After which calmly contradictory statement, she closed her eyes and fanned herself with a legal-looking document, chosen for its stiffness from among the papers she had brought, and which were now at sixes and sevens upon the floor.
At the name "Nick Capron," Poppy gave a little start. How well she remembered the day she had heard that name from the lips of a beautiful woman in Bloemfontein! Could this Nick Capron possibly be the "most fascinating man in Africa" whom the gold-haired heroine was going to marry? She must try and discover.
"I think a cup of tea would refresh you, Sophie," she presently said.
"Och ni vat! I can't eat or drink when I get worn out like this—I become a perfect wreck."
Poppy surveyed the healthy, not to say opulent proportions stretched before her, and could not forbear to smile.
"Oh, you should keep up your strength," she said, with irony entirely thrown away.
"The only thing that would be the slightest use to me, now," announced Sophie, "is a glass of champagne—and, of course, I can't have that."
Poppy began to pore over her manuscript. She was in the mood for work and hated not to take advantage of it.
"I wish I were rich enough to drink champagne whenever I am tired," was Miss Cornell's next contribution; and Poppy laughed without being amused.
"You'd soon be bored with that."