CHAPTER XVIII
Dinner at the Lodge that night was not a very lively affair. Trent hadgreat matters in his brain and was not in the least disposed to makeconversation for the sake of his unbidden guests. Da Souza's few remarkshe treated with silent contempt, and Mrs. Da Souza he answered only inmonosyllables. Julie, nervous and depressed, stole away before dessert,and Mrs. Da Souza soon followed her, very massive, and frowning withan air of offended dignity. Da Souza, who opened the door for them,returned to his seat, moodily flicking the crumbs from his trousers withhis serviette.
"Hang it all, Trent," he remarked in an aggrieved tone, "you might be abit more amiable! Nice lively dinner for the women I must say."
"One isn't usually amiable to guests who stay when they're not asked,"Trent answered gruffly. "However, if I hadn't much to say to your wifeand daughter, I have a word or two to say to you, so fill up your glassand listen."
Da Souza obeyed, but without heartiness. He stretched himself out in hischair and looked down thoughtfully at the large expanse of shirt-front,in the centre of which flashed an enormous diamond.
"I've been into the City to-day as you know," Trent continued, "and Ifound as I expected that you have been making efforts to dispose of yourshare in the Bekwando Syndicate."
"I can assure you--"
"Oh rot!" Trent interrupted. "I know what I'm talking about. I won'thave you sell out. Do you hear? If you try it on I'll queer themarket for you at any risk. I won't marry your daughter, I won't beblackmailed, and I won't be bullied. We're in this together, sink orswim. If you pull me down you've got to come too. I'll admit that ifMonty were to present himself in London to-morrow and demand his fullpound of flesh we should be ruined, but he isn't going to do it. Byyour own showing there is no immediate risk, and you've got to leave thething in my hands to do what I think best. If you play any hanky-pankytricks--look here, Da Souza, I'll kill you, sure! Do you hear? I coulddo it, and no one would be the wiser so far as I was concerned. You takenotice of what I say, Da Souza. You've made a fortune, and be satisfied.That's all!"
"You won't marry Julie, then?" Da Souza said gloomily.
"No, I'm shot if I will!" Trent answered. "And look here, Da Souza,I'm leaving here for town to-morrow--taken a furnished flat in DoverStreet--you can stay here if you want, but there'll only be a caretakerin the place. That's all I've got to say. Make yourself at home with theport and cigars. Last night, you know! You'll excuse me! I want a breathof fresh air."
Trent strolled through the open window into the garden, and breatheda deep sigh of relief. He was a free man again now. He had created newdangers--a new enemy to face--but what did he care? All his life hadbeen spent in facing dangers and conquering enemies. What he had donebefore he could do again! As he lit a pipe and walked to and fro, hefelt that this new state of things lent a certain savour to life--tookfrom it a certain sensation of finality not altogether agreeable, whichhis recent great achievements in the financial world seemed to haveinspired. After all, what could Da Souza do? His prosperity wasaltogether bound up in the success of the Bekwando Syndicate--he wasnever the man to kill the goose which was laying such a magnificentstock of golden eggs. The affair, so far as he was concerned, troubledhim scarcely at all on cool reflection. As he drew near the littleplantation he even forgot all about it. Something else was filling histhoughts!
The change in him became physical as well as mental. The hard face ofthe man softened, what there was of coarseness in its rugged outlinebecame altogether toned down. He pushed open the gate with fingers whichwere almost reverent; he came at last to a halt in the exact spot wherehe had seen her first. Perhaps it was at that moment he realised mostcompletely and clearly the curious thing which had come to him--to himof all men, hard-hearted, material, an utter stranger in the world offeminine things. With a pleasant sense of self-abandonment he gropedabout, searching for its meaning. He was a man who liked to understandthoroughly everything he saw and felt, and this new atmosphere in whichhe found himself was a curious source of excitement to him. Only he knewthat the central figure of it all was this girl, that he had come outhere to think about her, and that henceforth she had become to him thestandard of those things which were worth having in life. Everythingabout her had been a revelation to him. The women whom he had comeacross in his battle upwards, barmaids and their fellows, fifth-rateactresses, occasionally the suburban wife of a prosperous City man, hadimpressed him only with a sort of coarse contempt. It was marvellous howthoroughly and clearly he had recognised Ernestine at once as a type ofthat other world of womenkind, of which he admittedly knew nothing. Yetit was so short a time since she had wandered into his life, so short atime that he was even a little uneasy at the wonderful strength of thisnew passion, a thing which had leaped up like a forest tree in a worldof magic, a live, fully-grown thing, mighty and immovable in a singlenight. He found himself thinking of all the other things in life from achanged standpoint. His sense of proportions was altered, his financialtriumphs were no longer omnipotent. He was inclined even to brush themaside, to consider them more as an incident in his career. He associatedher now with all those plans concerning the future which he had beendimly formulating since the climax of his successes had come. She was ofthe world which he sought to enter--at once the stimulus and the objectof his desires. He forgot all about Da Souza and his threats, about thebroken-down, half-witted old man who was gazing with wistful eyes acrossthe ocean which kept him there, an exile--he remembered nothing save thewonderful, new thing which had come into his life. A month ago he wouldhave scoffed at the idea of there being anything worth consideringoutside the courts and alleys of the money-changers' market. To-night heknew of other things. To-night he knew that all he had done so far wasas nothing--that as yet his foot was planted only on the threshold oflife, and in the path along which he must hew his way lay many freshworlds to conquer. To-night he told himself that he was equal to themall. There was something out here in the dim moonlight, somethingsuggested by the shadows, the rose-perfumed air, the delicate andlanguid stillness, which crept into his veins and coursed through hisblood like magic.
* * * * *
Yet every now and then the same thought came; it lay like a small butthreatening black shadow across all those brilliant hopes and dreamswhich were filling his brain. So far he had played the game of life as ahard man, perhaps, and a selfish one, but always honestly. Now, for thefirst time, he had stepped aside from the beaten track. He told himselfthat he was not bound to believe Da Souza's story, that he had leftMonty with the honest conviction that he was past all human help. Yethe knew that such consolation was the merest sophistry. Through thetwilight, as he passed to and fro, he fancied more than once that thewan face of an old man, with wistful, sorrowing eyes, was floatingsomewhere before him--and he stopped to listen with bated breath tothe wind rustling in the elm-trees, fancying he could bear that samepassionate cry ringing still in his ears--the cry of an old man partedfrom his kin and waiting for death in a lonely land.