Jocelyn was busy with a vase of flowers standing on the table at her elbow. One of the flowers had fallen half out, and she was replacing it--very carefully.
"Oh, yes," she said, without ceasing her occupation, "we know Mr.
Meredith."
The visitor did not speak at once, and she looked up at him, over the flowers, with grave politeness.
"Meredith," he said, "is one of the most remarkable men I have ever met."
It was evident that this ordinarily taciturn man wanted to unburthen his mind. He was desirous of talking to some one of Jack Meredith; and perhaps Jocelyn reflected that she was as good a listener as he would find in Loango.
"Really," she replied with a kindly interest. "How?"
He paused, not because he found it difficult to talk to this woman, but because he was thinking of something.
"I have read or heard somewhere of a steel gauntlet beneath a velvet glove."
"Yes."
"That describes Meredith. He is not the man I took him for. He is so wonderfully polite and gentle and pleasant. Not the qualities that make a good leader for an African exploring expedition--eh?"
Jocelyn gave a strange little laugh, which included, among other things, a subtle intimation that she rather liked Guy Oscard. Women do convey these small meanings sometimes, but one finds that they do not intend them to be acted upon.
"And he has kept well all the time?" she asked softly. "He did not look strong."
"Oh, yes. He is much stronger than he looks."
"And you--you have been all right?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Are you going back to--them?"
"No, I leave to-morrow morning early by the Portuguese boat. I am going home to be married."
"Indeed! Then I suppose you will wash your hands of Africa for ever?"
"Not quite," he replied. "I told Meredith that I would be prepared to go up to him in case of emergency, but not otherwise. I shall, of course, still be interested in the scheme. I take home the first consignment of Simiacine; we have been very successful, you know. I shall have to stay in London to sell that. I have a house there."
"Are you to be married at once?" inquired Jocelyn, with that frank interest which makes it so much easier for a man to talk of his own affairs to a woman than to one of his own s.e.x.
"As soon as I can arrange it," he answered with a little laugh. "There is nothing to wait for. We are both orphans, and, fortunately, we are fairly well off."
He was fumbling in his breast-pocket, and presently he rose, crossed the room, and handed her, quite without afterthought or self-consciousness, a photograph in a morocco case.
Explanation was unnecessary, and Jocelyn Gordon looked smilingly upon a smiling, bright young face.
"She is very pretty," she said honestly.
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. Having risen he did not sit down again, and presently he took his leave, feeling convinced that Jocelyn was about to faint.
When he was gone the girl sat wearily down.
"Millicent Chyne," she whispered. "What is to be done?"
"Nothing," she answered to herself after a while. "Nothing. It is not my business. I can do nothing."
She sat there--alone, as she had been all her life--until the short tropical twilight fell over the forest. Quite suddenly she burst into tears.
"It IS my business," she sobbed. "It is no good pretending otherwise; but I can do nothing."
CHAPTER XXII. THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT
Who has lost all hope has also lost all fear.
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. They never bl.u.s.ter as we do, nor expect impossibilities from the frail.
Another somewhat singular residue left, as it were, in Jocelyn"s mind when the storm of emotion had subsided was a certain indefinite tenderness for Millicent Chyne. She felt sure that Jack Meredith"s feeling for her was that feeling vaguely called the right one, and, as such, unalterable. To this knowledge the subtle sympathy for Millicent was perhaps attributable. But navigation with pen and thought among the shoals and depths of a woman"s heart is hazardous and uncertain.
Coupled with this--as only a woman could couple contradictions--was an unpardoning abhorrence for the deceit practised. But Jocelyn knew the world well enough to suspect that, if she were ever brought face to face with her meanness, Millicent would be able to bring about her own forgiveness. It is the knowledge of this lamentable fact that undermines the feminine sense of honour.
Lastly, there was a calm acceptance of the fact that Guy Oscard must and would inevitably go to the wall. There could be no comparison between the two men. Millicent Chyne could scarcely hesitate for a moment. That she herself must likewise suffer uncomplainingly, inevitably, seemed to be an equally natural consequence in Jocelyn Gordon"s mind.
She could not go to Jack Meredith and say:
"This woman is deceiving you, but I love you, and my love is a n.o.bler, grander thing than hers. It is no pa.s.sing fancy of a giddy, dazzled girl, but the deep strong pa.s.sion of a woman almost in the middle of her life. It is a love so complete, so sufficing, that I know I could make you forget this girl. I could so envelop you with love, so watch over you and care for you, and tend you and understand you, that you MUST be happy. I feel that I could make you happier than any other woman in the world could make you."
Jocelyn Gordon could not do this; and all the advanced females in the world, all the blue stockings and divided skirts, all the wild women and those who pant for burdens other than children, will never bring it to pa.s.s that women can say such things.
And precisely because she could not say this, Jocelyn felt hot and sick at the very thought that Jack Meredith should learn aught of Millicent Chyne from her. Her own inner motive in divulging what she had learnt from Guy Oscard could never for a moment be hidden behind a wish, however sincere, to act for the happiness of two honourable gentlemen.
Jocelyn had no one to consult--no one to whom she could turn, in the maddening difficulty of her position, for advice or sympathy. She had to work it out by herself, steering through the quicksands by that compa.s.s that knows no deviation--the compa.s.s of her own honour and maidenly reserve.
Just because she was so sure of her own love she felt that she could never betray the falseness of Millicent Chyne. She felt somehow that Millicent"s fall in Jack Meredith"s estimation would drag down with it the whole of her s.e.x, and consequently herself. She did not dare to betray Millicent, because the honour of her s.e.x must be held up by an exaggerated honour in herself. Thus her love for Jack Meredith tied her hands, while she stood idly by to see him wreck his own life by what could only be a miserable union.