"Of course. But who was it? A man, I'll bet—or has your old aunt gone up the tree?"
"Don't ask me anything, Sophie. I shall go mad if I have to talk. Only, hide me and never let anyone know I'm here, or I shall kill myself." The girl fell exhausted into a chair and Sophie stood staring at her with a long face. It would not suit her book at all, she reflected, if Rosalind Chard wanted to be shut up and never see anyone. However, she saw that this was no time to argue the point, and that her present pressing business was to get the exhausted girl to bed.
This she proceeded to do.
CHAPTER XI
THE person largely instrumental in bringing Poppy back to health and a remote interest in life was Charles Bramham.
One day Sophie Cornell met him in West Street and asked him to come and call.
"I have Rosalind up at last," she told him; "but she looks like a dying duck, and I believe she will die if someone doesn't buck her up. It would be a real charity if you would come and talk to her."
Bramham, though an exceedingly busy man, accepted the invitation with vivacity, for he was much intrigué on the subject of Miss Chard, and, further, he had not forgotten the romantic and piquant sensations she had inspired in him upon the occasion of their one meeting. Now, piquant and romantic sensations are very valuable in South Africa, and should always be followed up in case of life becoming too monotonously saltless and savourless. Bramham swiftly found a spare hour and arrived one afternoon in Sophie's absence.
He was utterly taken aback by the change in the girl. He came upon her suddenly, sitting in the verandah with her hands laced round her knees and her eyes staring straight in front of her with a look in them that was not good to see.