On the balcony of her bedroom Pansy Langham stood, slim and boyish-looking in a suit of silk pyjamas.
Beneath, the hotel grounds spread, running down to the shore. Beyond, the sea stretched, a silver mirror, away to the sparkling, frosty mist of the horizon. In the milky sky the moon soared, a molten globe, touching the drooping palms and making their quivering fronds look like silver fountains. A little line of waves lapped murmurously on the shore, in a running ridge of white fire. The stone wall edging the garden was turned into marble. Here and there across the beach the taller trees threw thick, ebony shadows.
On the whole expanse of silvered sea, only one mark showed like a black dot in the distance.
Pansy had seen the mark when it had been much nearer the shore; a man's dark head. He had swum out and out, away into the mist and moonlight.
It was long after midnight. In the whole white world there was no sign of life except that dark head and the girl on the balcony who was watching the swimmer.
The black dot grew bigger, as, with powerful overhand strokes, the man made his way shorewards.
When about two hundred yards away from the beach the strong ease of his limbs altered suddenly. They grew contorted. He threw up his arms, and a moment later vanished completely.
Pansy gave a quick gasp of alarm.
But the man appeared again, trying to float, as a level-headed swimmer does when cramps seize him, in order to get air between the spasms that send him writhing under water; a hopeless task usually, unless aid is quickly forthcoming.
For just one second Pansy watched with horror and distress on her face. Then she turned sharply and vanished into her bedroom. A moment or so later she was out of the hotel and running swiftly through the silent garden towards the shore.
To Le Breton out there with the water choking his powerful lungs, gasping and fighting for his life against a death that only his own nerve and wit kept at bay, that struggle seemed an eternity.
All at once, he was caught and held from behind, just on the surface of the water; a slight support, but sufficient to keep him from going under when the spasms were on.
Unlike the average swimmer in difficulties, he did not snatch at his unseen rescuer. For all his dire straits he had the presence of mind to let his preserver alone.
For another ten minutes or more the attack lasted. Then his muscles unknotted and strength came back to his limbs.
He turned himself over to see who had come to his aid.
Out of the misty moonlit sea a young face looked at him from under a mop of short curls.
"You didn't come a moment too soon, my boy," he said.
There was a tired look about Pansy, but that did not prevent her dimpling in an effort not to smile. And to hide her mirth she dived suddenly and struck out towards the land.
Le Breton struck out too. He reached the shore first.
Pansy, however, did not go in his direction. She turned off and landed where the shadows were the thickest.
From where the man stood, he saw what looked to be a slim, fragile boy of about fourteen, who staggered slightly with fatigue as he made towards the most shadowed pair of steps leading into the hotel grounds.
Quickly Le Breton went towards his rescuer, with the idea of lending a hand, for it looked as if the boy were thoroughly worn out.
By the time he reached her Pansy was leaning against the wall under cover of the thickest shadows.
"I'm afraid you've over-exerted yourself on my account," he said in a solicitous way.
"I don't usually get knocked out so quickly," she replied. "But I had a nasty accident some weeks ago, and I've not quite recovered yet."
The answer was in French, as fluent and Parisian as his own.
"You must let me help you back to the hotel," he said.
"Oh no, it's not necessary. I shall be all right in a moment."
"What you need, my boy, is a dose of brandy," he remarked. "That would soon put you right."
Pansy put her hand to her mouth to hide her smiles. Her short hair, pyjamas, and the shadows had deceived him completely.
"It wouldn't be a bad idea," she replied; "but I don't happen to have any."
"Ring for some, then, when you get back to the hotel."
"I wouldn't dream of disturbing people at this hour of the night," she said in an indignant tone of voice.
"What else are the servants there for?" he asked in a surprised and peremptory way.
"They're not there for me to root out of bed at two o'clock in the morning."
He laughed in an amused manner.
"I'm not so considerate of menials as you appear to be. But tell me the number of your room and I'll bring you some."
There was a brief pause.
Out from the shadows Pansy scanned the man. She could not see much, except that he was big and of splendid proportions. But he had a well-bred air, and his deep voice, if imperious, was pleasant and cultured.
Then her eyes started to sparkle with mischief.
"My room is number three on the first floor," she said. "Don't knock; come straight in. I'll leave the door ajar. I don't want to disturb my neighbours with my midnight prowls."
"Very well. I'll be there in ten minutes or so,"
They parted company, Le Breton going along the shore, Pansy up the shadowed steps.
On reaching her own room she switched on the light.
Slipping off her sodden garments, she dried herself quickly and put on a low-necked, short-sleeved, silk nightgown embroidered with purple pansies. Giving a quick, vigorous rub to her curls, she opened the door an inch or so. Then she skipped into bed and sat there, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, delighted with the surprise she had prepared for the man.
Unaware of what was in store for him, Le Breton returned to the hotel. Knowing the place well, he made his way noiselessly along the dim, deserted corridor towards a door that stood slightly ajar, letting out a sharp knife of light. He was in shirt and trousers, and in his hand he carried a small jewelled flask.
Without any preamble he went into the room.
The apartment he entered was a sumptuous one to average eyes, the best the hotel boasted.
On the wide dressing-table was a litter of silver toilet appointments, each with a pansy in purple enamel on it.
Le Breton did not give the room a glance.
He had eyes for nothing but the figure sitting up in bed. A figure no longer in pyjamas—they lay in a wet heap in the middle of the floor—but in a pretty nightgown; and from beneath a flood of golden curls wide, purple eyes looked at him, sparkling with innocent mischief.
It was no boy who had come to his assistance, but a girl! A lovely girl with a full, perfect mouth, vividly red, a milk-white skin and cheeks where roses bloomed.
He backed slightly and locked the door, as if the situation were one he was quite accustomed to and equal to dealing with.
"There's no need to lock the door," Pansy said.
"It's on your account, not mine. A little incident of this sort won't damage my reputation."
"I'd forgotten about my reputation," she said, a note of concern in her voice. "I only thought about giving you a surprise."
"It is. A most delightful one, too. In fact, I don't think I've ever experienced anything quite so delightful and unexpected," he responded drily.
He crossed to the bed, and stood looking at the girl with a critical, appreciative air. And Pansy looked at him with candid, friendly gaze, taking stock of him equally.
He struck her as being remarkably good-looking, but his expression was too arrogant, his mouth too hard; it even had a suspicion of cruelty. He had an air, too, of having ridden rough-shod over people all his days. In spite of his well-groomed, well-bred appearance, there was a suggestion of the wild about him, as if he had never been properly broken in.
There was a brief silence as the two surveyed one another.
Le Breton was the first to speak, and his remark was of a critical nature.
"Why do you wear your hair short? It would suit you far better long, as a woman's hair ought to be."
"I like it short. It's less trouble."
There was a note in her voice as if his or any man's opinion about her appearance did not worry her in the least; an air of thorough independence, out of keeping with her years, that he was quick to notice.
"Do you always do as you like?" he asked.
"Always. It's an excellent habit to cultivate, and one you've cultivated to the fullest by the look of you, since criticism is the order of the day," she replied.
Le Breton thought of the desert kingdom he had ruled with undisputed sway for sixteen years.
"I dare say I do as I like more than most people you've come across," he answered with emphasis.
Pansy dimpled.
There was an air about her visitor as if he expected and were accustomed to people standing in awe of him. However, he did not inspire her with this feeling, only with a desire to tease and plague him; he was so big and masterful looking, as if he thought himself "monarch of all he surveyed," even herself, at that moment.
"Are you in the habit of asking strange men to your bedroom?" he asked suddenly.
"If I remember rightly, you volunteered to come."
"And now I'm here, what am I supposed to do?"
"To bemostsurprised. To give me a drink of brandy; and then go, nicely and quietly, like a good 'boy.'"
An amused look crossed Le Breton's face. Innocent mischief had not come into his life before.
"I am most surprised," he said. "I flattered myself I could tell a woman anywhere."
"I'm not a woman, not until next year. So that must account for your deplorable mistake."
"You look even younger than twenty. Are you English or American?"
"Why can't I have a choice of being either French or Russian or Italian or Spanish or German?"
"Only an English or an American girl would play this sort of a trick. Not that I've had any dealings with either. I'd like to hear you were American."
"What's wrong with being English?"
"I dislike and despise the English," he replied, a latent note of savagery in his deep voice.
"Then you'll have to dislike and despise me, because I'm one of them."
Pansy stretched out her hand. The action brought into view a network of disfiguring red ridges and scars on her upper arm, marring an otherwise perfect limb.
"Please give me a drink," she finished.
The excitement of the surprise she had prepared was dying down, leaving her looking what she really was—worn out with the exertion of saving him.
Crossing to the wash-stand, Le Breton picked up a glass. Pouring a small dose of brandy into it, he added the requisite water and brought it back to the girl.
Then he seated himself on the bedside, watching her as she drank it.
"What a nasty scar you have on your arm," he remarked, is if any flaw on such perfection annoyed him.
"I've worse scars here and here," she replied, touching her side and thigh; "and they don't look at all pretty. 'The Sultan' did them."
He started slightly.
"The Sultan! What Sultan?"
"A brown Sultan. A very nice Sultan, but we understand one another now."
Le Breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women.
"They're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey.
With an air of relief, Pansy held the empty glass towards him.
"Thank goodness that's finished. Now, with your permission, I'll go to sleep."
He took the glass, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside.
"You must tell me your name," he said.
"You'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. It's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays."
"Won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone.
Pansy shook her head.
"Then I must find a name for you," he said. "A flower name would suit you admirably. Let me see, what do you call the flower in English?"
He hesitated.
"Pansy," he finished, after a moment's thought.
"But why 'Pansy' specially?" she asked, smiling at him. "Why not Lily or Rose or May, since I'm to be given a stupid flower name?"
"There are pansies in your eyes, on your nightgown, on the appointments of your dressing-table, on your handkerchief here."
With a deeply bronzed hand he touched a scrap of embroidered muslin that peeped out from beneath her pillow and which had a pansy worked on it in one corner.
Pansy laughed, amused at his perception.
"Now, I'm too tired to entertain you any longer," she said. "Good night, and thank you for bringing the brandy."
Le Breton was not accustomed to being dismissed when he was prepared to stay.'
"Are you really anxious to get rid of me?" he asked.
"Most anxious. I'm dying to go to sleep."
In a reluctant manner he got to his feet.
Stooping over the bed, he gave a caressing pat to the tired, small face.
"Good night, Pansy, little flower," he said softly. "I'll go if you really want me to, but I'm not in the habit of going unlessIwant to."
"What an autocrat you sound! And please—don't forget my reputation. I can't afford to lose it so early in life."
There was anxiety in the girl's voice, for all her light tone.
"Your reputation will be quite safe with me," he said.
He stood for a moment watching her, an amused expression lurking in his dark, fiery eyes. Then he turned and, switching off the light, went noiselessly from the room.
It was not until he had gone that Pansy recollected that he had touched her twice and she had not minded or reproved him, and usually she very strongly resented being touched by men. And it was not until Le Breton reached his villa that he remembered the girl had not even troubled to ask his name. In fact, once the trick had been played, her only desire had been to get him out of the room.
In one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel, Miss Grainger was lolling back in a comfortable wicker chair reading a newspaper.
The door opening made her look round.
A slim, boyish figure entered the room, clad in a well-cut white riding suit, the neatest of brown boots and leggings, and a white felt hat pulled well on to a mop of curls.
"You're late starting this morning, Pansy."
"I am. But—last night I saved a man's life."
"Saved a man's life! Really, my dear, what a way you have of springing surprises on one."
Teasingly Pansy glanced at her old governess.
"Miss Grainger, I must remind you that 'springing surprises' is slang."
Miss Grainger ignored the reprimand.
"But what man did you save, and how did you save him?" she asked in a slightly bewildered manner.
"I forgot to ask his name. I fished him out of the sea. He had cramps."
"But he might have dragged you under!" her companion said in a horrified voice. "I should have thought that last experience of yours with that awful horse would have taught you not to go diving headlong into danger."
"'The Sultan' isn't awful. You know it was all a mistake on his part. Besides, nothing will keep me from 'diving headlong into danger,' as you call it, when I see things being hurt. It's all part of my silly, impetuous nature."
"Well, I hope the man was grateful."
"He never even thanked me."
Such gross ingratitude left Miss Grainger aghast.
"My dear!" she exclaimed.
"He thought I was a boy, and when he found I was a girl he was too astonished to remember his manners," Pansy explained. "But don't say anything about it to anybody. You know I hate a fuss."
"What was he like?"
"Big and dark and awfully good-looking, with an arrogant, high-handed manner. He badly needed taking down a peg or two."
"Quite different from Captain Cameron," Miss Grainger suggested.
"Oh, quite. Bob's a kid beside him."
There was a brief pause.
Miss Grainger glanced at the girl.
"Do you know, Pansy, I'm sorry for Captain Cameron."
"So am I," the girl replied, a touch of distress in her voice. "But my sorrow refuses to blossom into love."
"He's a very good sort."
"I know; but then I'm not given to falling in love."
"Some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it."
Pansy smiled at her old governess in a merry, whole-hearted fashion.
"What a persistent bird of ill-omen you are!" she said.
Then she glanced at the clock.
"Now I'm off. I shan't be back for lunch. So-long," she finished.
She went, leaving Miss Grainger with the feeling of a fresh, sweet breeze having been wafted through the room.
In the large palm-decked patio of the hotel, Le Breton sat sipping coffee as he went through the newspapers solicitous waiters had placed on a table at his elbow. It was not often he came to the hotel, but when he did the whole staff was at his disposal, for he scattered largess with a liberal hand. He had lunched there, his gaze wandering over the crowded dining-room as if in search of someone; and afterwards he had stayed on.
It was now about three in the afternoon, an hour when the patio was practically deserted.
As he sat there reading, Pansy entered the big hall, still in breeches and leggings, just as she had returned from her ride. She would have passed through the patio without coming within his vision, except that something about the smooth black head was familiar.
So she changed her route and went in Le Breton's direction instead.
"Have you gotten over your disappointment?" she asked.
In an unperturbed manner he looked round. Then he got to his feet leisurely, surveying the slim, boyish figure with disapproval.
Pansy stood with her hands deep in her pockets, smiling at him, a smile that deepened under his lack of appreciation of her attire.
"What disappointment?" he asked.
"Of finding I was a girl you had to be polite to instead of a boy you could bully."
"I'm inclined to go back to my first impression," he said.
"Don't you like my get-up?"
"Decidedly I do not. Why don't you wear something feminine? Not go about masquerading as a man."
Adverse criticism rarely came Pansy's way.
She laughed.
"What a back number you are! All women ride in breeches nowadays. But, since you don't approve of me, come along and see if you like 'The Sultan' any better. You were most interested in his mark and seal."
There was an air about her as if she never expected to be gainsaid if she felt like favouring a man, for she turned at once and led the way towards the main entrance.
Picking up his hat, Le Breton followed.
Once outside, he said:
"I've not yet thanked you for saving my life."
"I couldn't do less than lend a hand," she replied with a casual air.
"It was a risky thing to do. I might have dragged you under."
"Well, you didn't. And we're neither of us any the worse for the little adventure."
"I hope we shall be all the better. That we shall be excellent friends," he replied.
Then he drew a leather case from his pocket and held it towards her.
"I've brought you a little memento," he finished.
With inquisitive hands Pansy took the case and snapped it open. Inside was a string of pearls worth at least £500. He watched the girl as she opened the case, but none of the coos of delight and surprise at his generosity, that he expected and was accustomed to under such circumstances, were forthcoming. Instead, she closed the case and handed it back to him.
"It's very pretty, and very kind of you to think of it," she said. "But I couldn't keep it."
To have his gift thrust back on him was the last thing Le Breton was prepared for or desired.
"Why not?" he asked abruptly.
"I never take presents from men, but I appreciate your kindness all the same."
He glanced at her, a peculiar look at the back of his eyes.
To get off the topic Pansy hurried forward.
From a building close at hand there came a gentle whinny.
"That's 'The Sultan,'" she remarked. "He hears me coming."
When the stables came into view, over the open door of a box a long brown head and neck were seen stretched towards the approaching girl.
"I'm going to let him out," she said; "but you mustn't come too close. He hates strangers; and so should I if I'd been through the hell he's been through."
Le Breton laughed, as if anyone, more especially the slim girl with him, telling him to be careful of anything in the shape of a horse had its intensely funny side.
As Pansy opened the door his glance ran swiftly over the animal.
It was a huge, gaunt beast, a chestnut, with wild, roving eyes; a great, vicious-looking creature, well on in years and undoubtedly an old race-horse, for speed was written all over it. And on it, too, were scars and weals that spoke of past ill-treatment.
Pansy kissed its soft nose, and patted and stroked it and pulled its ears; and the great animal fawned on her.
Then she led it out, keeping a tight grip on its mane. For it bared its teeth at Le Breton, and stood shivering and expectant, as if suspecting every man's hand to be against it.
He, however, ignored its attentions and came closer. But it swung round and lashed at him with iron heels.
"Oh, do be careful! Don't come so close," Pansy cried.
In spite of its snarls and the iron hoofs, she kept her grip on its mane. But neither teeth nor hoofs, were in her direction.
Ignoring her entreaties, Le Breton came closer, all the time talking to the horse gently in a strange language.
The animal seemed to recognize a friend. It quietened down suddenly, and stretched a long neck in his direction. Still talking, he patted and stroked it. The horse submitted to his attentions, and before many moments had passed was rubbing its nose against him.
All interest, Pansy watched the two make friends.
"What are you saying to him?" she asked. "Usually he won't let a stranger near him."
"I was talking to him in the language all race-horses understand—Arabic," he replied. "But how did you come by such a brute?"
The animal was of the type only the most hardened of stable-men could handle; the very last horse for a girl to ride.
"I dropped across him quite by accident."
Le Breton thought of the scars he had seen on the girl's arm, and he had heard there were others and worse beyond his view.
"I should say it was 'by accident,'" he remarked drily. "I'd like to hear the story."
Pansy patted the big horse fondly.
"We met in a London slum," she said. "I happened to be passing a stable yard when I heard a noise like a horse being hurt or frightened, and men laughing. So I opened the gate and went in. There was poor old Sultan tied up in one corner and half a dozen roughs baiting him, all the time taking good care not to get within his reach, for he was almost mad with terror and rage and ill-treatment. I told them what I thought, and in the telling I got too close to 'The Sultan,' and he grabbed me by the arm. In ten minutes he had made such a mess of me that it took a month to patch me up. And the men were such cowards that they never tried to rescue me. It was 'The Sultan' himself who seemed to realise he'd set on his best friend, for he stopped chewing me, and stood sniffing at me, and let me crawl away. And I didn't remember anything more until I found myself back home. Then I remembered the poor horse left to the mercy of those cruel wretches; and I sent someone along to buy him and take him away from his awful surroundings. It was so obvious he had known better days, although he had sunk right down to dragging some East End coal higgler's cart. The first time I was allowed out I went to his paddock and had a look at him. And I'm sure he knew me. He stretched his long neck over the gate and sniffed and snuffed at me and seemed quite conscience-stricken. At the end of a fortnight I was on his back, and now I take him everywhere I go, as he gets worried if he doesn't see me about. He can't believe his awful days are over unless I'm here to reassure him."
As Pansy told the tale she leant against the big horse; and she told it as if her own hurts were nothing.
"And you took him into your favour after he had treated you so abominably!" Le Breton said.
"I couldn't be hard on him for what was the result of his awful surroundings."
"You are very magnanimous."
Pansy smiled.
"You'll forgive me for not accepting that pretty necklace, won't you?" she asked.
"Some day, when we know each other better, you'll honour me by accepting it," he said.
He spoke to the girl now as if she were his equal, not just some pretty toy he happened to have fancied.
"I never take anything from men—except perhaps a few flowers."
There was a subtle contempt for his sex in her voice which Le Breton was quick to note.
"So you despise men?"
"Not that exactly, but I've had rather an overdose of them. Since I've been here, Sultan and I go off early every morning usually, and are miles away before there are any men about to bother us."
With this Pansy turned and led the horse back to its box.
"Now," she said, when this was done, "I mustn't keep you. Good-bye, and I'm glad you're none the worse for last night."
Again Le Breton was dismissed when he would have lingered. And on this second meeting she still had not troubled to ask his name.
There was a curious glint in his eyes as they rested on the slim, white, indifferent figure of the girl who was making her way back to the hotel without a further glance in his direction.
At six o'clock in the morning the road that joins the port and the city of Las Palmas shows very little sign of the peaceful English invasion. It is given over to the Islanders. To peasant women with baskets of produce on their heads; to men driving donkeys laden with fruit and vegetables, and creaking bullock carts.
The early morning was Pansy's favourite time; the world was a place of dew and brightness with the sun glinting gold on sandy hills and air that sparkled like champagne.
She trotted along on her big horse towards the white city, its flat roofs, low houses and palms giving it an oriental aspect. Biding through the town, she crossed a wide bridge and went upwards through a grove of palms, past banana gardens, into a deserted world, with a blue sky overhead and an endless stretch of sea behind.
As she mounted higher, the hill grew vine-clad, and great ragged eucalyptus trees stood in tatters by the roadside. Here and there was a stunted pine, the deep green of a walnut tree, a clump of bamboo, a palm and occasionally, a great patch of prickly cacti, whose flaming flowers stood out red against a dazzling day.
She rode without spurs or whip, when necessary urging her horse with hand and voice only.
A village was reached, where black-browed men in slouch hats and blanket cloaks lounged in groups, smoking and gossiping, and swarthy women with bright handkerchiefs around their heads stared at the girl astride the big horse.
In the dust of the road a little group of half-clad, bare-footed children dragged a trio of unfortunate lizards along by strings around their necks, and screamed with delight at the writhings of the tortured reptiles.
The sight brought a look of distress to Pansy's face.
Reining in her horse, she slipped of and went towards the group.
In indifferent Spanish she gave a brief lecture on cruelty. There was a sprinkling of small coins, and the lizards changed owners.
Pansy stooped. Loosening the strings from their soft throats, she picked them out of the dust. They were pretty, harmless little things, each about eighteen inches long and bright green in colour, that hung limp in her gentle hands, and looked at her with tortured eyes. Holding them carefully, she went back to her horse, and with the reins over her arm, made her way through the village.
Once well out of sight of the place, she seated herself on a bank at the side of the road, and laid the three limp little forms on a warm, flat, sunny rock. Then she tried to coax them back to life and their normal state of bright friskiness.
As she sat rubbing, with a gentle forefinger, their soft, panting throats, crooning over them with pitying words, too intent on her task to notice what was going on around her, a deep voice said with an unexpectedness that made her jump:
"They'll do exactly the same with the next lizards they catch."
She looked round quickly.
In the middle of the road, mounted on a huge black horse, was the man whose life she had saved.
Pansy's gaze rested on him for a moment before she replied. He made such a picture on the black horse, with his strong, sunburnt face and well-cut khaki riding suit; the most perfect combination of horse and man she had ever seen.
"I know they will," she said. "But still, I've done my best for these three."
"Do you always try to do your best for everything that comes your way, Pansy?" he asked tenderly.
"Only a few privileged people are allowed to call me 'Pansy,'" she said tartly.
"What else can I call you, since you refuse to tell me your name?"
"You mean to say you haven't found out yet?" she exclaimed.
"I never gossip," he replied in a haughty tone.
"I don't know yours," she answered, "so we're what is called in English 'quits.'"
"What exactly does 'quits' mean? I don't know much English."
As Pansy petted the lizards she explained the meaning of the word. During the explanation one of her protégés recovered, and darted off in a most thankless manner into a crevice in the rocks.
"My name is Le Breton," he said when he had grasped her meaning. "Raoul Le Breton."
Pansy stared at him.
She had surprised him on the occasion of their first meeting, but he had turned the tables on her.
During her stay in Teneriffe she had heard of Raoul Le Breton. He was a French millionaire, an African merchant prince, so rumour said.
She had had a feeling that he had followed her that morning, and she was inclined to be angry about it. Now she saw that if he sought her out, it was not from mercenary motives, since he was quite as wealthy as she was. What was more he had no idea who she was.
"I'm always interested in millionaires," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"All women are," he responded grimly.
"But you're not the only millionaire in the islands," she remarked.
"So I've gathered. There is, or was, one here quite recently. An Englishwoman of the name of Langham. I detest women with money. They are invariably ugly and conceited."
Pansy laughed—a ripple of sheer enjoyment.
"Perhaps their independence annoys you," she suggested. "I believe you're what is known as the 'masterful' type."
With that, her attention went back to the lizards.
Dismounting, Le Breton came to her side.
"You speak French remarkably well," he commented, as the moments passed and no notice was taken of him.
"I was educated in Paris."
She glanced at him, her eyes brimming with mischief, and, as she glanced, another of her protégés frisked thanklessly away.
"Wouldn't you like to know my name?" she asked.
"At present it's sufficient that you are 'Pansy.' 'Heart's Ease,' don't you say in English?"
"I wish I could ease this one poor little beast," she said, touching the remaining lizard. "But I fear it's hurt beyond redemption."
Stooping he picked up the little reptile and examined it. It hung limp in his grasp; a hopeless case.
"The best thing to do with it is to kill it," he commented.
"Oh, I couldn't," she said quickly.
But it appeared he could. He went some distance away from the girl and placed the lizard on a flat rock. In a moment he had ground all tortured life out of it with his heel.
"Thank you," she said gratefully. "I knew it was suffering, but I couldn't have done that to save my life. As a reward, will you come and have breakfast with me?"
"There's nothing I should like better," he answered.
Pansy got to her feet.
He helped her to mount. Then he rode at her side up the hill.
"I love the clear heights," she remarked presently.
"I don't know much about them. The miry depths are more in my line," he replied.
Critically she surveyed him.
"You don't look so specially muddy."
"No? What do I look like—to you?" he asked, a caressing note in his voice.
"Very proud, very passionate, very strong, and as if you could be cruel."
"Then I can't look very attractive," he said, smiling slightly.
"Being proud is all right, so long as it makes you too proud to do mean things."
"And what about the passionate?" he asked, "since you're making excuses for me.
"I don't know anything about it."
"Well, what about my being strong then?"
"I don't like men unless they are."
"And the cruelty?"
"I hate it."
"Life sometimes combines to make people cruel who otherwise might not be," he remarked, as if unaccustomed to finding excuses for himself. "You can't judge a person fairly until you know all that has gone to form their character."
Pansy patted her gaunt steed.
"I know that," she said, "that's why I stuck to 'The Sultan' when my friends tried to persuade me to have him shot. There's a lot in his life that I don't know. These marks tell me that."
She pointed to the various old scars on the animal.
"Now you shall see what 'The Sultan' can do," she went on. "I'll race you to the farm over there, where breakfast is waiting," she finished, pointing to a green patch away in the distance.
A touch of her spurless heel sent the gaunt beast flying along the dusty, deserted road, in a long, loping gallop that grew more and more rapid, egged on by the sound of another horse persistently at his heels.
Pansy had not expected that her escort would be able to keep up with her. No horse she had met could keep pace with her protégé. At the end of half a mile she had been prepared to rein up and wait for Le Breton.
But at the end of a mile he was a length behind her. And at the end of two he was there just the same.
Pansy tired before either the man or the horses.
"Oh!" she panted, as Le Breton drew up beside her. "I wasn't trained as a jockey."
"You didn't get away from me quite so easily as you expected," he remarked with curious emphasis.
"I didn't know there was a horse in the Islands to touch 'The Sultan,' in spite of his years."
"This horse I'm on has won several races in Paris. And you challenged me, Pansy, without pausing to consider what you might be let in for," he said, watching her in a fierce, fond manner.
"I always leap before I look. It's my besetting sin," she replied.
Then she pointed to a side track, leading to a low building, half white-washed mud, half timber.
"That's the way to my farm," she said. "But I don't know that my breakfast will appeal to millionaires."
"Don't thrust that down my throat just now," he answered. "I want to see life from your point of view."
The farm they were approaching was a tiny place, with a spreading garden where orange and fig trees grew. In one corner a little summer-house stood, wreathed with red roses, that gave a wide view of the island and a glimpse of the sea.
Evidently Pansy was expected. A coarse white cloth was spread on the table in the summer-house, and it was set with thick crockery and leaden-looking forks and spoons.
Leaving Le Breton to attend to the horses, she made her way to the tiny homestead, to announce her presence and the fact of a guest.
Then she passed on towards the summer-house.
Tossing her hat on a seat, she sat with the light glinting on her golden curls, her elbows on the table, watching the scene dreamily, in a frame of red roses.
This vision of her greeted Le Breton as he turned the corner, bringing a hungry glint to his eyes.
Breakfast proved a simple repast.
There was a thick jug full of coffee, another of milk, a large omelet, a dish of fruit, rolls, butter and honey.
"Now," she said when it was set before them, "how do you like your coffee?"
"As it should be according to the orientals—black as sin, hot as hell, sweet as—love," he finished, lingering over the word.
She poured his out, and handed it to him, black as he desired.
"I can get on very well without either the sin or the love," she remarked as she helped herself to a cup that was mostly milk, and with no sugar in it.
"I thought all girls liked sweet things and lived for love," he said as he set about serving the omelet.
"There's a lot more in life for women nowadays than love."
"Being in love is a woman's normal condition," he said in a forcible, dogmatic manner.
Pansy smiled.
"I always thought you had come out of the Ark, and now I'm sure of it. You've got such antiquated, early Victorian ideas about women. They mustn't wear knickers. They must always be yearning after some mere male. Very flattering to him, I'm sure," she finished, wrinkling a disdainful nose.
Le Breton's gaze rested on the vivid, beautiful little face, with the full, perfect, generous mouth, telling of an unselfish, disinterested nature that would love swiftly and deeply.
"Some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it," he commented.
"So other people have said. And it makes me horribly nervous at times. Like a blind man walking on the edge of a precipice."
"So long as you fell in love with a man who could appreciate you, it would be all right,—a man sufficiently versed in women to know you have qualities beyond your beauty to recommend you."
With some surprise Pansy glanced at him.
A soft heart lay beneath her light manner. Quite half her income was spent for the benefit of others. She wondered how he knew about these "qualities," considering their brief acquaintance. And she wondered, too, why she was sitting there discussing love with him; a subject she never would let any man approach, if it could be avoided. She put it down to the fact that her identity was unknown to him, and she could talk to him freely, knowing her millions were no temptation.
"One thing," she said mischievously, "money will never attract me. I've no expensive tastes. I like views and flowers and sunsets. Moons and stars and seas and sago pudding. Horses and chocolates and—my own way. All things that don't require a tremendous income."
There was a brief silence.
In a calculating manner Le Breton watched her. She was a new type to him; a girl who could not be approached in the way most women could be—by the easy route of costly presents.
The air was heavy with the scent of roses. In the distance a guitar was playing; a throb of melody, faint and seductive, that fed the craving in the man's heart.
Pansy glanced at him.
"How quiet you are all at once. What are you thinking about?"
"Ways and means," he replied, smiling slightly.
"I thought only hard-up people were troubled in that way."
"The trouble with me now is that I want something which I fear can't be bought with money."
"What an unpleasant position for a millionaire to be in. Still, it makes you 'realise your limitations,' as an old governess of mine used to say."
She paused for a moment, watching him with an air of subtle mockery.
"And, Mr. Le Breton, it won't do you any harm to have to go without a few of the things you want. There's a look about you as if you always had things too much your own way."
"I'm not so sure yet that I'm going to do without it. Fortunately I have two other courses left open to me—persuasion and power," he replied.
"Power! I thought that was the prerogative of kings."
Le Breton said nothing. He knew if this English girl had any idea who he was, she would not be sitting there talking to him so freely. Although he was the Sultan of El-Ammeh, in the eyes of her nation he was a "nigger."
There was a further silence which Pansy broke.
"What made you swim out all those miles the other night?" she asked.
"I get moods when I want to lose the earth and find a heaven to my own liking."
"What sort of heaven would that be?"
"Where there would be only one houri, and she all-sufficing."
"A houri? Why that's a sort of Mohammedan angel-woman."
Evidently Le Breton was in a confessional mood, for he said:
"Nowadays I often wonder what use my life is. There's no pleasure in it except, perhaps—women."
"So long as it's 'women,' it's all right. The trouble starts when it comes to—'woman.'"
These words from the innocent girl's lips made him laugh.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"Captain Cameron. He likes to pose as an authority on such subjects."
"And who is Captain Cameron?"
There was a suspicion of jealousy in Le Breton's voice.
"At present he's possessed with a demon of tennis. But when the devil has been cast out, he's my father's secretary."
"And how can the devil be cast out?"
"There's no really permanent cure, but it can be assuagedpro tem, if he meets someone who can beat him. In Teneriffe, he carried all before him. And he's coming over here to-morrow to beat all the local champions. He's one of the few people I really like. I've known him all my life."
These remarks of hers had the effect of reducing Le Breton to silence again.