Brandon of the Engineers

It was about eleven o'clock on a hot morning and Kenwardine, who had

adopted native customs, was leisurely getting his breakfast in the patio.

Two or three letters lay among the fruit and wine, but he did not mean to

open them yet. He was something of a sybarite and the letters might blunt

his enjoyment of the well-served meal. Clare, who had not eaten much, sat

opposite, watching him. His pose as he leaned back with a wineglass in

his hand was negligently graceful, and his white clothes, drawn in at the

waist by a black silk sash, showed his well-knit figure. There were

touches of gray in his hair and wrinkles round his eyes, but in spite of

this he had a look of careless youth. Clare, however, thought she noticed

a hint of preoccupation that she knew and disliked.

Presently Kenwardine picked out an envelope with a British stamp from

among the rest and turned it over before inserting a knife behind the

flap, which yielded easily, as if the gum had lost its strength. Then he

took out the letter and smiled with ironical amusement. If it had been

read by any unauthorized person before it reached him, the reader would

have been much misled, but it told him what he wanted to know. There was

one word an Englishman or American would not have used, though a Teuton

might have done so, but Kenwardine thought a Spaniard would not notice

this, even if he knew English well. The other letters were not important,

and he glanced at his daughter.

Clare was not wearing well. She had lost her color and got thin. The

climate was enervating, and Englishwomen who stayed in the country long

felt it more than men, but this did not quite account for her jaded look.

"I am afraid you are feeling the hot weather, and perhaps you have been

indoors too much," he said. "I must try to take you about more when I

come back."

"Then you are going away! Where to?"

Kenwardine would have preferred to hide his destination, but since this

would be difficult it seemed safer not to try and there was no reason why

his household should not know.

"To Jamaica. I have some business in Kingston, but it won't keep me

long."

"Can you take me?"

"I think not," said Kenwardine, who knew his visit would be attended by

some risk. "For one thing, I'll be occupied all the time, and as I must

get back as soon as possible, may have to travel by uncomfortable boats.

You will be safe with Lucille."

"Oh, yes," Clare agreed with languid resignation. "Still, I would have

liked a change."

Kenwardine showed no sign of yielding and she said nothing more. She had

chosen to live with him, and although she had not known all that the

choice implied, must obey his wishes. For all that, she longed to get

away. It had cost her more than she thought to refuse Dick, and she felt

that something mysterious and disturbing was going on. Kenwardine's

carelessness had not deceived her; she had watched him when he was off

his guard and knew that he was anxious.