A Question of Latitude | Page 8

fought for; the one thing to be desired. Opposite, across the table, her
husband, the ex-wrestler, chasseur d'Afrique, elephant poacher, bulked
large as an ox. Men felt as well as saw his bigness. Captain Hardy
deferred to him on matters of trade. The purser deferred to him on
questions of administration. He answered them in his big way, with big
thoughts, in big figures. He was fifty years ahead of his time. He beheld
the Congo open to the world; in the forests where he had hunted
elephants he foresaw great "factories," mining camps, railroads, feeding
gold and copper ore to the trunk line, from the Cape to Cairo. His ideas
were the ideas of an empire-builder. But, while the others listened,
fascinated, hypnotized, Everett saw only the woman, her eyes fixed on
her husband, her fingers turning and twisting her diamond rings. Every
now and again she raised her eyes to Everett almost reproachfully, as
though to say, "Why do you not listen to him? It is much better for you
than to look at me."
When they had gone, all through the sultry night, until the sun drove
him to his cabin, like a caged animal Everett paced and repaced the
deck. The woman possessed his mind and he could not drive her out.
He did not wish to drive her out. What the consequences might be he
did not care. So long as he might see her again, he jeered at the
consequences. Of one thing he was positive. He could not now leave
the Congo. He would follow her to Brazzaville. If he were discreet,
Ducret might invite him to make himself their guest. Once established
in her home, she MUST listen to him. No man ever before had felt for
any woman the need he felt for her. It was too big for him to conquer. It
would be too big for her to resist.
In the morning a note from Ducret invited Everett and Cuthbert to join

him in an all-day excursion to the water-fall beyond Matadi. Everett
answered the note in person. The thought of seeing the woman calmed
and steadied him like a dose of morphine. So much more violent than
the fever in his veins was the fever in his brain that, when again he was
with her, he laughed happily, and was grandly at peace. So different
was he from the man they had met the night before, that the Frenchman
and his wife glanced at each other in surprise and approval. They found
him witty, eager, a most charming companion; and when he announced
his intention of visiting Brazzaville, they insisted he should make their
home his own.
His admiration, as outwardly it appeared to be, for Madame Ducret,
was evident to the others, but her husband accepted it. It was her due.
And, on the Congo, to grudge to another man the sight of a pretty
woman was as cruel as to withhold the few grains of quinine that might
save his reason. But before the day passed, Madame Ducret was aware
that the American could not be lightly dismissed as an admirer. The
fact neither flattered nor offended. For her it was no novel or disturbing
experience. Other men, whipped on by loneliness, by fever, by
primitive savage instincts, had told her what she meant to them. She did
not hold them responsible. Some, worth curing, she had nursed through
the illness. Others, who refused to be cured, she had turned over, with a
shrug, to her husband. This one was more difficult. Of men of Everett's
traditions and education she had known but few; but she recognized the
type. This young man was no failure in life, no derelict, no outcast
flying the law, or a scandal, to hide in the jungle. He was what, in her
Maxim days, she had laughed at as an aristocrat. He knew her Paris as
she did not know it: its history, its art. Even her language he spoke
more correctly than her husband or herself. She knew that at his home
there must be many women infinitely more attractive, more suited to
him, than herself: women of birth, of position; young girls and great
ladies of the other world. And she knew, also, that, in his present state,
at a nod from her he would cast these behind him and carry her into the
wilderness. More quickly than she anticipated, Everett proved she did
not overrate the forces that compelled him.
The excursion to the rapids was followed by a second dinner on board

the Nigeria. But now, as on the previous night, Everett fell into sullen
silence. He ate nothing, drank continually, and with his eyes devoured
the woman. When coffee had been served, he left the others at table,