Poppy merely laughed. Bramham, piqued that his shot had missed fire, and, having no other ready at the moment, repeated it with as much disagreeableness as he could muster—which was not any very great amount.
"It must be unpleasant to be so cold."
"Oh, not in this climate," said she tranquilly; adding, with a touch of malice: "and there are always plenty of fires where one can warm oneself, quelquefois."
"I think that what you need is a bonfire." Bramham was feeling distinctly cross, but Poppy laughed so merrily at this mot that his good-humour was restored. He began to smoke again, sitting sideways now, because he was able to see her face better, and there appeared to be no object in sitting cheek by jowl. Later, he said:
"I don't see why you should despise my nice bright flame."
Poppy meditated swiftly. She liked Bramham well, and she desired to keep him friendly; only, there was a thing he had to understand clearly. She was learning to make use of any twist of the tongue in difficult situations, but she knew that she was dealing with man of a good type and it seemed indicated that a little of the truth would not be out of place at this juncture—a little only! the real, bitter, wonderful truth she would share with no one in the world!
"I am far from despising it, Mr. Bramham," she said at last, very gently. "But I happen to want you for a friend, not an enemy."
Bramham did not see his way quite clear through this. However, he declared stoutly that he had never been a woman's enemy yet.
"Then you must often have been your own," she retorted, with a little glint of bitter wisdom. Thereafter, the conversation flagged again. Bramham had missed his cue and his broad shoulders took on a somewhat sullen expression. Poppy had the hopeless feeling that she had lost a lover without finding a friend, and the thought filled her with sadness. Only God and she knew how much she needed a friend; and she was sure she could find no stronger, firmer rock to her back than this big, kind man, if she could only get him away from these shoals of emotion on to the firm ground of friendship.
But Bramham was sighing sulkily, and flipping with his forefinger at the end of his cigar, as though he had no further use for it. Obviously, he was thinking of making a chilly departure. Suddenly she put out her hand and touched his, resting on his knee.