“Better start at once,” said the adjutant. “Will you send for your pony?”
Ronnie gave the order, but otherwise remained dumb, and in less than five minutes I saw him ride away with Captain Gloag, who carried his sword in the sight of all spectators—our servants, and the Millses’ servants—every one of whom realised what this portended as well as I did myself.
CHAPTER XXIII
A HAVEN
After the departure of Ronnie I sat as if stunned; possibly I could not have felt more utterly wretched had he been dead. Indeed, it almost seemed to me as if there were an element of death in the bungalow, such was the silence. Not a sound to be heard, except the dripping of a tap and a casual lizard pattering on the matting; all the servants (and other people’s servants) were collected in our cookhouse, discussing the catastrophe. As a rule the usual daily routine is carried on, no matter what trouble overtakes a household, and presently I saw the butler preparing breakfast in the dining-room. Then he came to the door, salaamed with both hands, and said:
“Please, missie, to come and take something. Last night missie no dinner having; missie will be sick, and that plenty bad business for everyone.”
This was true. If I were to collapse I would be of no use, nor able to face the struggle and strain which lay before me. I accepted the kind advice of Michael, ate a little breakfast and felt better. If Ronnie was about to fall into this awful trouble, I must consider how I could best assist him. I had already written home for money; I would arrange for the sale of everything, and if the worst came to the worst, we should have to go away somewhere together and hide our heads until the first fury of the storm had abated.
It was now ten o’clock, and Ronnie had not yet returned. As I was pacing up and down the veranda, a prey to misery and impatience, I heard a light step in the drawing-room, and there was Mrs. Mills. Without a word she took me in her arms and kissed me, and I could see that she had been crying.
“My poor dear child,” she sobbed, “I have heard all. George has just returned from the orderly-room, and we want to know what we can do to help you. We are so desperately sorry for you. So is everyone.”
“You must not be too hard on Ronnie,” I protested, “but a little sorry for him too.”
“Yes, yes,” she said; “we all liked him so much, and were so proud of him too. It’s that dreadful gambling—he’s not the first young man that it has ruined.”