"No, and it is a noble quality, child—the noblest, I think, when it is used to fight one's own baser nature. That only would keep a woman beautiful ... it is to that you owe your beauty, dear."
"Then it is to you I owe it to a great extent—for it was you who first put the creed into me of courage—and silence—and endurance. Do you remember the night you wished me good-bye over your gate, Clem?"
"I remember everything—but, dear, there is one thing that grieves and bewilders me—why, why could you not have earned a clean, fine living with your pen ... where was your gift of writing?"
"It left me, Clem, when I tried to earn money with it. I could not write. I tried and tried. I sat to it until my eyes sank into my head and hollows came to my cheeks—until we were hungry, my little Pat and I—and cold. For bread and firing I had to leave it, and turn to other things. After the boy died ... it came back and mocked me. I wrote then to ease my pain ... and everything I have written since has been successful ... found a ready market and in some sort Fame ... but it was all too late!"
"Poor child! everything has mocked you!" Clem put her arms round the girl and kissed her tenderly; then drew away and assumed an ordinary pose, for a maid had come into the room bringing lights, and with the intimation that she was about to sound the dressing-bell, as it wanted only half an hour to dinner-time.
"Heavens!" cried Clem; "and I hear Billy's voice in the garden; Eve Carson's, too, I believe. Fly to your room, Poppy. I expect Sarah has laid out one of your gowns."
CHAPTER XXVI
IT was, indeed, Carson whom Portal had brought home with him. They had encountered in West Street, and Bill had insisted on bringing him back just as he was in the inevitable grey lounge suit, assuring him that there would be no one to find fault with his appearance but Mrs. Portal, who was notoriously forgiving.
So Carson came, and had no faintest inkling that Poppy was there too. Being an old intimé of the family, he knew his way about the house and after leaving Portal's dressing-room, he sought the nursery, was admitted by Cinthie's nurse, and stayed talking and romping with the child long after the second bell had sounded and dinner been announced, with the result that Portal insisted on taking Poppy into dinner, while Clem sought the recalcitrant in the nursery. Later, they came laughing to the dining-room, and for the first time Carson knew of Poppy's presence. She was sitting facing the door, and a big silver candlestick, with wide branching antlers, framed her in a silver frame. With her mysterious, tendrilly hair, her subtle scarlet mouth and Celtic cheek-bones, she had the alluring appearance of a Beardsley-drawing without any of its bloodlessness, for her gown was as scarlet as the poppies of the field, and she glowed with inward fires at seeing Carson. The deep, sweet glance she gave him as they greeted made him glow too, with gladness of living, and some other radiant reason that for the moment was not clear to him. He only knew that weariness was gone from his veins and that the splendour of life had come back at last with the rush and swell of full-tide.