CHAPTER XI
Trent was awakened next morning by the sound of carriage wheels in thedrive below. He rang his bell at once. After a few moments' delay it wasanswered by one of his two men-servants.
"Whose carriage is that in the drive?" he asked. "It is a fly for Mr. DaSouza, sir."
"What! has he gone?" Trent exclaimed.
"Yes, sir, he and Mrs. Da Souza and the young lady."
"And Miss Montressor and her friend?"
"They shared the fly, sir. The luggage all went down in one of thecarts."
Trent laughed outright, half scornfully, half in amusement.
"Listen, Mason," he said, as the sound of wheels died away. "If any ofthose people come back again they are not to be admitted--do you hear?if they bring their luggage you are not to take it in. If they comethemselves you are not to allow them to enter the house. You understandthat?"
"Yes, sir.
"Very good! Now prepare my bath at once, and tell the cook, breakfastin half an hour. Let her know that I am hungry. Breakfast for one, mind!Those fools who have just left will get a morning paper at the stationand they may come back. Be on the look-out for them and let the otherservants know. Better have the lodge gate locked."
"Very good, sir."
The man who had been lamenting the loss of an easy situation andpossibly even a month's wages, hastened to spread more reassuring newsin the lower regions. It was a practical joke of the governor's--verylikely a ruse to get rid of guests who had certainly been behavingas though the Lodge was their permanent home. There was a chorus ofthanksgiving. Groves, the butler, who read the money articles in theStandard every morning with solemn interest and who was suspected ofinvestments, announced that from what he could make out the governormust have landed a tidy little lump yesterday. Whereupon the cook set towork to prepare a breakfast worthy of the occasion.
Trent had awakened with a keen sense of anticipated pleasure. A newand delightful interest had entered into his life. It is true that,at times, it needed all his strength of mind to keep his thoughts fromwandering back into that unprofitable and most distasteful past--in themiddle of the night even, he had woke up suddenly with an old man'scry in his ears--or was it the whispering of the night-wind in the tallelms? But he was not of an imaginative nature. He felt himself strongenough to set his heel wholly upon all those memories. If he had noterred on the side of generosity, he had at least played the game fairly.Monty, if he had lived, could only have been a disappointment and ahumiliation. The picture was hers--of that he had no doubt! Even thenhe was not sure that Monty was her father. In any case she would neverknow. He recognised no obligation on his part to broach the subject. Theman had done his best to cut himself altogether adrift from his formerlife. His reasons doubtless had been sufficient. It was not necessaryto pry into them--it might even be unkindness. The picture, which no mansave himself had ever seen, was the only possible link between the pastand the present--between Scarlett Trent and his drunken old partner,starved and fever-stricken, making their desperate effort for wealth inunknown Africa, and the millionaire of to-day. The picture remained hisdearest possession--but, save his own, no other eyes had ever beheld it.
He dressed with more care than usual, and much less satisfaction. He wasa man who rather prided himself upon neglecting his appearance, and, sofar as the cut and pattern of his clothes went, he usually suggestedthe artisan out for a holiday. To-day for the first time he regarded histoilet with critical and disparaging eyes. He found the pattern of histweed suit too large, and the colour too pronounced, his collars wereold-fashioned and his ties hideous. It was altogether a new experiencewith him, this self-dissatisfaction and sensitiveness to criticism,which at any other time he would have regarded with a sort of insolentindifference. He remembered his walk westward yesterday with a shudder,as though indeed it had been a sort of nightmare, and wondered whethershe too had regarded him with the eyes of those loungers on thepavement--whether she too was one of those who looked for a man toconform to the one arbitrary and universal type. Finally he tied hisnecktie with a curse, and went down to breakfast with little of hisgood-humour left.
The fresh air sweeping in through the long, open windows, the glancingsunlight and the sense of freedom, for which the absence of his guestswas certainly responsible, soon restored his spirits. Blest with anexcellent morning appetite--the delightful heritage of a clean life--heenjoyed his breakfast and thoroughly appreciated his cook's efforts.If he needed a sauce, Fate bestowed one upon him, for he was scarcelymidway through his meal before a loud ringing at the lodge gates provedthe accuracy of his conjectures. Mr. Da Souza had purchased a morningpaper at the junction, and their host's perfidy had become apparent.Obviously they had decided to treat the whole matter as a practical jokeand to brave it out, for outside the gates in an open fly were the wholeparty. They had returned, only to find that according to Trent's ordersthe gates were closed upon them.
Trent moved his seat to where he could have a better view, and continuedhis breakfast. The party in the cab looked hot, and tumbled, and cross.Da Souza was on his feet arguing with the lodge-keeper--the women seemedto be listening anxiously. Trent turned to the servant who was waitingupon him.
"Send word down," he directed, "that I will see Mr. Da Souza alone. Noone else is to be allowed to enter. Pass me the toast before you go."
Da Souza entered presently, apologetic and abject, prepared at the sametime to extenuate and deny. Trent continued his breakfast coolly.
"My dear friend!" Da Souza exclaimed, depositing his silk hat upon thetable, "it is a very excellent joke of yours. You see, we have enteredinto the spirit of it--oh yes, we have done so indeed! We have takena little drive before breakfast, but we have returned. You knew, ofcourse, that we would not dream of leaving you in such a manner. Do younot think, my dear friend, that the joke was carried now far enough? Theladies are hungry; will you send word to the lodge-keeper that he mayopen the gate?"
Trent helped himself to coffee, and leaned back in his chair, stirringit thoughtfully.
"You are right, Da Souza," he said. "It is an excellent joke. The creamof it is too that I am in earnest; neither you nor any of those ladieswhom I see out there will sit at my table again."
"You are not in earnest! You do not mean it!"
"I can assure you," Trent replied grinning, "that I do!"
"But do you mean," Da Souza spluttered, "that we are to go like this--tobe turned out--the laughing-stock of your servants, after we have comeback too, all the way?--oh, it is nonsense! It's not to be endured!"
"You can go to the devil!" Trent answered coolly. "There is not one ofyou whom I care a fig to see again. You thought that I was ruined, andyou scudded like rats from a sinking ship. Well, I found you out, and ajolly good thing too. All I have to say is now, be off, and the quickerthe better!"
Then Da Souza cringed no longer, and there shot from his black eyes thevenomous twinkle of the serpent whose fangs are out. He leaned over thetable, and dropped his voice.
"I speak," he said, "for my wife, my daughter, and myself, and I assureyou that we decline to go!"