The haunting, familiar air with its tender pathos, its hopelessness, its strange beauty, moved her to an extraordinary degree, perhaps because she was so deeply moved already. A sob caught her throat, and the unaccustomed tears started to her eyes for the second time that evening. As before, she put up a hand to press them back, but they pushed their way under her lids and between the restraining fingers, and coursed rapidly down her cheeks... "_Oh! darkies, how my heart grows weary_!" The sob was louder this time... "_Oh! darkies, how my heart grows weary_!" Swiftly she turned and buried her face in the cushion of the chair and wept unrestrainedly. CHAPTER TEN. Lawless made hasty preparations for leaving Cape Town. He did not give up his room at the hotel. When a man is spending other people's money there is no particular need for him to study economy. His headquarters were at Cape Town--he was merely taking a holiday while he matured his plans. On the day before he left he lunched with Van Bleit at the latter's invitation. Van Bleit was openly admiring, and not a little envious. "Going on your honeymoon," he murmured, growing maudlin over his wine. "You lucky devil! But the luck was always with you, Grit." "It depends on what one reckons luck," was the dry response. "That's just like you favoured chaps--always grudging in your thanks. You expect the world to come to heel, and it usually does." "Yes; and yaps at your trouser hems until it frays them. I've been out at elbow and empty in pocket... If that's luck I don't appreciate it. I've no desire to have the world at my heels, with its sneaking hands dipping into my pockets, and its servile lips smiling while its teeth worry holes in my clothes. I like to face the enemy and have my foot on it." "You, to talk of the world as your enemy! Why, man alive, it gives you all you ask for." Lawless looked gloomy enough for a wealthy and successful lover. The other's envying admiration gave him no pleasure. He took up his glass and drained it. Both men had been drinking freely, but both were well seasoned, and, save for their flushed faces, there was no outward sign of the quantity of wine they had imbibed. "I wish to God," Van Bleit said, "that I were as successful in my wooing as you. Give me your secret, Grit... I believe it's that damned scar on your jaw that helps you with the women--that, and a certain dash you have." "Oh! call it swagger," growled Lawless. "No,--damn you!--I would if I could; but it's not that. All things considered, you're a fairly modest beast." "I've not had so much to make me vain as you imagine," Lawless answered, and added curtly: "Look here, Karl, if you don't wish to be offensive, give over personalities. I'm sick of myself." Van Bleit looked slightly annoyed. "You're so devilishly unsympathetic," he complained sulkily. "I notice you take no interest in another man's affairs... You never trouble to inquire how my suit prospers."