“And I on all three, for the earth contains marble and mud and sandstone, to say nothing of gold and jewels,” I broke in, being tired of silence.
But neither of them paid much attention to me. Anscombe did say, out of politeness, I suppose, that pitch and subterranean fires should be added, or some such nonsense.
Then she began to tell him of her infantile memories of Hungary, which were extremely faint; of how they came to this place and lived first of all in two large Kaffir huts, until suddenly they began to grow rich; of her school days at Maritzburg; of the friends with whom she had been staying, and I know not what, until at last I got up and went out for a walk.
When I returned an hour or so later they were still talking, and so continued to do until Dr. Rodd arrived upon the scene. At first they did not see him, for he stood at an angle to them, but I saw him and watched his face with a great deal of interest. It, or rather its expression, was not pleasant; before now I have seen something like it on that of a wild beast which thinks that it is about to be robbed of its prey by a stronger wild beast, in short, a mixture of hate, fear and jealousy—especially jealousy. At the last I did not wonder, for these two seemed to be getting on uncommonly well.
They were, so to speak, well matched. She, of course, was the better looking of the two, a really pretty and attractive young woman indeed, but the vivacity of Anscombe’s face, the twinkle of his merry blue eyes and its general refinement made up for what he lacked—regularity of feature. I think he had just told her one of his good stories which he always managed to make so humorous by a trick of pleasing and harmless exaggeration, and they were both laughing merrily. Then she caught sight of the doctor and her merriment evaporated like a drop of water on a hot shovel. Distinctly I saw her pull herself together and prepare for something.
“How do you do?” she said rapidly, rising and holding out her slim sun-browned hand. “But I need not ask, you look so well.”
“How do you do, my dear,” with a heavy emphasis on the “dear” he answered slowly. “But I needn’t ask, for I see that you are in perfect health and spirits,” and he bent forward as though to kiss her.
Somehow or other she avoided that endearment or seal of possession. I don’t quite know how, as I turned my head away, not wishing to witness what I felt to be unpleasant. When I looked up again, however, I saw that she had avoided it, the scowl on his face, the demureness of hers and Anscombe’s evident amusement assured me of this. She was asking about her father; he answered that he also seemed quite well.
“Then why did you write to tell me that I ought to come as he was not at all well?” she inquired, with a lifting of her delicate eyebrows.
The question was never answered, for at that moment Marnham himself appeared.