to dress as though for a great party. I believe it was out of mischief and in order to show Mrs. Atterby-Smith some of the diamonds she was firmly determined that family should never inherit. At any rate there she stood glittering and lovely, and smiled upon us.
Then came dinner and once more I marched to the great hall in her company; Dr. Jeffreys got Mrs. Smith; Papa Smith got Mrs. Jeffreys who looked like a Grecian maiden walking into dinner with the Minotaur; Scroope got one of the Miss Smiths, she who wore a pink bow, the gloomy curate got the other with a blue bow, and Archibald got Mrs. Scroope who departed making faces at us over his shoulder.
“You look very grand and nice,” I said to Lady Ragnall as we followed the others at a discreet distance.
“I am glad,” she answered, “as to the nice, I mean. As for the grand, that dreadful woman is always writing to me about the Ragnall diamonds, so I thought that she should see some of them for the first and last time. Do you know I haven’t worn these things since George and I went to Court together, and I daresay shall never wear them again, for there is only one ornament I care for and I have got that on under my dress.”
I stared and her and with a laugh said that she was very mischievous.
“I suppose so,” she replied, “but I detest those people who are pompous and rude and have spoiled my party. Do you know I had half a mind to come down in the dress that I wore as Isis in Kendah Land. I have got it upstairs and you shall see me in it before you go, for old time’s sake. Only it occurred to me that they might think me mad, so I didn’t. Dr. Jeffreys, will you say grace, please?”
Well, it was a most agreeable dinner so far as I was concerned, for I sat between my hostess and Mrs. Scroope and the rest were too far off for conversation. Moreover as Archibald developed an unexpected quantity of small talk, and Scroope on the other side amused himself by filling pink-bow Miss Smith’s innocent mind with preposterous stories about Africa, as had happened to me once before at this table, Lady Ragnall and I were practically left undisturbed.
“Isn’t it strange that we should find ourselves sitting here again after all these years, except that you are in my poor mother’s place? Oh! when that scientific gentleman convinced me the other day that you whom I had heard were dead, were not only alive and well but actually in England, really I could have embraced him.”
I thought of an answer but did not make it, though as usual she read my mind for I saw her smile.
“The truth is,” she went on, “I am an only child and really have no friends, though of course being—well, you know,” and she glanced at the jewels on her breast, “I have plenty of acquaintances.”
“And suitors,” I suggested.
“Yes,” she replied blushing, “as many as Penelope, not one of whom cares twopence about me any more than I care for them. The truth is, Mr. Quatermain, that nobody and nothing interest me, except a spot in the churchyard yonder and another amid ruins in Egypt.”
“You have had sad bereavements,” I said looking the other way.
“Very sad and they have left life empty. Still I should not complain for I have had my share of good. Also it isn’t true to say that nothing interests me. Egypt interests me, though after what has happened I do not feel as though I could return there. All Africa interests me and,” she added dropping her voice, “I can say it because I know you will not misunderstand, you interest me, as you have always done since the first moment I saw you.”
“I!” I exclaimed, staring at my own reflection in a silver plate which made me look—well, more unattractive than usual. “It’s very kind of you to say so, but I can’t understand why I should. You have seen very little of me, Lady Ragnall, except in that long journey across the desert when we did not talk much, since you were otherwise engaged.”
“I know. That’s the odd part of it, for I feel as though I had seen you for years and years and knew everything about you that one human being can know of another. Of course, too, I do know a good lot of your life through George and Harût.”
“Harût was a great liar,” I said uneasily.
“Was he? I always thought him painfully truthful, though how he got at the truth I do not know. Anyhow,” she added with meaning, “don’t suppose I think the worse of you because others have thought so well. Women who seem to be all different, generally, I notice, have this in common. If one or two of them like a man, the rest like him also because something in him appeals to the universal feminine instinct, and the same applies to their dislike. Now men, I think, are different in that respect.”
“Perhaps because they are more catholic and charitable,” I suggested, “or perhaps because they like those who like them.”
She laughed in her charming way, and said,
“However these remarks do not apply to you and me, for as I think I told you once before in that cedar wood in Kendah Land where you feared lest I should catch a chill, or become—odd again, it is another you with whom something in me seems to be so intimate.”
“That’s fortunate for your sake,” I muttered, still staring at and pointing to the silver plate.
Again she laughed. “Do you remember the Taduki herb?” she asked. “I have plenty of it safe upstairs, and not long ago I took a whiff of it, only a whiff because you know it had to be saved.”
“And what did you see?”
“Never mind. The question is what shall we both see?”
“Nothing,” I said firmly. “No earthly power will make me breathe that unholy drug again.”
“Except me,” she murmured with sweet decision. “No, don’t think about leaving the house. You can’t, there are no Sunday trains. Besides you won’t if I ask you not.”
“ ‘In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird,’ ” I replied, firm as a mountain.
“Is it? Then why are so many caught?”
At that moment the Bull of Bashan—I mean Smith, began to bellow something at his hostess from the other end of the table and our conversation came to an end.
“I say, old chap,” whispered Scroope in my ear when we stood up to see the ladies out. “I suppose you are thinking of marrying again. Well, you might do worse,” and he glanced at the glittering form of Lady Ragnall vanishing through the doorway behind her guests.
“Shut up, you idiot!” I replied indignantly.
“Why?” he asked with innocence. “Marriage is an honourable estate, especially when there is lots of the latter. I remember saying something of the sort to you years ago and at this table, when as it happened you also took in her ladyship. Only there was George in the wind then; now it has carried him away.”
Without deigning any reply I seized my glass and went to sit down between the canon and the Bull of Bashan.
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