hyena, anyhow, because he told me so himself.”
There was a tense silence as Fletcher realized all it meant if
Lebrassa had an inkling of his suspicions.
He had deemed it improbable that the girl sitting in the winter garden
had heard or put any meaning to his conversation with Mellors. With an
alarming rush it dawned on him she had.
“Surely you’ve not added to your follies by telling Lebrassa what I
was saying to Mellors?”
For the first time it occurred to Leslie that she ought not to have
repeated the conversation she had overheard accidentally. The fact
that she had, took all anger from her. The sudden pallor of her face
told Fletcher the worst before she met his angry gaze unflinchingly.
“I’m sorry, but--I did.”
All the pretty color had faded from her cheeks, all the brightness
from her eyes. For the first time he realized how tired and worried
she was. The knowledge made him put his own anger and sense of defeat
in the background.
The few cold, wrathful words Leslie was expecting did not come.
Instead, Fletcher seated himself beside her.
“I think you need a friend now if ever you did. Won’t you tell me what
the trouble is?” he asked in a kindly tone.
His unexpected change of front brought a tremor to her voice.
“I… I’ve been waiting for a friend ever since a quarter to seven. In
spite of what Mr. Lebrassa says, I think something must have happened
to her.”
“What did Lebrassa say?”
“That she must have missed the Liverpool train and wouldn’t be here
before half-past eight. But it’s a quarter to nine and… and she still
hasn’t come.”
“Probably the train’s late. They often are.”
“But I can’t make out why she went at all, the very day she knew I’d
be coming.”
Just then Fletcher’s only idea was to comfort his companion and to
stay with her until the arrival of the belated friend put her into
safe hands.
“There’s no accounting for what some people will do,” he said,
pouncing on the first topic of conversation that came to his mind.
“One of my reasons for speaking to you now was because of what’s been
going on here. There was a girl staying in this place, all alone as
you seemed to be. She got friendly with one of these niggers, a man
named Cooper, Lebrassa’s partner in fact, not knowing that to give
their sort an inch means they’ll try for an ell. This Cooper got such
a hold over her that rumor says she’s eloped with him. You wouldn’t
care for people to say the things about you that are being said about
this Miss Seaton. And it started--”
“What are you talking about? Molly wouldn’t elope with a nigger.”
This sudden interruption made Fletcher stop abruptly. As he gazed at
Leslie’s blank, unbelieving face, the truth of the situation dawned on
him.
“Believe me, I’d no idea she was your friend,” he said quickly.
“Tell the manager to come,” Leslie said sharply. “I’ll ask him about
it.”
“He’ll tell you the same thing, child. The place is buzzing with the
scandal.”
In a bewildered way, she got to her feet. In her weary mind there was
only one idea. This man, who had been saying things against people all
evening, had now started on Molly. Some one must be found who would
contradict his statements.
White and dazed, Leslie stood looking for a face she knew.
Seeing Lebrassa sauntering across the hall made her start in his
direction. Guessing where she was going, Fletcher followed. At that
moment only the girl’s reputation had any place in his mind; he did
not wish her to be seen for a second time alone with the mulatto.
Her anxious voice made the latter turn around.
“Mr. Lebrassa, is it true Miss Seaton has eloped with your partner?”
Ignoring Fletcher, he glanced at Leslie.
“I regret to say it is true, Miss Graham,” he said quietly.
“Then you knew all the time!”
“I heard it rumored only. It’s been said before without foundation. In
case it shouldn’t be true this time, I took the liberty of asking you
to dine with me. The subject would have been freely discussed by the
white people here and you might have been alarmed unnecessarily.”
The episode of the dinner invitation was turned off with a skill and
diplomacy that left Fletcher inwardly fuming. He knew Lebrassa had
noted his interview with Leslie. Now, the mulatto had construed his
invitation into consideration for the girl. Moreover, he had succeeded
in making him, Fletcher, appear an even greater cad in her sight.
As he glanced from the worried, anxious girl to the mulatto, back to
his mind flashed a remark made at a neighboring table during
dinner--to the effect that Lebrassa had seemed as anxious for Molly
Seaton to marry Cooper, as Cooper had been to marry the girl; in fact
he had done his best to assist the negro toward this end.
A feeling of something lying behind it all suddenly seized Fletcher.
And the fact of Lebrassa standing cool and unconcerned when he must
know he was under suspicion, made the Englishman doubt the theory he
was evolving.
Yet Fletcher could not quite free himself of the idea that Lebrassa
might be the “wanted” man; his present behavior savored of the Hyena’s
reckless daring.
Leslie gazed back at Lebrassa’s dark, unmoved face almost defiantly.
“I don’t believe it. Molly wouldn’t marry a… a colored man.”
“It may be a little difficult to believe, but it’s true nevertheless,
for I’ve just had a telegram from Cooper, my partner, now her husband,
telling me they were married in Liverpool this morning by special
license.”
“You let her marry a--nigger!”
The amazed disgust in Leslie’s voice brought a flicker of amusement to
the mulatto’s face.
“You forget I’m a ‘nigger’ myself, Miss Graham. Cooper is wealthy. If
your friend were willing to overlook his color it was hardly for me to
interfere.”
In stunned bewilderment Leslie looked from one man to the other. Then,
with an effort she pulled herself together.
“I’m sorry to have troubled you both,” she said in a stiff, strained
manner. “I must apologize for doubting what you both said, but it
was--rather unexpected.”
Small and erect, with only the dazed pallor of her face to show what a
blow the news had been, she crossed the hall, making for the refuge of
her bedroom.
Ignoring each other completely, the two men watched her until she was
lost round a bend in the stairs.