Father and son were returning at once by the out–going mail steamer. She pressed Peter to accept what little money she could spare, but he would not take a penny.
“No, miss,” he said, with emphatic head–shaking. “There’s some shot left in the locker yet, an’ me an’ the Cap’n will ‘ave a reckonin’ w’en he comes ‘ome. If I’m short of a pound or two afore I get the Nancy in commission this spring, I’ll ax that gentleman at the bank for it. P’raps you’ll write ‘im a line, an’ say I’ve kep’ me contract.”
She had to be content with that. Were it practicable, she would have gone back to England in the same steamer. Here, in Las Palmas, she felt so utterly unbefriended. Though thousands of miles nearer Africa than in England, she seemed to be more thousands of miles removed from the chance of receiving a letter or a cablegram. True, she possessed a very useful acquaintance in the commander of the Valiant, but she could hardly expect one of His Majesty’s cruisers to fly to and fro in the East Atlantic in order to keep her conversant with developments in Nigeria. Peter, however, undertook to call at the Colonial Office, while she would cable him her address after the lapse of a fortnight. Then, if there was any news of Warden, he would communicate with her.
At luncheon she had her first meeting with Mrs. Laing since the arrival of that epoch–marking letter. A special menu was ordered, and the table was gay with flowers, for the Baumgartners dearly loved a lord, and were resolved to make the most of their friendly relations with the Earl of Fairholme.
Mr. Baumgartner looked worried and preoccupied. The coming of the mail which meant so much to Evelyn perhaps had its importance for him also. At any rate, he left the entertainment of his guests largely to his wife, until a sharp clash of wits rudely dispelled his reverie.
Beryl Baumgartner was the unconscious agent that brought about an unforeseen crisis. Her restless eyes speedily caught the glint of diamonds on Evelyn’s left hand, and she cried ecstatically:
“Oh, Evelyn, what a lovely ring! Where did you get it?”
Each woman at the table was on the qui vive instantly. In a place like Las Palmas the mere mention of a diamond ring in connection with a young and pretty girl suggests that one more infatuated male has voluntarily removed his name from the list of eligibles.
Evelyn, having stilled the volcano that raged over night, might have allowed the opportunity to pass if she had not happened to catch the mocking smile on Rosamund’s face when the nature of the ring became self–evident. That steeled her intent.
“It is my engagement ring,” she said quietly.