“She’s coming along,” I boasted to Mrs Rookwood. “The first few nights she was in laager she had no more initiative than a dead duck, but she’s getting quite bright now. I really believe it is doing her good to come into laager and see society.”
“Your society would do any one good,” remarked my companion so warmly that I really felt she was sincere and I coloured all over with pleasure, for I always think a compliment from a woman is worth half-a-dozen from a man. I still had it in my heart against her that she had called my Anthony a brute, but her next words dissolved all my resentment and gave her my gratitude for ever.
“I never met any one more kind and generous—except Anthony Kinsella. I called him a brute this evening but that was only to cover my embarrassment and anger with all those cats staring at me. As a matter of fact he was perfectly sweet to me and at no one else’s command in the whole of this country—Mr Rhodes or Dr Jim or an Archangel—would I have left George and come back here to be laughed at. Not that you laughed—and I’ll never forget how good you’ve been, and Mrs Marriott too. And oh, Miss Saurin, you should see her husband. You wouldn’t know him, he has brightened and changed so much. He looks like a man again.”
“Oh, you must tell her,” I said. “Tell her as soon as she comes in. Did he speak to you?”
“Yes, they were all crowding round my horse cheering me at the last. I must tell you that though the Doctor was very cross with me, both he and Major Kinsella said things that made every one think I was a very brave woman indeed, instead of a silly little fool who thought she was doing something rather clever and found out that she was simply making extra difficulties for the men. Of course I know it disorganised things awfully—and then to have to send off two good men with me—and how they hated coming, poor fellows! Oh, I was awfully ashamed of myself, but I can assure you Tony Kinsella had every one of them cheering and kissing my hands as though I were a Joan of Arc—and all the time my heart was a wretched little speck of misery in me.”
She paused, staring wretchedly at the ceiling with her lovely murky eyes, and considering God knows what sad pages of her unhappy history. I was sorry for her, but my heart was glowing with joy to have heard tidings of the man I loved, and I could not be unhappy.
“Tell me about Mrs Marriott’s husband,” I presently said, when I could drag my thoughts away from Anthony.
“He was one of the last to take my hand and wish me good-bye and good-luck, and he said, ‘When you see my wife, Mrs Rookwood, will you tell her that I am feeling like another man, and give her—’ That was all, but he said it with such intensity that I’m sure he meant her to understand that he is another man, and he must have overcome his dreadful habit to a great extent to look as he does—quite bright-eyed and holding himself alert. I am sure that he was going to say ‘Give her my love,’ but a sudden shyness came over him in front of all those men, knowing, too, that every one knew how sad it had been for her.”
“You must tell her,” I said swiftly, for I heard her coming along the verandah. “Tell her everything, just as you’ve told me, and put in the love too—of course he meant to send it. You’ll be doing a fine action, Mrs Rookwood. That woman is half dead with despair.”
At this point we nimbly turned the conversation to the subject of supper, and having examined the toast which Mrs Marriott held out for my approval, I a few minutes later made it my business to go in turn to the yard-fire.