The doctor regarded her with a kind of restrained fury. “It makes one’s blood boil,” he burst out, “to see a man—old enough to know better, too—breaking his heart over a girl’s silly whims, and then to find the girl absolutely wrapped up in herself and her own selfish sorrow!”
“Are you speaking of me?” asked Penelope, turning to him in astonishment. She could scarcely believe her ears.
“I am, and of the Chief. How dare you treat him in this way? Isn’t it enough for a man to have the whole military and civil charge of the district, and the burden of keeping the peace all along this frontier, upon his shoulders, without his work being made harder by the woman who ought to help him? Do you know that he worries himself about you to such an extent that it interferes with his work?”
“I didn’t know—— What do you mean? Did he tell you?” stammered Penelope, utterly confounded by this attack.
“Tell me? Do you know him no better than that? Of course not. But I have eyes, and Keeling and I have been friends for five-and-twenty years. Do you expect me to be blind when I know he can’t settle to anything, and snaps at every one who comes near him, and contradicts his own orders, and rides all night instead of taking proper rest? Don’t pretend it’s not your fault. You know it is. For some reason or other he does you the honour to care for you, and you won’t see him or speak to him or send him a message, until he takes it into his head that he has mortally offended you—how or why, you know best.”
“I didn’t know,” murmured Penelope again. “Oh, but you must be mistaken. It isn’t like him. Why should he care so much—all because of me?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure. Some men are made that way,” said the doctor grimly. “But there it is. And you, who ought to be on your knees thanking God for the love of such a man, are doing your best to drive him mad. What is a woman’s heart made of? Don’t you see what an honour it is for you that he should even have thought of you? Don’t let me see you laugh. Don’t dare.”
“I—I’m not laughing,” she faltered hysterically. “But—but—oh, why didn’t he come himself instead of sending you? I never thought——”
“I should imagine he didn’t come because you have never allowed him to see you for weeks. But as for his sending me——!” the doctor laughed stormily. “If you want to punish me for what I have said to you, all you have to do is to tell him I have been here, and what I came for. I don’t think the province would hold me. But I don’t care, if it meant that you would treat him properly. Do you know what Keeling did for me? You mayn’t think it to look at me now, but I was as wild as the best of them when I knew him first. He was a queer, long-legged youngster when he joined the old —th, as dark as a native, pretty nearly—‘fifteen annas’ was what they generally called him—and the greenest, most innocent creature you can imagine. He must have had a terrible time, for there was scarcely a single thing he did like other people—I know I took my share in making his life a burden to him. Well, we had been having a big tamasha of some sort one night, when I was called to a bad case in hospital. An operation was needed, and I insisted on doing it at once. It was a thing that demanded a steady hand—and my hand was not steady—you can guess why. Something slipped—and the man died. An inquiry was called for, and I knew that I was ruined. There was only one thing to be done that I could see—to blow out my brains—and I was just going to do it when Keeling came in. None of the other men had come near me, though they must have guessed, as he had done, what I was up to, but I suppose they thought it was the best way out of it for me. He stopped me, though I fought him for the pistol—vowed I should not do it, and talked to me until I gave in. Of his own free will he offered never to touch wine or spirits again if I would do the same, and actually entreated me to accept the offer. He came and chummed with me in my bungalow—the other men had cleared out; I daresay I was as savage as a bear—and stood by me all through the inquiry. I lost my post—had to begin again at the bottom of the list of assistant-surgeons—but he stood by me. We were through the Ethiopian War together, and when Old Harry picked him out to come up here and raise the Khemistan Horse, he got leave for me to come too. Now you see what I owe to him; but he may kick me out of Khemistan, and welcome, if it means that you will only treat him decently.”
“Indeed, indeed I have tried,” cried Penelope, with tears in her eyes, “but I cannot meet him. It is like that with the others—I make up my mind that I will see them, and try to talk, but as soon as I hear them in the verandah I feel that I cannot meet their eyes, and I rush out of the room.”