From the glimpse he had obtained of her, Hayle had formed the impression that Mrs Bush was pretty. When she came in, he saw that he had been mistaken, if one judged by recognised codes, as no sane man does judge, either of faces or of character, or—I say it even with the fear of the Outer Darkness of the Podsnaps before me—of morals. There are no rules in these matters, there can be no rules when you are dealing with such infinitely complex subjects as human form and human character. What is beauty in one woman is mere drabness in another, for beauty is three parts soul and one part form to any one but an animal-man, and animal-men should not count for anything—in fact they should be eliminated whenever possible. The same applies to morals. How can you lay down hard and fast rules when the Magdalen is a Christian saint, and whilst those who revere her as such, and dedicate churches to her, fall over themselves in their anxiety to cast the first stone at her latter-day successors? But this is all beside the scope of this story, which deals with the crude code of the Bolo, the law with one clause only.
“I am sorry I kept you,” Mrs Bush said, with a soft Southern drawl. “But I get so few visitors I am never ready to receive them.”
Basil flushed. “I only came to see Captain Bush on business. It wasn’t fair to worry you. I wanted to get him to lend me some food and kit for my men—Felizardo’s people burnt all theirs to-day—and I was going to ask him about sending a dispatch into Manila. The boy said you would know where to find him.”
Mrs Bush’s face hardened momentarily, and she looked away quickly, then, “No,” she replied, “I don’t know where—at least, I mean you cannot find him now. But, if you don’t mind waiting, he is sure to be in soon. Perhaps you would like to come up on the balcony; it is cooler there.”
When they had sat down, Basil laughed rather awkwardly. “I forgot to tell you my name; it is Hayle—Basil Hayle of the Constabulary.”
Mrs Bush nodded. “I guessed that, when you mentioned Felizardo. We heard something of your fight up on the volcano, from an old Spaniard who came in to-day; but he said you had gone back there.”
The man laughed bitterly, and glanced down at his torn and mud-stained uniform. “So I did, but I have come back quickly.”
She looked at him with ready sympathy. “Do you mean they drove you back? What hard luck, after starting so well! But did you go with just that handful of men?”
Mrs Bush was sorry she had asked the question as soon as she saw the look in his eyes. “No,” he answered, “I went out with sixty-five men this morning.”
“And the others?” She leaned forward anxiously.