Yet, unable to tear himself away, he stood, a stiff, black figure against the wall, his eyes scanning the dancers, until presently she passed him in the arms of her distinguished-looking partner, the scarlet of whose coat clashed harshly with the rose-colour of her gown. As they danced they were talking and laughing. In his mind Philip called to her: "Stella! Stella!"; he felt as if the whole room must hear him.... The pair halted at the opposite side of the room. The man was bending his iron-grey head towards her; there was force, personality in the well set-up figure and the bold features that but just escaped coarseness. He was taking Stella's fan from her hand with a familiar, proprietary air that to Philip was maddening; he lost hold of his high intentions and crossed the room deliberately, making his way among the dancers regardless of their indignant protests, the collisions he caused; as far as he was concerned they might all have been phantoms—he simply walked through them.
Then he stood before Stella, before the woman he loved, bowed like any casual acquaintance, and heard himself saying:
"Mrs. Crayfield, have you forgotten me? My name is Flint."
Startled, she looked up, and he saw the colour drain from her lips and cheeks. The General stiffened, clearly resenting the intrusion.
"I've just got up from the plains," continued Philip pleasantly, though he found it hard to steady his voice. "I had no idea you were at Surima. It's a long time since we last met, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said faintly, not looking at him; "a long time——"
He knew that for the moment, at any rate, he was being a kill-joy, a ghost at the feast, calling up the past, spoiling her pleasure. Yet the consciousness was mingled with a sense of revengeful satisfaction that he could not control. Her passing vexation of spirit was as nothing compared with the tortures of his own.
"Come along, Mrs. Crayfield," the General was moving his feet, impatient to be off again, "we shall miss the last part of the waltz." He made as if to place his arm about her waist.
Philip turned aside, not waiting for her to look at or speak to him further. Blindly he made his way from the ballroom, his thoughts, his sensations in confusion, only to find himself in the midst of a babbling concourse of natives outside, bearers of the canoe-shaped conveyances in which ladies, and even a few men, were borne to the dance; neighing ponies were clustered by the railings; it was all jostle and noise. He walked round to the side of the hotel and discovered an empty veranda, a quiet refuge where he could smoke and attempt to think calmly. As he leaned on the railing his racked nerves welcomed the cold night air, the star-lit peace, the scent and the faint stir of the pine trees. Beneath the ramshackle building sloped the wooded hill-side; far, far below lay the wide plains, dark and boundless as an ocean. Right and left in endless majesty stretched the mountains, and back in ever-rising ranges to the snow peaks, "the home of the gods." His thoughts went loosely adrift; that little crowd of human beings dancing, philandering in the ballroom, intent on their enjoyment, their fleeting loves and hates; whose lives were less than infinitesimal fractions of seconds compared with the ages! Who could grudge them their "little day" while it lasted? Nature had no pity, no sympathy for the struggles, the temptations, the sorrows, the pleasures of the ever-passing multitude of human insects loving and dancing and fighting through their short moments of darkness or sunshine.... What was love, what was sin? What difference could it make whether any of them failed or succeeded, did what seemed to them right or wrong! Nothing really mattered.... Should the human race be swept from the face of the earth, the hills and the plains, the seas and the sun, the moon and the stars, would go on to the end of Time....
Footsteps and voices broke in on Flint's wild, if hardly original, reflections. He recognised that a couple intent on privacy were groping their way into the dark retreat. He heard the grating of chairs on the stone floor, caught snatches of talk as he hid himself instinctively in the shadow of a pillar.