“Then you have, no doubt, met a friend of mine—Mr. Meredith? Indeed, two friends; for I understand that Guy Oscard is associated with him in this wonderful discovery.”
“Oh yes,” replied Jocelyn, with a carefully modulated interest, “I have met them both. Mr. Oscard lunched with us shortly before we left Africa.”
“Ah, that was when he disappeared so suddenly. We never got quite to the base of that affair. He left at a moment's notice on receipt of a telegram or something, only leaving a short and somewhat vague note for my—for us. He wrote from Africa, I believe, but I never heard the details. I imagine Jack Meredith was in some difficulty. But it is a wonderful scheme this, is it not? They are certain to make a fortune, I understand.”
“So people say,” replied Jocelyn. It was a choice to tell all—to tell as much as she herself knew—or nothing. So she told nothing. She could not say that she had been forced by a sudden breakdown of her brother's health to leave Loango while Jack Meredith's fate was still wrapped in doubt. She could not tell Lady Cantourne that all her world was in Africa—that she was counting the days until she could go back thither. She could not lift for a second the veil that hid the aching, restless anxiety in her heart, the life-absorbing desire to know whether Guy Oscard had reached the Plateau in time. Her heart was so sore that she could not even speak of Jack Meredith's danger.
“How strange,” said Lady Cantourne, “to think that you are actually living in Loango, and that you are the last person who has spoken to Jack Meredith! There are two people in this house to-night who would like to ask you questions from now till morning, but neither of them will do it. Did you see me go through the room just now with a tall gentleman—rather old.”
“Yes,” answered Jocelyn.
“That was Sir John Meredith, Jack's father,” said Lady Cantourne in a lowered voice. “They have quarrelled, you know. People say that Sir John does not care—that he is heartless, and all that sort of thing. The world never says the other sort of thing, one finds. But—but I think I know to the contrary. He feels it very deeply. He would give worlds to hear some news of Jack; but he won't ask it, you know.”
“Yes,” said Jocelyn, “I understand.”
She saw what was coming, and she desired it intensely, while still feeling afraid—as if they were walking on some sacred ground and might at any moment make a false step.
“I should like Sir John to meet you,” said Lady Cantourne pleasantly. “Will you come to tea some afternoon? Strange to say, he asked who you were not half an hour ago. It almost seems like instinct, does it not? I do not believe in mystic things about spirits and souls going out to each other, and all that nonsense; but I believe in instinct. Will you come to-morrow? You are here to-night with Mrs. Sander, are you not? I know her. She will let you come alone. Five o'clock. You will see my niece Millicent. She is engaged to be married to Jack Meredith, you know. That is why they quarrelled—the father and son. You will find a little difficulty with her too. She is a difficult girl. But I dare say you will manage to tell her what she wants to know.”