Page:No More Parades (Albert & Charles Boni).djvu/184

 She was trembling She looked, fumblingly opening it, into the little mirror of her powder-box—of chased, very thin gold with a small blue stone, like a forget-me-not in the centre of the concentric engravings Drake—the possible father of Michael—had given it to her The first thing he had ever given her. She had brought it down to-night out of defiance. She imagined that Tietjens disliked it She said breathlessly to herself: perhaps the damn thing is an ill omen Drake had been the first man who had ever A hot-breathed brute In the little glass her features were chalk-white She looked like  she looked like  She had a dress of golden tissue The breath was short between her white set teeth Her face was as white as her teeth And  Yes! Nearly! Her lips What was her face like In the chapel of the convent of Birkenhead there was a tomb all of alabaster She said to herself:

"He was near fainting I'm near fainting What's this beastly thing that's between us If I let myself faint But it would not make that beast's face any less wooden!

She leaned across the table and patted the ex-sergeant-major's black-haired hand:

"I'm sure," she said, "you're a very good man She did not try to keep the tears out of her eyes, remembering his words: "Up in the cold camp I'm glad the captain, as you call him, did not leave you in the cold camp You're devoted to him, aren't you There are others he does leave up in  the cold camp For punishment, you know