Poppy looked up, anxious to learn, and Clem continued with the air of an oracle of Thebes:
"After a time they find themselves sitting still on the ground, very sick. That is Mary's position. She sits flat on the ground and surveys a world that makes her feel sick. Nick Capron, however, continues to whirl."
"She must have great courage to face the situation," said Poppy sincerely.
"She has more than courage," said Clem, alight with loyal enthusiasm. "She is one in a thousand. You know enough of Africa, I daresay, Poppy, to know that life out here is just one huge temptation to a beautiful unhappily-married woman. The place teems with men—good, bad, and indifferent, but all interesting (unless drink is sweeping them down hill too fast), and they all want to be kind to her. Many of them are splendid fellows. But the best of men are half-devil, half-child, and nothing more, where a beautiful woman is concerned. You know that, don't you?"
What Poppy did know was that Clem had far greater knowledge of the world of men and women than she had, and she was only too interested to sit and imbibe wisdom. She frankly said so.
"I thoroughly understand these things," Clem replied without pride. "Sinners can never take me by surprise, whatever they do. Perhaps it is because I might easily have been a devil of the deepest dye myself, but for luck—Billy is my luck."
This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy could not refrain from a trill of laughter.
"I think you are one of those who paint themselves black to be en suite with the people you like, Clemmie," she said; "but you're not extraordinarily clever as an artist."
"Not so clever as you'll have to be when Mrs. Gruyère comes round to have her miniature done," said Clem maliciously. "I must think about going, darling. Mary is coming to fetch me in her carriage and she will be here in a minute or two now. Before I go, I want you to promise me to steal away whenever you can. If you sit too much over work you will fall asleep, and have to be put in the poppy-garden instead of flaunting and flaming in the sunshine and being a joy to behold. What a fascinating flower it is! Both your names are fascinating ... Eve Destiny! ... what could have prompted it, I wonder?"
"Simply an idea. I am a child of destiny, I always think—at least, the old blind hag seems to have been at some pains to fling me about from pillar to post. Eve—" She turned away, knowing that she could not mention that name without giving some sign of the tumult it roused within her. "Eve—was the most primitive person I could think of" (the lie did not come very glibly), "and I am primitive. If I were my real self I should be running loose in the woods somewhere with a wild-cat's skin round me."