"Listen to me, Mrs. Rochfort, for one moment, though I'm a stupid sort of chap, and no flier at talking. You know very well, that yours is the stronger character. Rochfort has lots of good points, but he is weak, and easily influenced. He is devoted to you—that I honestly believe,—and he is devoted to those kids. He shrinks from an awful scandal at home, and losing his friends, and position—er—and you."
"Oh—me!" she exclaimed with an outburst of bitterness.
"And," continued the pleader steadily, "his heart goes to those motherless children—you know, that she is dead. He cannot abandon them, and they adore him."
"I must say, he has an eloquent advocate!" she gulped.
"I'm afraid I'm a duffer and not much good; he wants one badly. He is too broken to speak for himself."
"Rob—with a family—out here all these years!—and no coffee estate," she repeated helplessly, "now I can understand why the plantation was such an absolutely impossible journey for me! And I thought I had Rob's whole confidence, he consulted me about everything. He used to talk to me, by the hour, about bad crops, and troublesome coolies, and blight, and bone manure! Oh, why could he not tell me the truth?"
"Because he funked it," said Mallender simply.
"Yes, he always shirks disagreeables, and facing a situation, or having to say no. He gets out of things, or won't think of them. It is I, who have to speak or write; it was I, who had to give employés notice, dismiss a head keeper, and interview our nearest neighbour about a right of way."
She sat for a long time looking straight before her, and occasionally wiping away the perspiration that trickled down her wan face. Suddenly she asked:
"What are they like?"