“Then I’m not going to give up what I want to do, just because I happen to be a girl. I expect I’d be as useful as any one of your party. I’m strong; and I can outride you and outshoot you, as you know very well. Do you think I care what any one will say? Nobody in the world takes interest in me enough to say anything. Do you want me to remind myself again that I have no money? I’ve been living on you; I know it. But I can endure that because I shall soon be able to pay back every cent, but I’m not going to sit here and wait till you come back from your adventures and give me what you think my secret is worth. I’m going to share in it all, whatever comes—fortune or fighting. There’s nobody in the world now who cares whether I live or die, or—what’s more important, I suppose—whether I’m ladylike or not.”
“How about me?” said Elliott. He hesitated, and then plunged desperately ahead. “Margaret, you’ve said that before, and I can’t stand your feeling like that. Look here, I may as well tell you now: all that gold is nothing to me in comparison with your unhappiness or danger. Let me look after you and think of you; you’ll find me better than nobody. I’m asking you to marry me, Margaret.”
He felt at once conscious of having blundered, but it was too late.
“Oh, how dare you!” she flashed. She jumped up, and stood vibrating in every nerve. “Do you think that I would marry you because you pity me? Perhaps you thought that I was trying to work on your feelings, so that you had to say that to me! Don’t be afraid; I’m not going to accept you. I’m not going to South Africa merely to be in your society. I suppose you thought that! How dared you?”
She sank down on the sofa again and burst into passionate sobbing, with her face buried in the cushions.
“Margaret—” ventured Elliott, approaching her.
“Go away!” she cried, lifting a face in which the eyes still blazed behind the tears. “I will go with you—I will—now more than ever—but I’ll never speak to you!”
Elliott went away as he was ordered, sore and angry at Margaret, at himself. He could not understand how she could so have misconceived him. He felt almost disposed to let her go her own way and take her own chances; and yet he felt that he must be always at her side to see that she suffered nothing. He walked over to Broadway, inwardly fuming, and stopped at a cable agency, where he sent another message to Henninger:
“Can’t wire clue. Am bringing it. Be ready at Delagoa.”
He had considerable trepidation in calling for Margaret the next morning, but he found her cold and calm. Her pallor had returned, and she looked as if she had not slept.