The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

34
THE FOOT OF TIME
wild game hunting, mountaineering, either in India
or out of it. I was happy. I wanted for nothing."
Sir Bruce paused. He looked at his wife tenderly,
hungrily. "Then," he continued, "on my last trip
home, a little over a year ago, I saw you. You were
typing in a London office. The world would have
seen in you my social inferior. I recognised in you
my affinity—sensed it the very instant I saw you.
Very curious, but there it was. Nothing in all my
life has so surprised me as that instinct of knowing
you before I had so much as heard you speak. The
instant I saw you I knew. I loved you!"
"And all the time you loved another girl—a
nigger!"
"To which one are you referring, Clare?"
Aghast she stared at him. Yet she must have
realised it all along. "Bruce! Bruce—don't tell
me there is more than one!"
He did not answer her. What a fool he was! He
thought she must have known at once. Why should
Ranee be jealous of Putali—so jealous as to kill
her baby. He must be more on his guard. Bad
enough to do her bidding and tell her everything
as she had demanded. Still, there were limits to
the extent of his confession. She would have to
know about Ranee, however—just Ranee and
Putali. That would be quite enough to go on with
—more than enough!
Clare took a stronger hold on herself ; she could
do it now. Afterwards she knew she must weaken.
Outside in the far distance a great commotion
came faintly through the night air. Cries, lamen-
THE FOOT OF TIME 3 5
tations, then silence. Then faintly again, a renewal
of the turmoil.
"You haven't answered my question."
Looking at her, Arbuthnot was moved to his
soul with admiration. Her pluck and fortitude
were wonderful. Realising all too well what lay
before him, the man's heart was heavy within him.
He had been too confident. Physically a perfect
animal, his constitution a machine, he had one
weakness, one besetting sin, judged solely, however,
by Western standards. One of the worst, yet the
most natural. Apart from it, this descendant of a
soldier high up in the King's favour (and not without
cause) was white, inside and out. Arbuthnot
never let a man down, even though he had now
let his wife down; he never lied, he was never
guilty of a mean action. In other matters he
thought ahead, planned against every eventuality.
He was even planning ahead now—far, far ahead,
but not so far as the destiny which was shaping
his end. The human element has a habit of corning
home to roost. It is a factor which will not be
gainsaid. Even the Arbuthnots of this world are
not proof against it. The baronet in his strength
had spurned it, and now it would take toll of him
in consequence. His supreme disdain of the human
element would even rob him of his dearest possession.
It was in the air. He felt it, braced himself
to meet it. His personality, his strength of
will would avail him nothing; he had done for
himself, and he knew it.
With sarcastic frigidity Clare said, "I begin to