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Oh, Jack," she cried, upon a sudden; "this isn't honorable!" "Why, no! Poor little Anne!" Mr. Charteris's eyes grew tender for a moment, because his wife, in a fashion, was dear to him. Then he laughed, very musically. "And how can a man remember honor, Patricia, when the choice lies between honor and you? You shouldn't have such hair, Patricia!
Moreover, the growing tide was swollen by the arrival of advices from England, showing that the lords of the East at the India House, and military circles generally, had conceived, on the strength of the reports of Charteris's doings up to the time he was superseded by Brigadier Speathley, the view of his exploits to which India itself was just coming round.
She shrank from him. She drew away from him, without any vehemence, as if he had been some slimy, harmless reptile. A woman does not like to see fear in a man's eyes; and there was fear in Mr. Charteris's eyes, for all that he smiled. Patricia's heart sickened. She loathed him, and she was a little sorry for him. "Oh, you cur, you cur!" she gasped, in a wondering whisper.
"Jack, I have something rather difficult to say to you yes, it is deuced difficult, and the sooner it is over the better. I why, confound it all, man! I want you to stop making love to my wife." Mr. Charteris's eyebrows rose. "Really, Colonel Musgrave ." he began, coolly. "Now, you are about to make a scene, you know," said Musgrave, raising his hand in protest, "and we are not here for that.
Margaret pouted. "They ain't even good olives. I looked into one of that fellow Charteris's books the other day that chap you had here last week. It was bally rot proverbs standing on their heads and grinning like dwarfs in a condemned street-fair! Who wants to be told that impropriety is the spice of life and that a roving eye gathers remorse?
"On the whole, my young friend," Charteris's voice was didactic in the extreme, "you seem to me to have contrived to surround yourself with the materials for a very pretty row.
At that moment Jess Kissock was putting Winsome Charteris's letter into her pocket. There is no doubt that poor, ignorant Ebie, with his highly developed body and the unrestrained and irregular propensities of his rudimentary soul, was nearer the Almighty that night than his keen-witted and scheming sweetheart.
That they would now remain loyal to the Rani there was no doubt, and Gerrard waited with something more of hopefulness for Charteris's return. He came at last, and sat down on the rug which had been spread for his friend. "We shall have to be moving soon," he remarked casually. "The news has reached the city, and the mourners are coming out. The funeral will take place in the morning."
As he came to the thicket which screens the beach, he called Charteris's name loudly, in order to ascertain his whereabouts. And the novelist's voice answered yet not at once, but after a brief silence. It chanced that, at this moment, Musgrave had come to a thin place in the thicket, and could plainly see Mr.
What folly to be sitting up listening for murderers! He added hastily the concluding words to the report so scrupulously sent off day by day to James Antony, bade Vixen keep guard, and lay down and slept. Gerrard would not have been able to sleep in these circumstances, and Charteris's lieutenant was equally destitute of the capacity for repose.
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