“My sister, Lys,” he said, as he took the letter Farris handed.
Farris’ surprise increased. A wife, he had supposed until now. Why should a girl under thirty bury herself in this wilderness?
He wasn’t surprised that she looked unhappy. She might have been a decently pretty girl, he thought, if she didn’t have that woebegone anxious look.
“Will you have a drink?” she asked him. And then, glancing with swift anxiety at her brother, “You’ll not be going now, Andre?”
Berreau looked out at the moonlit forest, and a queer, hungry tautness showed his cheekbones in a way Farris didn’t like. But the Frenchman turned back.
“No, Lys. And drinks, please. Then tell Ahra to care for his guide.”
He read the letter swiftly, as Farris sank with a sigh into a rattan chair. He looked up from it with troubled eyes.
“So you come for teak?”
Farris nodded. “Only to spot and girdle trees. They have to stand a few years then before cutting, you know.”
Berreau said, “The Commissioner writes that I am to give you every assistance. He explains the necessity of opening up new teak cuttings.”