“It was very hot in the City to-day,” Mrs. Da Souza remarked to her host. “Dear Julie was saying what a shame it seemed that you should be there and we should be enjoying your beautiful gardens. She is so thoughtful, so sympathetic! Dear girl!”
“Very kind of your daughter,” Trent answered, looking directly at her and rather inclined to pity her obvious shyness. “Come, drink up, Da Souza, drink up, girls! I've had a hard day and I want to forget for a bit that there's any such thing as work.”
Miss Montressor raised her glass and winked at her host.
“It don't take much drinking, this, General,” she remarked, cheerily draining her glass! “Different to the 'pop' they give us down at the 'Star,' eh, Flossie? Good old gooseberry I call that!”
“Da Souza, look after Miss Flossie,” Trent said. “Why don't you fill her glass? That's right!”
“Hiram!”
Da Souza removed his hand from the back of his neighbour's chair and endeavoured to look unconscious. The girl tittered—Mrs. Da Souza was severely dignified. Trent watched them all, half in amusement, half in disgust. What a pandemonium! It was time indeed for him to get rid of them all. From where he sat he could see across the lawn into the little pine plantation. It was still light—if she could look in at the open window what would she think? His cheeks burned, and he thrust the hand which was seeking his under the table savagely away. And then an idea flashed in upon him—a magnificent, irresistible idea. He drank off a glass of champagne and laughed loud and long at one of his neighbour's silly sayings. It was a glorious joke! The more he thought of it, the more he liked it. He called for more champagne, and all, save the little brown girl, greeted the magnum which presently appeared with cheers. Even Mrs. Da Souza unbent a little towards the young women against whom she had declared war. Faces were flushed and voices grew a little thick. Da Souza's arm unchidden sought once more the back of his neighbour's chair, Miss Montressor's eyes did their utmost to win a tender glance from their lavish host. Suddenly Trent rose to his feet. He held a glass high over his head. His face was curiously unmoved, but his lips were parted in an enigmatic smile.
“A toast, my friends!” he cried. “Fill up, the lot of you! Come! To our next meeting! May fortune soon smile again, and may I have another home before long as worthy a resting-place for you as this!”
Bewilderment reigned. No one offered to drink the toast. It was Miss Montressor who asked the question which was on every one's lips.
“What's up?” she exclaimed. “What's the matter with our next meeting here to-morrow night, and what's all that rot about your next home and fortune?”