"Go and bring in Emma to say a few pleasant words all round," he would enjoin, and Emma would come, looking like a wounded bear ready to eat up everything in sight. But, strange to say, after the first two or three visits, his words were sweeter than honey in the honeycomb, and all his ways were soothing and serene. He had nothing but good news to dispense. The novelty first amused then exasperated Druro, and he ended up by telling Guthrie to clear out of the hospital and never come back.
Emma did come back, however, and every time he showed his face, it was to bring some fresh tale of the sparkling fortunes hidden in the bosom of his Golconda. The mine was a brick, a peach, a flower. Zeus dropping nightly showers of gold upon Danaë was nothing to the miracles going on at the Leopard.
One evening after dinner, while Druro was sitting alone with his own dark thoughts, a message was brought to him—a message that Mrs. Hading would be glad to see him. It appeared that she had been up and about her room for some days, and was as bored as he with her own society.
Leaning on the arm of his nurse, he walked down the long veranda and came to her big, cool room, delicately shaded with rose lights and full of the scent of violets and faint Parisian essences. He could not see her of course, or the rose lights, but he sensed her sitting there in her long chair, looking languorous and subtle, with colours and flowers and books about her. The nurse guided him to a seat near her and left them together.
"Well, here we are, Lundi—turned into a pair of wretched, broken-down crocks!"
The words were light, but the indescribable bitterness of her voice struck at him painfully.
"Only for a little while," he said gently. "We'll both be back in the game soon, fitter than ever."
"Never!" There was the sound of a shudder in the exclamation. "How can one ever be the same after that——"
"You've been a brick! You mustn't give way now, after coming through so bravely."
"How I hate Africa!" she exclaimed fiercely.