“Sit down, Stella,” he said thickly, “sit down. You couldn’t dance like that, eh? None of you Europeans have got the grace, the suppleness. Look at her!”
The dancing girl was twirling at a furious rate, her scanty draperies enveloping her like a cloud. Presently, with a crash of the guitars, she sank, face downward, on the carpet. Gregory said something in Malayan, and the woman showed her white teeth in a smile. Stella had seen her before: there used to be two dancing girls, but one had contracted scarlet fever and had been hurriedly deported. Gregory had a horror of disease.
“Sit down here,” he commanded, laying his hand on the divan.
As if by magic, every servant in the room had disappeared, and she suddenly felt cold.
“I’ve left my chauffeur outside, with instructions to go for the police if I’m not out in half an hour,” she said loudly, and he laughed.
“You ought to have brought your nurse, Stella. What’s the matter with you nowadays? Can’t you talk anything but police? I want to talk to you,” he said in a milder tone.
“And I want to talk to you, Gregory. I am leaving Chichester for good, and I don’t want to see the place again.”
“That means you don’t want to see me again, eh? Well, I’m pretty well through with you, and there’s going to be no weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth on my part.”
“My new company—” she began, and he stopped her with a gesture.
“If your new company depends upon my putting up the money, you can forget it,” he said roughly. “I’ve seen my lawyer—at least, I’ve seen somebody who knows—and he tells me that if you’re trying to blackmail me about Tjarji, you’re liable to get into trouble yourself. I’ll put up money for you,” he went on. “Not a lot, but enough. I don’t suppose you’re a beggar, for I’ve given you sufficient already to start three companies. Stella, I’m crazy about that girl.”
She looked at him, her mouth open in surprise.
“What girl?” she asked.
“Adele. Isn’t that her name?—Adele Leamington.”
“Do you mean the extra girl that took my place?” she gasped.
He nodded, his sleepy eyes fixed on hers.
“That’s it. She’s my type, more than you ever were, Stella. And that isn’t meant in any way disparaging to you.”
She was content to listen: his declaration had taken her breath away.
“I’ll go a long way to get her,” he went on. “I’d marry her, if that meant anything to her—it’s about time I married, anyway. Now you’re a friend of hers—”
“A friend!” scoffed Stella, finding her voice. “How could I be a friend of hers when she has taken my place? And what if I were? You don’t suppose I should bring a girl to this hell upon earth?”
He brought his eyes around to hers—cold, malignant, menacing.
“This hell upon earth has been heaven for you. It has given you wings, anyway! Don’t go back to London, Stella, not for a week or two. Get to know this girl. You’ve got opportunities that nobody else has. Kid her along—you’re not going to lose anything by it. Speak about me; tell her what a good fellow I am; and tell her what a chance she has. You needn’t mention marriage, but you can if it helps any. Show her some of your jewels—that big pendant I gave you—”
He rambled on, and she listened, her bewilderment giving place to an uncontrollable fury.
“You brute!” she said at last. “To dare suggest that I should bring this girl to Griff! I don’t like her—naturally. But I’d go down on my knees to her to beg her not to come. You think I’m jealous?” Her lips curled at the sight of the smile on his face. “That’s where you’re wrong, Gregory. I’m jealous of the position she’s taken at the studio, but, so far as you’re concerned”—she shrugged her shoulders—“you mean nothing to me. I doubt very much if you’ve ever meant more than a steady source of income. That’s candid, isn’t it?”
She got up from the divan and began putting on her gloves.
“As you don’t seem to want to help me,” she said, “I’ll have to find a way of making you keep your promise. And you did promise me a company, Gregory; I suppose you’ve forgotten that?”
“I was more interested in you then,” he said. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going back to my cottage, and tomorrow I’m returning to town,” she said.
He looked first at one end of the room and then at the other, and then at her.
“You’re not going back to your cottage; you’re staying here, my dear,” he said.
She laughed.
“You told your chauffeur to go for the police, did you? I’ll tell you something! Your chauffeur is in my kitchen at this moment, having his supper. If you think that he’s likely to leave before you, you don’t know me, Stella!”
He gathered up the dressing-gown that was spread on the divan and slipped his arms into the hanging sleeves. A terrible figure he was in the girl’s eyes, something unclean, obscene. The scarlet pyjama jacket gave his face a demoniacal value, and she felt herself cringing from him.
He was quick to notice the action, and his eyes glowed with a light of triumph.
“Bhag is downstairs,” he said significantly. “He handles people rough. He handled one girl so that I had to call in a doctor. You’ll come with me without—assistance?”
She nodded dumbly; her knees gave way under her as she walked. She had bearded the beast in his den once too often.
Halfway along the corridor he unlocked a door of a room and pushed it open.
“Go there and stay there,” he said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I’m sober. I’m drunk now. Maybe I’ll send you someone to keep you company—I don’t know yet.” He ruffled his scanty
