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Updated: June 25, 2025
And all the time she was tensely painfully aware of that strong man in the window, and of the issues that hung upon his decision. How, in the event of his deciding to approach Meryl, the recognised fiancé was to be treated, was beyond her. She was too tired to probe further. She only cared that Meryl's happiness should be saved.
Where Diana, out of her mocking, but staunch and loyal heart, amused herself dashing cold water and playful satire upon all heroics, Meryl said nothing at all, but at a critical moment both were equally capable of acting. And it did not require much thought on Meryl's part to see now where this spirit of enthusiasm and self-sacrifice seemed to call her.
And in the dimness Meryl's fair skin gleamed unusually white beside her dusky hair, and the velvety, blue-grey eyes, when she looked up, had caught the dreaming darkness of the heavens. Only now and then she glanced round. Mostly she sat with her eyes on the shadowy darkness and her work in her lap.
It did not call for raptures and exclamations; only for dreaming and absorbing. It seemed as if it might have been the spot where God rested upon the seventh day, so utter and absolute and complete was the sense of detachment from all the exigencies of being and doing. Two verses of a poem by Arthur Symons repeated themselves in pleasant rhythm in Meryl's mind:
He has done a tremendous lot for Rhodesia in one way and another, especially for the police force and natives; and we're quite proud of him in our way for that, independent of his history." "How nice!" and Meryl's eyes grew very soft. "It is a much finer reward than he would probably ever have gained in the Blues. I hope he thinks so?" "I don't suppose he cares either way.
It was growing in her consciousness with illuminating clearness that her own happiness depended upon what decision Meryl made. At last there was a movement in the drawing-room as of someone stepping in from the verandah, and she waited breathlessly for a glimpse of Meryl's face.
Or why, since he had chosen not to do so, could he not put the whole remembrance from his mind? Nay, why did he half begin to wish that he had not let himself be overruled by his own counsel of prudence? They would be going so soon now, and it might be long before he would again be given an opportunity to speak with any woman of Meryl's charm, or look into any face so full of attraction.
And when they came back from their ramble on that joyous morning, Diana's letter caused a shadow to come over all the sunlight, and a quick anxious ache to grow up in her heart. After baldly stating the news of Meryl's engagement her cousin wrote:
Later, Diana went outside on the verandah of her room and Meryl's and looked at the stars. The tables had turned utterly, but it was doubtful if either of them perceived it. Meryl went quietly to bed with only a few words, and either slept, or feigned sleep. Diana loitered on the verandah, and looked at the stars.
And the reason he did this was the remembrance of Meryl's face, as she leaned up against the lintel of the window that last evening at Bulawayo, when they both felt it was a final parting. Something that had been in the depths of her eyes, and which she had been powerless to hide, although she made no other sign.
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