"Yes, that's all very well; but you made a bargain with me, that you would meet Bramham sometimes, and if he likes you, so much the better. You don't seem to know when you're lucky!"
"Lucky?" Something broke from her lips, that might have been only an exclamation, but had the sound of a moan.
"Pooh!" said Sophie. "Some fellow's been kidding you, I suppose, and you don't like it. Oh! I know all about it."
"You know some wonderful things, Sophie!" said Poppy at last, in her soft, low voice. "Your mind must be a treasure-house of dainty thoughts and memories."
But irony was ever wasted on Sophie. She got up and stretched her well-shaped arms above her head until the heliotrope sleeves cracked and gaped at the seams.
"Well, all I can say is that you are a donkey not to want to meet nice fellows when you get the chance. Don't you ever intend to marry?"
Poppy, who had gone over to smell some flowers, probably Bramham's, which were clumsily bunched in rows on the mantel-shelf, faced her with an air of insolent surprise.
"What can that possibly have to do with you or your men visitors?"
"Oho!" said Sophie aggressively. "You won't get many chances of marrying without my assistance, my dear. Perhaps you don't know it, but men don't come to Africa with the idea of entering into the holy state of matrimony. When they do marry, it's quite by accident, and the girl has to work the accident. You don't know much about that business, my child," she added contemptuously. "Better take a few lessons from me."
"Why? Have you been very successful?" Poppy's tone was one of polite inquiry. The other girl flushed.