Perhaps it
was as well that Harry Feversham was to marry Ethne--and not another
than Feversham.
Thus, at all events, he argued as he rode, until the riders vanished
from before his eyes, and the ladies in their coloured frocks beneath
the cool of the trees. The trees themselves dwindled to ragged mimosas,
the brown sand at his feet spread out in a widening circumference and
took the bright colour of honey; and upon the empty sand black stones
began to heap themselves shapelessly like coal, and to flash in the sun
like mirrors. He was deep in his anticipations of the Soudan, when he
heard his name called out softly in a woman's voice, and, looking up,
found himself close by the rails.
"How do you do, Mrs. Adair?" said he, and he stopped his horse. Mrs.
Adair gave him her hand across the rails. She was Durrance's neighbour
at Southpool, and by a year or two his elder--a tall woman, remarkable
for the many shades of her thick brown hair and the peculiar pallor on
her face. But at this moment the face had brightened, there was a hint
of colour in the cheeks.
"I have news for you," said Durrance. "Two special items. One, Harry
Feversham is to be married.
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