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Sylvia looked, and beheld half a dozen cheap paints such as are found in a child's sixpenny box, a thick and a thin brush, equally common, and a photograph of a buxom lady with a mop of tousled hair, swinging in a hammock-chair under some trees, while a flight of marble steps led up to a palatial mansion in the background.
Besides, I've such a lot to do." She did not look overwhelmed with work as she leaned back in her hammock-chair, but she evidently intended to be busy, for a basket and scissors stood beside her. Bertrand was much too courteous to suggest that she was not making the most of her time. Or perhaps he did not want to be left in solitary contemplation of that fleeting August morning.
What brought you out at this hour?" He spread out his hands. "Mr. Mordaunt has ordered me to take a rest to-day." Chris looked up at him sharply. "Aren't you well, Bertie?" "But it is nothing," he said. "I have told him. It happens to me often often that I do not sleep. I have explained all that. But what would you? He is obstinate he will not listen." Chris patted a hammock-chair beside her.
He sat down in a hammock-chair in deep shadow and proceeded to smoke his pipe. From far away, in the direction of the jungle, there came the haunting cry of a jackal, and a little nearer he heard the weird call of an owl. But close at hand there was no sound. He lay in absolute stillness, gazing along the verandah with eyes that looked into the future. Minutes passed.
The house was a brick structure with broad verandas, set back among well-kept lawns and drives, and its fine elm trees were noted. Mrs. Barry was reclining in a hammock-chair under one of them as the car drove in, and she rose and came to meet the guest.
She reclined in a plush-bottomed and gilt hammock-chair near a tiled fireplace, with Japanese fans on the mantel and a glow of coals in the grate. Lifting her hands, she glanced wearily here and there into the many pages. It was not her fault they were so prosy, so completely uninteresting from "My darling wife" at the beginning, to "Your loving husband" at the end.
He pushed away his chair, as he started abruptly to his feet. The warmth of his impulse went cold. "I shall start with the dawn or before it," he said, keeping his eyes averted from the glamour of her face. "I have a riding-cloak. I will take this hammock-chair on to the verandah. Don't let me disturb you." "But you cannot go in the morning without a bite," she replied.
Meldon was not obliged to spend a sleepless night devising meetings between Simpkins and Miss King. He put the oars into the coach-house as soon as he reached Portsmouth Lodge, and then settled down with a pipe on a hammock-chair outside the door. He was ready with a practical suggestion by the time Major Kent had finished dressing for dinner.
He was consulting with his second in command, a boy of twenty-two or thereabouts. A man covered with sand and blood was sitting in a hammock-chair, rubbing his eyes, and drinking something out of a tumbler. "News from the front?" I inquired without ceremony, which hindrance we had long since dispensed with. "Yes, and bad news." It certainly was not pleasant hearing.
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