"The g-gong has been sounded twice for you," he began agreeably. "Were you afraid the view wouldn't be there after lunch?"
"I beg your pardon, Luce. I didn't know you were in, and I never heard a sound of the gong. Kykie, you should beat it louder."
Kykie was at the sideboard decanting whiskey. She resembled a person who had recently taken part in a dynamitic explosion. Her dook was pushed to the back of her head, her eyes stuck out, and perspiration beaded her nose and cheek-bones. Several of the buttons of her tight dress had come undone.
"Heavenly me!" she retorted in shrill staccato, "you never hear anything you don't want to, Poppy." With that she banged the decanter down and floundered from the room.
"What can be the matter with Kykie!" said Poppy in a wondering voice. What she was really wondering was, whether the fireworks had all been exhausted on Kykie's devoted head or whether there would be a detonation in her own direction shortly.
Babiyaan, a boy who had been in Luce Abinger's service for ten years, waited upon them with deft, swift hands. Poppy gave an inquiring glance at him; but though he had also received a generous share of obloquy and vilification, his face was as serene and impassive as an Egyptian's.
Some delicious fish was served, grilled as only Kykie could grill, followed by cutlets and green peas, and a salad of sliced Avocado pears, delicately peppered, and with a ravishing dressing.
Luce Abinger always preferred Poppy to mix the salads. He said that she combined all the qualifications demanded by the old Spanish receipt for the maker of a good salad—a spendthrift for the oil, a miser for the vinegar, a counsellor for the salt, and a lunatic to stir all up. It appeared that she sometimes fell short in the matter of salt, but she assured him that he had a fine stock of that within himself to fall back on, and acids too, in case of a lack of vinegar.
Kykie's salad was very good, and Poppy told Babiyaan to tell her so. Later, she also sent a message of praise concerning the omelette au Kirsch. Except for these remarks the meal was partaken of in silence. Poppy, while she ate, observed and approved the old-rose walls, the few beautiful mellowy pictures upon them, the dark polished floor and the Persian praying-rugs spread sleekly down the room. She looked everywhere but at the face of Luce Abinger, for she knew that his devils were at him; and as the possessor of devils of her own, she both felt compassion and exhibited courtesy in the presence of other people's. She never looked at Luce Abinger's face at any time if she could help it, for the sight of unbeautiful things always gave her intense pain; and his face had the added terror and sadness of a thing that has once been beautiful. Its right side was still strong and fine in line; and it was easy to see that the mouth, before it was dragged out of drawing by the scar and embittered and distorted by its frightful sneer, must have been wonderfully alluring. The scar had left his eyes untouched, except for a slight pulling-down of the outer corner of the left one where the disfigurement began. They must have been strikingly beautiful blue eyes once, but now a sort of perpetual cold fury at the back of them gave them an odd and startling light. Apart from that, they were eyes which it was not good for women to search in. Poppy sometimes thought of them as dark and sinister pools from which it was best to retreat, for fear of drowning and strangling in strange waters.
Presently Babiyaan brought in the little silver urn and placed it before Poppy, and she lighted the spirit-lamp under it and made the coffee as she was always used to do in the old white farm. Cigars and cigarettes were put before Abinger.