"I hope you won't be dull, Eleanor," he cries with a gay laugh. "Keep house till I return, and take care of yourself."
As he fades from sight she turns singing into the bungalow.
There are several duties to be attended to. Her pink muslin gown needs rearranging, and the huge bunch of crimson flowers Quamina has gathered her must be put in the drawing-room. They are bright, and will please Carol's eye.
As she places them in tall, picturesque vases, Paulina's words return with aggressive force.
The sort of woman who stays at home tending flowers! They take the pleasure from her simple task. She leaves the fallen blossoms half on a couch, half on the ground, turning from them disgusted.
Perhaps Paulina was right! Carol would find her far more of a companion if she shouldered her gun and rode off with him to the jungle; but she hates killing things.
The chase is brutal! Sport is revolting! Thus she consoles herself, and sends Quamina for the muslin gown.
How tenderly Carol had kissed her when he said good-bye. How brilliant he seemed that morning!
She laughs again at the thought of his wit. Her Carol was always clever.
He has marked a passage of Spencer's in a novel Eleanor is reading; she picks it up and comes across it.