"Last winter I was in Egypt," explained Mr. Satterthwaite. "I had flu very badly the end of January, and the doctors insisted on Egypt afterward. I missed a lot."
His voice rang with a note of real regret.
"That girl seems to me to be moping," said the Duchess, raising her lorgnette once more. "I can't allow that."
On her way out, she stopped by Miss Carlton-Smith's table and tapped the girl on the shoulder. "Well, Naomi, you don't seem to remember me?"
Naomi rose rather unwillingly to her feet. "Yes, I do, Duchess. I saw you come in. I thought it quite likely you mightn't recognize me."
She drawled the words lazily, with a complete indifference of manner.
"When you've finished your lunch, come and talk to me on the terrace," ordered the Duchess.
"Very well."
Naomi yawned.
"Shocking manners," said the Duchess to Mr. Satterthwaite, as she resumed her progress. "All the Carlton-Smiths have."
They had their coffee outside in the sunshine. They had been there about six minutes when Naomi Carlton-Smith lounged out from the hotel and joined them. She let herself fall slackly onto a chair with her legs stretched out ungracefully in front of her.
An odd face, with its jutting chin and deep-set gray eyes. A clever, unhappy face--a face that only just missed being beautiful.
"Well, Naomi," said the Duchess briskly. "And what are you doing with yourself?"
"Oh! I dunno. Just marking time."
"Been painting?"
"A bit."
"Show me your things."
Naomi grinned. She was not cowed by the autocrat. She was amused. She went into the hotel and came out again with a portfolio.
"You won't like 'em, Duchess," she said warningly. "Say what you like. You won't hurt my feelings."
Mr. Satterthwaite moved his chair a little nearer. He was interested. In another minute he was more interested still. The Duchess was frankly unsympathetic.
"I can't even see which way up the things ought to be," she complained. "Good gracious, child, there was never a sky that color--or a sea either."
"That's the way I see 'em," said Naomi placidly.
"Ugh!" said the Duchess, inspecting another. "This gives me the creeps."
"It's meant to," said Naomi. "You're paying me a compliment without knowing it."
It was a queer vorticist study of prickly pear--just recognizable as such. Gray-green with splodges of violent color where the fruit glittered like jewels. A swirling mass of evil, fleshy--festering. Mr. Satterthwaite shuddered and turned his head aside.
He found Naomi looking at him and nodding her head in comprehension.
"I know," she said. "But it _is_ beastly."
The Duchess cleared her throat. "It seems quite easy to be an artist nowadays," she observed witheringly. "There's no attempt to copy things. You just shovel on some paint--I don't know what with, not a brush, I'm sure--"
"Palette knife," interposed Naomi, smiling broadly once more.
"A good deal at a time," continued the Duchess. "In lumps. And there you are! Everyone says, 'How clever.' Well, I've no patience with that sort of thing. Give me--"
"A nice picture of a dog and a horse, by Edward Landseer."
"And why not?" demanded the Duchess. "What's wrong with Landseer?"
"Nothing," said Naomi. "He's all right. And you're all right. The tops of things are always nice and shiny and smooth. I respect you, Duchess; you've got force; you've met life fair and square and you've come out on top. But the people who are underneath see the under side of things. And that's interesting in a way."
The Duchess stared at her. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she declared.
Mr. Satterthwaite was still examining the sketches. He realized, as the Duchess could not, the perfection of technique behind them. He was startled and delighted. He looked up at the girl.
"Will you sell me one of these, Miss Carlton-Smith?" he asked.
"You can have any one you like for five guineas," said the girl indifferently.
Mr. Satterthwaite hesitated a minute or two and then he selected a study of prickly pear and aloe. In the foreground was a vivid blur of yellow mimosa; the scarlet of the aloe flower danced in and out of the picture, and inexorable, mathematically underlying the whole, was the oblong pattern of the prickly pear and the sword motif of the aloe.
He made a little bow to the girl.
"I am very happy to have secured this, and I think I have made a bargain. Some day, Miss Carlton-Smith, I shall be able to sell this sketch at a very good profit--if I want to!"
The girl leaned forward to see which one he had taken. He saw a new look come into her eyes. For the first time she was really aware of his existence, and there was respect in the quick glance she gave him.
"You have chosen the best," she said. "I--I am glad."
"Well, I suppose you know what you're doing," said the Duchess. "And I daresay you're right. I've heard that you're quite a connoisseur. But you can't tell me that all this new stuff is art, because it isn't. Still, we needn't go into that. Now I'm only going to be here a few days and I want to see something of the island. You've got a car, I suppose, Naomi?"
The girl nodded.
"Excellent," said the Duchess. "We'll make a trip somewhere tomorrow."
"It's only a two-seater."
"Nonsense, there's a dickey, I suppose, that will do for Mr. Satterthwaite?"
A shuddering sigh went through Mr. Satterthwaite. He had observed the Corsican roads that morning. Naomi was regarding him thoughtfully.
"I'm afraid my car will be no good to you," she said. "It's a terribly battered old bus. I bought it second-hand for a mere song. It will just get me up the hills--with coaxing. But I can't take passengers. There's quite a good garage, though, in the town. You can hire a car there."
"Hire a car," said the Duchess, scandalized. "What an idea. Who's that nice-looking man, rather yellow, who drove up in a four-seater just before lunch?"
"I expect you mean Mr. Tomlinson. He's a retired Indian judge."
"That accounts for the yellowness," said the Duchess. "I was afraid it might be jaundice. He seems quite a decent sort of man. I shall talk to him."
That evening, on coming down to dinner, Mr. Satterthwaite found the Duchess, resplendent in black beads and diamonds, talking earnestly to the owner of the four-seater car. She beckoned authoritatively.
"Come here, Mr. Satterthwaite. Mr. Tomlinson is telling me the most interesting things, and what do you think? He is actually going to take us on an expedition tomorrow in his car."
Mr. Satterthwaite regarded her with admiration.
"We must go in to dinner," said the Duchess. "Do come and sit at our table, Mr. Tomlinson, and then you can go on with what you were telling me."
"Quite a decent sort of man," the Duchess pronounced later.
"With quite a decent sort of car," retorted Mr. Satterthwaite.
"Naughty," said the Duchess, and gave him a resounding blow on the knuckles with the dingy black fan she always carried. Mr. Satterthwaite winced with pain.
"Naomi is coming too," said the Duchess. "In her car. That girl wants taking out of herself. She's very selfish. Not exactly self-centered, but totally indifferent to everyone and everything. Don't you agree?"
"I don't think that's possible," said Mr. Satterthwaite slowly. "I mean, everyone's interest must go _somewhere_. There are, of course, the people who revolve round themselves--but I agree with you, she's not one of that kind. She's totally uninterested in herself. And yet she's got a strong character--there must be _something_. I thought at first it was her art--but it isn't. I've never met anyone so detached from life. That's--dangerous."
"Dangerous? What do you mean?"
"Well, you see--it must be an obsession of some kind, and obsessions are always dangerous."
"Satterthwaite," said the Duchess, "don't be a fool. And listen to me. About tomorrow--"
Mr. Satterthwaite listened. It was very much his role in life.
They started early the following morning, taking their lunch with them. Naomi, who had been six months in the island, was to be the pioneer. Mr. Satterthwaite went over to her as she sat waiting to start.
"You are sure that--I can't come with you," he said wistfully.
She shook her head. "You'll be much more comfortable in the back of the other car. Nicely padded seats and all that. This is a regular old rattletrap. You'd leap in the air going over the bumps."
"And then of course the hills."
Naomi laughed. "Oh! I only said that to rescue you from the dickey. The Duchess could perfectly well afford to have hired a car. She's the meanest woman in England. All the same, the old thing is rather a sport, and I can't help liking her."
"Then I could come with you after all," said Mr. Satterthwaite, eagerly.
She looked at him curiously. "Why are you so anxious to come with me?"
"Can you ask?" Mr. Satterthwaite made his funny old-fashioned bow.
She smiled, but shook her head. "That isn't the reason," she said thoughtfully. "It's odd. But you can't come with me--not today."
"Another day, perhaps," suggested Mr. Satterthwaite politely.
"Oh! Another day!" She laughed suddenly, a very queer laugh, Mr. Satterthwaite thought. "Another day! Well, we'll see."