“I wonder they wait for that!” said Diana scornfully. “What did Captain Gilderoy find Gurney doing with Trixie?”
“They were on the Jacksons’ stoep—their quarters join ours, you know. Wray says that Trixie was draped round Gurney’s neck, and he looked a perfect fool. We were furious, of course, as the girl was dining at our house, and in our care for the time, at least. Wray spoke to Gurney pretty plainly, and told him that unless he meant to marry her, he had better behave decently when she was with us.”
“It is her fault, not Gurney’s,” asserted Diana, sacrificing the woman to the man with the instinct of her class. For she was a “man’s woman,” and would see no wrong in the sex. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he wriggled out of it—said he couldn’t afford to marry. It is rather a pity for the girl, don’t you think?” Her eyes glanced at Chum in the looking-glass, where she was powdering her face. Mrs. Lewin stood behind her, her taller stature enabling her to see over the little woman’s head, while she watched a trifle satirically to see Mrs. Gilderoy wet her finger with her lips and draw it across her lashes.
“Wretchedly large puffs you have, Di!” she said calmly. “One’s eyes always catch the powder and give it away.”
“It’s not a thing I use at all,” Di Churton boasted, passing her handkerchief over her burnt and oozing skin. “How are you getting on with your housekeeping, Chum? I forgot to ask you.”
“Very well, thanks to Abdallah. I must confess he does more towards it than I.”
“Oh, you’ve got Abdallah? I hate Arabs myself. We’ve Malagasy and natives. Your servants sleep on the stoep, of course?”
“I don’t know,” said Chum, laughing. “It’s their own fault if they do. There are servants’ quarters.”
“I bet you five to one they sleep on the stoep, and bring their women there too!”