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Updated: June 22, 2025
We must now leave the cutter to return to Portsmouth, while we introduce to our readers a new and strange association. We stated that the boats had been ensconced in a very small cove at the back of the Isle of Wight. Above these hung the terrific cliff of the Black Gang Chyne which, to all appearance, was inaccessible.
Behind his keen old eyes such thoughts as these were passing, while he watched Jack go up and claim his dance at the hands of Miss Millicent Chyne. He could almost guess what they said; for Jack was grave and she smiled demurely. They began dancing at once, and as soon as the floor became crowded they disappeared. Jack Meredith was an adept at such matters.
And, while Millicent Chyne was actually attiring herself, Jocelyn Gordon, in another house not so far away, was busy with that beautiful hair of hers, patting here, drawing out there, pinning, poking, pressing with all the cunning that her fingers possessed.
He played the lover rather well, with that finish and absence of self-consciousness which only comes from sincerity; and when Miss Chyne found opportunity to look at him a second time she was fully convinced that she loved him. She was, perhaps, carried off her feet a little metaphorically speaking, of course by his evident sincerity.
Among others, it was a strange thing that Jocelyn felt no surprise at meeting the name of Millicent Chyne on the lips of another man. Women understand these things better than we do. They understand each other, and they seem to have a practical way of accepting human nature as it is which we never learn to apply to our fellowmen.
He was, so far as she knew, married to Millicent Chyne more than a year ago, although she had never seen the announcement of the wedding. He had drifted into Loango and into her life by the merest accident, and now that the Simiacine Plateau had been finally abandoned there was no reason why any of the original finders should come to Loango again.
"By the way, dear," said Lady Cantourne to her niece the next afternoon, "I have asked a Miss Gordon to come to tea this afternoon. I met her last night at the Fitzmannerings. She lives in Loango and knows Jack. I thought you might like to know her. She is exceptionally ladylike and rather pretty." And straightway Miss Millicent Chyne went upstairs to put on her best dress.
Whereupon Guy Oscard grunted unintelligibly. "Millicent," he said after a little pause "Millicent is her name." "Millicent?" repeated Jocelyn "Millicent WHAT?" "Millicent Chyne." Jocelyn folded the morocco case together and handed it back to him. "She is very pretty," she repeated slowly, as if her mind could only reproduce it was incapable of creation. Oscard looked puzzled.
The lesson had not been forgotten. "I am sorry you have said that," said the son. "Just," continued the father, "as I know a good one." He paused, and they were both thinking of the same woman Jocelyn Gordon. Sir John had said his say about Millicent Chyne; and his son knew that that was the last word. She was a bad woman. From that point he would never move.
"I am afraid," replied Guy Oscard, with a somewhat shy laugh, "that that would NOT be interesting. Besides, I could not tell you now." "No, but some other time. I suppose you are not going back to Africa to-morrow, Mr. Oscard?" "Not quite. And perhaps we may meet somewhere else." "I hope so," replied Miss Chyne. "Besides, you know my aunt, Lady Cantourne. I live with her, you know."
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