Davenant had an ugly vision as he
sat there. He saw the man's eyes catch fire, the muscles of his
face twitch, he saw Ernestine shrink back, white with terror and
the man followed her.
"Cecil! Aren't you well? you're looking positively ghastly!"
He pulled himself together - it had been a very realistic little
interlude.
"Bad headache!" he said, smiling. "By the by, I must go!"
"If you ever did such a thing as work," she remarked, "I should say
that you, had been doing too much. As it is, I suppose you have
been sitting up too late. Goodbye. I am so glad that you were here
to meet Mr. Trent. Mr. Davenant is my cousin, you know," she
continued, turning to her visitor, "and he is almost the only one
of my family who has not cast me off utterly."
Davenant made his adieux with a heavy heart. He hated the hypocrisy
with which he hoped for Scarlett Trent's better acquaintance and the
latter's bluff acceptance of an invitation to look him up at his club.
He walked out into the street cursing his mad offer to her and the
whole business. But Ernestine was very well satisfied.
She led Trent to talk about Africa again, and he plunged into the
subject without reserve. He told her stories and experiences with
a certain graphic and picturesque force which stamped him as the
possessor of an imaginative power and command of words for which
she would scarcely have given him credit.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180