Ngaio Marsh - Color Scheme

It must have been Rua, Dikon decided, who asked a member of the glee club to strike up the National Anthem on the meetinghouse piano.

As they moved towards the entrance, Gaunt, speaking in a furious whisper, told Dikon to drive the Claires home without him.

“But…” Dikon began.

“Will you do as you’re told?” said Gaunt. “I’m walking.”

He remembered to shake hands with Rua and then slipped up a side aisle and out by the front door. The rest of the party became involved in a series of introductions forced upon them by the Mayor and, escaping from these, fell into the clutches of a very young reporter from the Harpoon Courier who, having let Gaunt escape him, seized upon Dikon and Mrs. Claire.

At last Dr. Ackrington said loudly: “I’m walking.”

“But James, dear,” Mrs. Claire protested gently. “Your leg!”

“I said I was walking, Agnes. You can take Edward. I’ll tell Gaunt.”

Before Dikon, who was separated from him by one or two people, could do anything to stop him, he had edged between a row of chairs and gone out by the side aisle.

“Then,” said Dikon to Mrs. Claire, “perhaps the Colonel would like to come with us?”

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Claire uneasily. “I am sure… Edward! Where is he?”

He was some way ahead. Dikon could see his white crest moving slowly towards the door.

“We’ll catch him when we get outside,” he said.

“Quite a crush, isn’t it?” said Mr. Falls at his elbow. “More like the West End every moment.”

Dikon turned to look at him. The remark seemed to be not altogether in character. Mr. Falls raised an eyebrow. A theatrical phrase in common usage came into Dikon’s mind. “He’s got good appearance,” he thought.

“I’m afraid the Colonel has escaped us,” said Mr. Falls.

As they moved slowly down the aisle Dikon was conscious of a feeling of extreme urgency, a sense of being obstructed, such as one sometimes experiences in a nightmare. Barbara’s distress assumed a disproportionate significance. Dikon was determined that she should not be hoodwinked by Mr. Questing’s outrageous hint that he had sent the dress, yet he could not tell her that Gaunt had done so. And where was Gaunt? In his present state of mind he was capable of anything. It was highly probable that at this very moment he was hot on Questing’s track.

At last they were out in the warm air. The night was clear and the stars shone brightly. The houses of Rua’s hapu were dimly visible against the blackness of the hills. A tall fence of manuka poles showed dramatically against the night sky, resembling in the half-light the palisade that had stood there in the days when the village was a fort. Most of the visitors had already gone. From out of the dark came the sound of many quiet voices and of one, a man’s, that seemed to be raised in anger. “But it is a Maori voice,” Dikon said. In a distant hut one or two women broke quietly into the refrain of the little song. So still was the air that in the intervals between these sounds Taupo-tapu and the lesser mud pots could be heard, placidly working in the dark, out on the native reserve: plop plop-plop , a monstrously domestic noise.

Dikon was oppressed by the sensation of something primordial in which he himself had no part. Three small boys, their brown faces and limbs scarcely discernible in the shadow of the meetinghouse, suddenly darted out in front of Barbara and Dikon. Striking the ground with their bare feet and slapping their thighs they sketched the movements of the war-dance. They thrust out their tongues and rolled their eyes. “ Ēee- ě! Ēee-ě ,” they said, making their voices deep. A woman spoke out of the dark, scolding them for their boldness and calling them home. They giggled skittishly and ran away. “They are too cheeky,” the invisible woman’s voice said profoundly.

The Colonel and Mr. Falls had disappeared. Mrs. Claire was still by the meeting-house, engaged in a long conversation with Mrs. Te Papa.

“Let’s bring the car round, shall we?” said Dikon to Barbara. He was determined to get a word with her alone. She walked ahead of him quickly and he followed, stumbling in the dark.

“Jump into the front seat,” he said. “I want to talk to you.” But when they were in the car he was silent for a time, wondering how to begin, and astonished to find himself so greatly disturbed by her nearness.

“Now listen to me,” he said at last. “You’ve got hold of the idea that Questing sent you those damned clothes, haven’t you?”

“But of course he did. You heard what he said. You saw how he looked.” And with an air of simplicity that he found very touching she added: “And I did look nice, didn’t I?”

“You little ninny!” Dikon scolded. “You did and you do and you shall continue to look nice.”

“You knew that wasn’t true before you said it. Shall I have to give it back myself, do you imagine? Or do you think my father might do it for me? I suppose I ought to hate my lovely dress but I can’t quite do that.”

“Really,” Dikon cried, — “you’re the most irritating girl in a quiet way that I have ever encountered. Why should you jump to the conclusion he did it? The man’s slightly tight anyway. See here, if Questing sent you the things, I’ll buy Wai-ata-tapu myself and run it as a lunatic asylum.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“It’s a matter of psychology,” Dikon blustered.

“If you mean he’s not the sort of person to do a thing like that,” said Barbara with some spirit, “I think you’re quite wrong. You’ve seen how frightful his behaviour can be. He just wouldn’t know it isn’t done.”

Dikon could think of no answer. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said disagreeably. “I merely think it’s idiotic to say he had anything to do with it.”

“If you think I’m idiotic,” said Barbara loudly, “I wonder you bother to mix yourself up in our affairs at all.” And she added childishly in a trembling voice: “Anyway it’s quite obvious that you think I’m hopeless .”

“If you want to know what I think about you,” Dikon said furiously, “I think you deliberately make the worst of yourself. If you didn’t pull faces like a clown and do silly things with your voice you’d be remarkably attractive.”

“Good Lord, that’s absolutely impertinent!” cried Barbara, stung to anger. “How dare you,” she added, “how dare you speak about me like that!”

“You asked for an honest opinion…”

“I didn’t. So you’ve no business to give it.” As this statement was true Dikon made no attempt to counter it. “I’m uncouth and crude and I irritate you,” Barbara continued.

“Then stop talking!” Dikon shouted. He did not mean to kiss her, he was telling himself. He had not even thought of doing so. It was by some compulsion that it happened, some chance touch upon an emotional reflex. Having begun, there seemed to be no reason why he should stop, though an onlooker in his brain was saying quite distinctly; “This is a pretty kettle of fish.”

“You beast !” Barbara muttered. “ Beast. Beast !”

“Hold your tongue.”

“ Bar-bie !” called Mrs. Claire. “ Where are you ?”

“Here!” shouted Barbara at the top of her voice.

By the time Mrs. Claire came up to them Barbara was out of the car.

“Thank you, dear,” said her mother. “You needn’t have moved. I’m so sorry I was such a long time. Mr. Falls has been looking for Edward but I’m afraid he’s gone.” She got in beside Dikon. “I don’t think we need wait. Jump in, dear, we mustn’t keep Mr. Bell any longer.”