United States or Georgia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And in spite of her conscience her heart leaped joyously in her bosom. The next night Henry Thresk left Bombay and on the Wednesday afternoon he was travelling in a little white narrow-gauge train across a flat yellow desert which baked and sparkled in the sun.
Hazlewood took care of that. One moment Stella must sing; at another she must play a rubber of bridge. He at all events had not laid aside his enmity and suspected some understanding between her and his guest. At eleven Mrs. Pettifer took her leave. She came across the room to Henry Thresk. "Are you staying over to-morrow?" she asked, and Thresk with a laugh answered: "I wish that I could.
For a moment the two men stood holding their breath; and then Thresk did hear something. It was the rustle of a dress in the corridor beyond the mat-screen. "It's Mrs. Ballantyne," he said, and she lifted the screen and came in. Thresk just noticed a sharp movement of revulsion in Ballantyne, but he paid no heed to him. His eyes were riveted on Stella Ballantyne.
"He's a Mahratta Brahmin from Poona. They are the fellows for brains, and Salak's about the cleverest of them." Thresk looked again at the photograph. "I see the picture was taken at Poona." "Yes, and isn't it an extraordinary thing!" cried Ballantyne, his face flashing suddenly into interest and enjoyment.
He was a man of a gross and powerful face, with a blue heavy chin and thick eyelids over bloodshot eyes. "Will you have a cocktail?" he asked, and he called aloud, going to the second passage from the tent: "Quai hai! Baram Singh, cocktails!" The servant who had met Thresk at the door came in upon the instant with a couple of cocktails on a tray. "Ah, you have them," he said. "Good!"
I shouldn't have known." Stella recoiled. "There is nothing to know," she said sharply, and Thresk pointed at her throat. "Nothing?" Stella Ballantyne raised her hand to cover the blue marks. "I I fell and hurt myself," she stammered. "It was he Ballantyne." "No," she cried and she drew herself erect. But Thresk would not accept the denial. "He ill-treats you," he insisted.
Thresk, alone in the tent, looked impatiently towards the grass-screen. He wanted half-a-dozen words with Stella alone. Here was the opportunity, the unhoped-for opportunity, and it was slipping away. Through the open doorway of the tent he saw Ballantyne standing by a big fire and men moving quickly in obedience to his voice.
"Oh!" cried his host with a laugh. "Pettifer tells me that you are a great authority." "Then Pettifer's wrong," said Thresk and so stopped. "Pettifer? Pettifer? Isn't he a solicitor?" "Yes, he told me that he knew you. He married my sister. They are both coming to tea." With that he led Thresk to his room and left him there.
The camel knelt; its rider dismounted, and as he dismounted he talked to Thresk's bearer. Something passed from hand to hand and the bearer came back to Thresk with a letter in his hand. "A chit from his Excellency." Thresk tore open the envelope and found within it an invitation to dinner, signed "Stephen Ballantyne." "Your letter has reached me this moment," the note ran. "It came by your train.
You always meant to be, didn't you? Hard work?" "Very," said Thresk. "Four o'clock in the morning till midnight;" and she suddenly caught him by the arm. "But it's worth it." She let him go and clasped her hands together. "Oh, you have got everything!" she cried in envy. "No," he answered. But she would not listen.
Word Of The Day