“Nidia,” called a voice from within—a voice not untinged with acerbity—“won’t Mr Ames come inside?”
John Ames started, and the effect seemed to freeze him somewhat. The coldness of the greeting extended to him as he complied, completed the effect. Instinctively he set it down to its true cause.
“We met last under very different circumstances, didn’t we, Mrs Bateman?” he said easily. “None of us quite foresaw all that has happened since.”
“I should think not. The wonder is that one of us is alive to tell the tale,” was the rejoinder, in a tone which seemed to imply that no thanks were due to John Ames that ‘one of us’ was—in short, that he was responsible for the whole rising.
“And do you remember my asking if there wasn’t a chance of the natives rising and killing us all?” said Nidia. “I have often thought of that. What times we have been through!” with a little shudder. “Yet, in some ways it seems almost like a dream. Doesn’t it, Susie?”
“A dream we are not awakened from, unfortunately,” was the reply. “We don’t seem through our troubles yet. Well, as for as we are concerned, we soon shall be. I want to take Miss Commerell out of this wretched country, Mr Ames, as soon as ever it can be managed. Don’t you think it the best plan?”
“I think you are both far safer where you are, since you ask me,” he answered. “Any amount of reinforcements are on their way, and meanwhile the laager here, though uncomfortable, is absolutely safe, because absolutely impregnable. Whereas the Mafeking road, if still open, is so simply on sufferance of the rebels. Any day we may hear of the Mangwe being blocked.”
“I disagree with you entirely,” came the decisive reply. “I hear, on first-rate authority, that the coaches are running regularly, under escort, and that the risk is very slight. I think that will be our best plan. I suppose you will be joining one of the forces taking the field as soon as possible, won’t you, Mr Ames?”
If there was one thing that impressed itself upon John Ames when he first entered, it was that this woman intended to make herself supremely disagreeable; now he could not but own that she was thoroughly succeeding, and, as we said, he had instinctively seen her bent. She was, in fact, warning him off. The tone and manner, the obtrusive way in which she was mapping out his own movements for him, stirred within him a resentment he could hardly disguise, but her suggestion with regard to disposing of those of Nidia struck him with a pang of dismay, and that accentuated by considerations which will hereinafter appear. Now he replied—
“My plans are so absolutely in the clouds that I can hardly say what I may decide to do, Mrs Bateman. I might even decide to cut my connection with this country. Take a run home to England, perhaps. What if I were so fortunate as to come in as your escort?”